Emily’s POV:

I went to the kitchen, hoping to help prepare lunch. The maid handed me a knife and some raw steak, her expression unreadable.

"Cook this," she ordered.

I hesitated, gripping the edge of the counter. "I… I'm not good at cooking steak," I admitted, keeping my voice low.

She scoffed, rolling her eyes. "I didn't ask if you're good at it, did I? Just do it. Try something useful for once instead of whoring around."

Her words cut deep, but I was used to people throwing insults at me. I swallowed the lump in my throat and focused on the task. How hard could it be?

Apparently, very hard.

The flames shot up as soon as I turned the heat too high, and before I could react, pain seared through my hand. I yelped, pulling back, my skin stinging. The steak was ruined—burnt beyond saving.

"You idiot!" the maid shrieked, slamming her hands on the counter. "What the hell did you just do?"

Tears burned my eyes as she kept yelling at me, but the pain in my hand was worse. I bit my lip, trying to keep myself together. I already felt stupid—I didn’t need her making it worse.

Then I heard his voice.

A shiver ran down my spine. The room fell silent as his presence filled the space. I dared not turn around. Oh no.

"What's happening here?" His voice was low, dangerous. Then, his eyes landed on me. "And what are you doing in the kitchen, koetonek?"

I stiffened as he stepped closer. His presence was suffocating. I wanted to disappear. Would he punish me for ruining his food? Would he blame me?

But instead of scolding me, he grabbed me—lifting me into his arms.

My breath hitched. Everything around me blurred as he carried me away, his strong arms wrapped around me like I was something delicate. I hated how safe it made me feel. I hated that I didn’t want him to let go.

I barely registered anything after that—only his warmth, his scent, and the way he whispered reassurances as he applied ointment to my burned hand.

I should’ve pushed him away. But I didn’t.

I don’t know how long I stayed like that before he finally spoke again.

"Get up," he ordered.

I quickly slid off his lap, still feeling shaky.

Then he said the one word that sent my world crashing down.

"Strip."

I froze. My heart slammed against my ribs. I must have misheard him.

When I didn’t move, his voice darkened.

"If I want you naked, I'll have you naked. Now strip before my patience runs out, koetonek."

Tears pricked at my eyes. I wasn’t stupid—I knew men like him didn’t take ‘no’ for an answer. I had seen too many girls disappear for disobedience. If I refused, what would happen to me?

Would he kill me? Would he give me to his men?

My hands trembled as I slowly removed my clothes, my mind screaming at me to stop.

But then… his touch.

He pulled me closer, slipping a finger inside me. I gasped, my entire body jolting at the sensation.

No.

I wasn’t supposed to feel this. I wasn’t supposed to enjoy it. But my body betrayed me.

"So wet," he murmured, his voice laced with amusement.

I squeezed my eyes shut. This was normal, right? Fear made the body react strangely. It didn’t mean anything.

But… it wasn’t just fear, was it?

He pushed another finger inside, his palm rubbing against my clit. I let out a shaky breath, my body arching toward him. My mind fought against the pleasure, but my body surrendered.

"Ahh… mmm…" The moan slipped out before I could stop it.

I felt dirty. I felt weak. But worst of all… I wanted it.

His gaze darkened. "Look at you, taking pleasure. I knew you'd be my dirty little girl."

No. I wasn't. I wasn't his.

But his fingers curled inside me, and I shattered. I came undone with a cry, my world tilting as waves of pleasure consumed me.

Yet he didn’t stop.

My body twitched, overwhelmed. It was too much—too intense. "S-stop… please, please, it's too much," I whimpered. Tears slipped down my cheeks.

"You can and you will," he murmured against my ear. "Be my good girl and come again."

I came again.

And I hated myself for it.

When he finally withdrew his fingers, he slipped them into his mouth, tasting me. My stomach twisted into knots.

I wanted to hate him.

I did hate him.

But the way he stroked my hair, the way his warmth surrounded me, the way he made me feel cherished—it was dangerous.

I wasn’t sure whether he was my captor or my salvation.

And that terrified me the most.

The Next Morning:

When I woke up, I immediately knew I wasn’t in my room. My body ached with exhaustion, my hand still stung, and my mind was a mess of confusion.

I blinked, taking in my surroundings. The room was dark, luxurious, and intimidating—just like him.

His room.

Panic surged through me as I sat up, clutching the sheets to my chest. My clothes—where were my clothes? My eyes darted around until I spotted one of his shirts beside me.

Swallowing my hesitation, I slipped it on, inhaling his scent.

Why do I like this?

I needed a shower. Maybe the water would wash away the filth, the confusion, the way he made me feel.

Stepping into the bathroom, I let the warm water run over me, letting his scent mix with mine. It shouldn’t have felt so intimate.

It shouldn't have felt good.

After dressing, a maid entered, carrying a dress.

"Good morning, ma’am. Sir sent these for you," she said.

I took the dress from her, offering a quiet thank you.

The fabric was soft, delicate—nothing like the harsh world I was trapped in. It was pretty. A part of me warmed at the thought that he picked it for me. Another part hated myself for it.

Did he buy dresses for other girls too?

The thought made my chest tighten, but I quickly shook it off.

None of it mattered. Because today, I was going to escape.

Author’s Note:

Emily’s emotions are all over the place—fear, hatred, desire, confusion. She knows she’s trapped, but part of her craves the attention she’s never had before. Will she manage to escape, or is she falling deeper into Alexander’s world?

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Xoxo,