Chapter 2 SIT

"Miss Thea, the master wants to see you in his office," Fiona said softly, her head bowed low, before she quickly turned on her heel and left.

Her footsteps echoed down the corridor, leaving me frozen in place, swallowed whole by my own dread.

A sharp sigh left my lips as I forced myself to sit up, limbs heavy, chest already tightening with that familiar choking feeling.

My heartbeat stumbled, thumping against my ribs like a warning drum. Being alone in that room with him never brought comfort-only a gnawing unease that settled deep in my bones.

My father -Thane Rector.

I muttered a curse under my breath and pushed myself off the bed, bare feet sinking into the plush carpet that covered every inch of my room. My fingers tugged at the creases of my silk nightdress, smoothing it down even though I knew it wouldn't matter to him. It never did.

Stepping out of my room, I made my way through the suffocating halls. The mansion stood tall and imposing, flaunting its wealth shamelessly. Gilded doors, diamond chandeliers sparkling like artificial stars, golden trimmings that caught every light, expensive paintings that probably cost more than most people's homes... the walls reeked of power and luxury. It was everything anyone on the outside would envy.

But not me.

To me, it all looked hollow, lifeless-like a lavish cage built to keep me in chains. These corridors did not carry warmth, only shadows. The towering ceilings and long hallways didn't offer freedom; they pressed down on me like the weight of chains wrapped around my neck.

Every step I took reminded me of the years spent walking these same polished floors. I had memorized every marble tile, every carved pillar, every ornate door. The luxury didn't impress me anymore. It disgusted me. It whispered reminders of how my life had been bought and shaped, how my choices had been stolen from me the second my mother married Thane Rector.

This wasn't a home.

It was a palace built on blood money, held together by fear, and I was nothing more than a bird trapped inside, doomed to call it my sanctuary.

I grew up inside these marble walls after my mother married Thane when I was seven. Back then, I had no real opinion about him, just a quiet dislike I couldn't understand.

My mother wanted power, she got it. Now he was more than just powerful-he was feared, hated, and unstoppable.

The Rector fortune could fill oceans, enough to drown entire nations in gold and diamonds, but not a single drop of it ever fell into my hands freely.

Every thread of silk on my body, every bite of food on my plate came with conditions-silent chains attached to my wrists, keeping me bound to the master of this grand house.

I was never treated like a daughter. Daughters were supposed to be loved, protected, cherished. I was none of those things.

I became nothing more than a dressed-up servant, paraded in designer clothes while fulfilling tasks that reminded me every single day of my real place in this household.

My duties were clear, never spoken but always expected. I prepared his meals, always exactly the way he liked them.

I scrubbed his office, polished the desk he ran his bloody empire from. I ironed his tailored suits until they were crisp and perfect, arranged his cufflinks, stocked his cologne, and knew every brand of product that touched his skin.

I memorized his preferences like holy scripture. I knew how long his ties should fall, how sharp the pleats of his trousers needed to be, what cut of steak he preferred, and exactly how much ice to put in his whiskey. I knew his exact shirt size, his shoe size, and the fit of the tight boxer briefs he insisted on wearing.

No one else in this mansion could serve him. No other hand could lay out his wardrobe or prepare his meals. It had to be me. Always me.

And for reasons I could never understand, he kept me close. Not in a loving, fatherly way. But like a predator keeping his prey within reach, observing every move with that cold, silent intensity that made my skin crawl. His stare followed me everywhere, sharp like a blade pressed against my throat, waiting for me to slip.

Over time, I perfected the art of shrinking myself. Of keeping my head low, my steps quiet, my words soft. Every day felt like walking on glass, careful not to trigger whatever storm brewed behind those calculating eyes.

I stood at his office door, fingers curling around the brass handle. My silk nightdress clung to my skin, delicate straps sliding down my shoulders. I yanked them back into place and took a shaky breath before knocking lightly, just enough for him to hear.

"Enter," he called, his voice flat and cold, carrying that usual emptiness that always found a way to squeeze my chest tighter.

I pushed the door open and stepped inside. His stare hooked me instantly-those sharp, silver-blue eyes locked on me, dragging me in like chains around my throat. My steps faltered. My legs refused to move, breath caught in my chest. I stood there, trapped beneath his cold gaze, pinned like prey before the predator.

Then... he smiled.

Not the careless, arrogant grin I had grown used to. This smile moved slower, stretched wider, dripping with something darker... something filthy and possessive. It felt like he already knew every wicked thought swirling in my head. Like he had already decided what to do with me.

The room seemed to shrink around us, thick with tension.

"You called for me, father?" My voice came out tight, trying to stay strong while my body betrayed me, shivering under his gaze. My arms stayed stiff, fists clenched at my sides, nails digging into my palms to keep from showing how much I trembled.

He leaned back in his chair, fingers stroking his trimmed beard, his stare dipping lower, tracing my shape with slow hunger. He drank in every curve, every soft line beneath my dress, lips curling up in quiet amusement as I fidgeted beneath his silent command.

"Pour me a drink, Thea," he said, his deep voice drenched in something too smooth, too thick... like honey laced with poison.

Heat crawled up my neck. I kept my head down, walked to the cabinet with slow steps, and poured his favorite whiskey, feeling his stare burn into my back the whole time. My hands shook just slightly when I placed the glass before him, fingers brushing the edge of the desk, close enough to feel his heat, close enough to smell the heavy musk of leather and dominance clinging to him.

I swallowed hard and stepped back, my body tingling, skin tight with nervous heat.

"Anything else, daddy?" I asked, breathless, biting my lower lip to stop the shiver threatening to escape.

His fingers tapped the desk before pointing lazily to the chair opposite him. His lips curved in a smirk, voice low and rough as it curled around me like a leash.

"Sit that soft, pretty ass down, girl," he purred. "Right where I can watch you squirm."

My knees weakened, thighs pressing together as my body warmed. My skin prickled, nipples tightening under the thin fabric, and every inch of me ached with a dangerous craving.

I obeyed, knowing this was just the start.