Chapter 5

I suppose i love this life,

in spite of my clenched fist.

Yerenica

The car rolls to a stop.

My fingers curl into the hem of my dress as the door opens, cool night air rushing in. The men step out first, one by one, their presence looming as they emerge into the dimly lit driveway. I hesitate for half a second before forcing my legs to move, slipping out last.

And then I freeze.

The mansion before me is huge. Not just big but ridiculous.

It stretches high, almost dauntingly so, with intricate architecture that screams wealth. Everything gleams under the soft glow of estate lights, reflecting off polished surfaces and marble pillars. The windows are tall and intimidating, the kind you'd see in castles, and the entire place exudes an eerie, commanding presence.

I feel small.

Smaller than I already am.

And then there's me standing at the entrance of this grand estate, in a cheap, wrinkled red dress, my hair messy, my skin still marked with remnants of tonight's horrors.

I look like I don't belong here. Because I don't.

My skin feels too tight, my breath too loud like the whole room knows I don't belong. Shame sits heavy in my chest, burning, suffocating, whispering, You shouldn't be here.

As I follow behind them toward the entrance, I feel eyes on me.

Guards.

Men in black, standing along the perimeter like statues, their eyes sharp and watchful. But not all of them are just watching. A few let their gazes linger, slow and disgusting, their eyes trailing down my body in a way that makes my skin crawl.

I grip my arms, willing myself to disappear. I feel dirty.

"Fucking look away before I rip your fucking throats out."

The voice is sharp, lethal.

I turn, startled, to see Dehrin, his hazel eyes burning with something dangerous. His jaw is clenched, he glares at the guards, shoulders squared like he's ready to throw a punch.

The men quickly avert their eyes, stiffening under his rage. I'd be scared too..

Dehrin scoffs, clicking his tongue in irritation before flicking his gaze to me. Fuck did i do.

"Move," he mutters, jerking his chin toward the mansion. "Walk in front of me."

I blink.

He sighs, already annoyed. "Now."

I don't argue.

As I step forward, I notice something. He stays close behind, his frame practically shielding me as we walk. He doesn't say anything else, doesn't look at me, just keeps his steps measured, like a silent barrier between me and the outside world.

For someone who always looks like he wants to punch a wall, he's... surprisingly kind.

He's putting on an act.

We step into the mansion, and my breath catches again.

It's beautiful.

Marble floors, grand chandeliers dripping with crystals, intricate details lining the walls. The entire space screams wealth, from the high ceilings to the expensive paintings adorning the corridors. Damn rich people.

But despite the beauty, there's something... cold about it.

No warmth. No real sense of home. Then again what do i know about a home.

Just a kingdom built of power, standing tall and untouchable. And its king stands in the center of the room, dark eyes sharp and commanding.

Zyran barely spares me a glance before addressing a woman standing near the staircase.

"Irem."

The woman looks to be in her forties, with dark hair pulled into a tight bun and an air of strict professionalism. She immediately straightens at Zyran's voice, her expression unreadable.

"Take her in," he orders. "Guide her through the housework. Show her the quarters."

Irem nods once, no hesitation. "Understood."

Then, her sharp gaze lands on me.

"Follow me." I gulp.

-----

The room is nice. Not extravagant, not grand, but decent. Clean.

Two single beds sit parallel to each other, plain wooden frames with simple white sheets. A lamp rests on the small side table between them, casting a dim glow over the beige walls. A ceiling fan hums softly above, stirring the stillness of the air. Against the far wall, two modest cupboards stand side by side.

It's simple. Bland, even. But to me? It might as well be a palace.

No rotting wood beneath my feet. No damp, foul-smelling air. No screaming. No locked doors.

This room isn't a cage.

I trail my fingers over the fabric of the sheets, my throat tightening. Soft. Fresh. Clean. My standards for luxury have really hit rock bottom, haven't they?

"You'll be sharing this room," Irem states, drawing my attention back to her. "But the other maid is on leave. She'll return in a few weeks."

I nod, unsure how to respond.

Irem stands near the door, arms crossed over her uniform. She's a tall woman, composed, with dark hair pulled into a bun so tight it looks like it's holding all her life's frustrations in place. Round glasses sit on the bridge of her nose. She look like the kind of teacher who hands out pop quizzes just because she can.

Her uniform, a dark blue knee-length dress is crisp, professional, and neither too tight nor too flowy. A white apron is wrapped around her waist, tied neatly in the front. Blue is not her colour. She has this whole no-nonsense aura about her. Very I run a tight ship, and I don't have time for your nonsense, sweetheart.

"I am the head maid of this house," she continues. "There are three other maids under my supervision. Your work will be assigned tomorrow. For now, rest."

She glances around the room before meeting my eyes.

"As long as you're here, there are rules. The young masters prefer their personal space. They do not tolerate unnecessary disturbances. You will work, do as you're told, and not cross any boundaries."

Ah. Boundaries.

A fancy way of saying don't be a nuisance or you're out.

I nod again.

"Your name?"

"Yerenica." My voice is quiet but steady.

"Age?"

I hesitate. "Sixteen."

Her lips press into a thin line. Yeah, lady, I don't like it either.

She studies me for a moment before walking to the untouched cupboard. Pulling it open, she gestures to a neatly folded set of clothes inside.

"These belonged to a maid who left long ago. You may use them for now. Your uniform will be given to you in the morning."

I glance at the cupboard. A simple pajama set rests on the shelf loose cotton pants and a button-up shirt.  Irem steps back toward the door, straightening. "Get some rest. I'll explain your duties tomorrow."

With that, she turns, leaving the room as quietly as she came.

The moment the door clicks shut, I exhale.

For the first time all night, I'm alone.

I stare at the pajama set in the cupboard. Hand-me-downs, huh?

Well. Better than whatever Madam Vera used to throw my way.

I sit on the bed, the mattress dipping slightly beneath me. This is nice.

A little too nice.

I hope, Zoya, Mia and Aria are safe. Please be safe.

I don't feel like I'm about to be dragged into another nightmare.

That alone is enough to make me want to cry.

THOUGHTS?