Chapter 3 A Bitter Morning

Now

Layla woke up slowly, the sheets tangled around her body. The soft morning light filtered through the curtains, but the warmth of the sun didn't quite reach the coldness that had settled in her heart. She shifted slightly, wincing at the ache in her lower back. Her behind was still sore from the previous night-his handprints, like a burning reminder of what she had become. It was hard to move without feeling the sting, a sting that wasn't just physical. It was deeper, something she couldn't shake off no matter how many times she closed her eyes.

As she lay there, trying to gather herself, she caught sight of the table by her bed. On it, a plate of food sat next to a bottle of pain relief medicine. The pills seemed to mock her, and yet she knew they were the only thing that could numb the pain enough for her to get through the day. She grabbed the bottle with shaky hands, uncapped it, and took one of the pills, swallowing it dry. Her throat felt tight, as though it wasn't just the pill that was difficult to swallow, but the reality of her situation. She forced herself to eat the food, but it tasted like ash in her mouth. How could she swallow anything when her pride and dignity were both being eaten away every day?

Layla's eyes blurred with tears. She let out a sob-soft at first, but then it grew, building with each breath. She wasn't supposed to be here. She wasn't supposed to be someone's plaything, someone's puppet. But her family, her father, had been drowning in debt, and there was no other way. She had no choice. She had to pay the price for the choices they'd made, even if that meant losing herself in the process. She sobbed bitterly, her tears falling freely now as the weight of it all bore down on her.

The shrill ring of her phone cut through her grief, and she wiped her eyes quickly, trying to compose herself. She saw the caller ID: it was him.

Taking a shaky breath, Layla answered the call, her voice tight. "Hello?"

"How was your night, darling?" His voice was calm, casual, as if the events of last night hadn't even happened.

Layla fought to keep the tremble from her voice. "I'm fine," she lied, her throat constricting as she spoke the words.

He didn't sound convinced. There was a moment of silence before he spoke again. "Good. Now listen to me, Layla. Don't repeat what happened yesterday. I told you that you're not going to work again. And that's final. Understood?"

Her heart sank. "Yes, sir," she replied softly, the fear in her voice betraying her. She wanted to say something, to argue, but she knew better. His word was law. It always had been.

"Good girl," he said, his tone softening just slightly. "Would you like me to bring you anything when I get back from work?"

Fear gripped her chest. She shook her head before realizing he couldn't see her. "No, I'm fine," she whispered, her voice barely above a breath.

There was a pause before he responded, his voice as cold as ever. "Alright. I'll see you later." And with that, the call ended.

Layla sat there for a moment, her phone still pressed against her ear, even though he had already hung up. She exhaled shakily, tears streaming down her face once again. She pulled her knees up to her chest, sobbing quietly into her hands. It didn't matter how many times she tried to escape, tried to numb the pain, it always came back, always haunted her. And now, even in her own home, she was trapped.

After a while, she managed to pull herself together. The shower helped a little, the warm water washing over her, though it couldn't cleanse the emptiness she felt inside. When she stepped out, she dressed quickly in something simple-a pair of jeans and a loose sweater-and went downstairs, her feet dragging with the weight of the world.

The house was quiet, as usual. Raphael's mansion was vast, filled with staff that came and went, but somehow, the place always felt hollow. Layla wandered into the kitchen, hoping to find something to distract her. Madame Paula, the head servant, was there, stirring something in a large pot. The older woman turned when she heard Layla enter, offering her a soft, sympathetic smile.

"Good morning, Layla," Madame Paula greeted her, her voice warm but laced with concern. "Are you feeling better?"

Layla gave her a tight smile, nodding. "Yes, I'm good, thank you."

Madame Paula studied her for a moment, then asked, "Would you like to accompany me to the market today? I'm going, and it would be nice to have some company."

Layla looked at her, surprised by the offer. She smiled and nodded. She needed to get out there and get some fresh air.