Chapter 5 The Market Run

Now

Layla walked alongside Madame Paula, the head servant of the mansion, as they made their way to the market. The street was bustling with people, the sounds of vendors hawking their goods mixing with the distant hum of traffic. Yet, Layla felt strangely disconnected from the world around her. It was as if she was walking in a fog, her mind consumed by thoughts of Roman and what the evening might bring.

Madame Paula, always observant, glanced at Layla with a knowing expression. "How have you been, my dear?" she asked, her voice gentle yet laced with concern.

Layla forced a smile, trying to keep the discomfort at bay. "I'm fine," she said, though her voice lacked conviction. It was easier to pretend that everything was okay, but the truth was, nothing felt right anymore.

Madame Paula studied her for a moment, sensing something was off. She pressed on, her voice quieter now. "Has Master been treating you well?"

At the mention of "Master," Layla stiffened, her body tensing involuntarily. The title still carried weight, and hearing it made her feel small, reminded her of the power he had over her. She quickly nodded, not wanting to show any weakness. "Yes," she replied, her voice shaky but firm. "He's been treating me well."

Madame Paula watched her closely, her sharp eyes noting the subtle shift in Layla's demeanor. But she didn't press further, instead continuing with her question. "Do you know that today is Master's birthday?"

Layla blinked, caught off guard by the question. Of course, she knew. How could she not? She had spent a whole year with him, learning every little detail about him, including the days that mattered to him the most. But she didn't answer right away. She simply nodded, trying to push the rising flood of emotions down. "Yes, I know," she said quietly. The memories of their time together, the love they once shared, and the way she had broken his heart flooded her mind. It hurt more than she cared to admit.

Madame Paula smiled, seemingly satisfied with the answer. "Well, then, would you like to make dinner for him tonight?" she asked, her voice kind but with a hint of expectation.

Layla's heart skipped a beat at the suggestion. Her first instinct was to say no. She didn't want to stir any old feelings, didn't want to reignite the passion that had once burned so fiercely between them. The thought of spending another night under his control, of being at his mercy, made her stomach churn. She was still sore from the night before, the marks of his need still lingering on her body. But she couldn't say no, not to Madame Paula. And if she were honest with herself, there was a part of her that feared what would happen if she did.

She nodded slowly, her voice barely above a whisper. "Yes," she replied, the word feeling foreign on her tongue. "I'll make dinner."

Madame Paula's smile softened, but there was a knowing look in her eyes, as if she understood the weight of the decision. "Does Master have any favorite dishes? I'm sure you know what he likes by now."

Layla couldn't help but nod again. She did know. She had memorized his likes and dislikes during the year they were together. His favorite food, his favorite drink, the exact way he liked his steak cooked-it was all etched into her mind, an indelible part of the history they shared.

"Yes, I know what he likes," Layla answered, her voice quiet, a flicker of something dark passing through her chest. She had once been so eager to please him, to show him how much she cared. But now, it felt like a heavy burden, something she was obligated to do rather than something she wanted to do.

Madame Paula smiled again, this time with a touch of warmth. "Good. That's why we're going to the market today, my dear. We need to pick up everything you'll need for the birthday dinner."

Layla's heart sank as she heard the words. The thought of preparing a meal for Roman, of going through the motions of a celebration that felt so hollow, was almost too much to bear. But she couldn't back out now. The idea of facing him tonight, of making him happy, stirred something in her. Maybe if she could make him happy that night, she could finally ask him to stop. Plead with him to stop using her for his pleasure, to stop hurting her when the night was over. Maybe if she gave him everything he wanted, he would see her as more than just an object. Maybe she could get him to stop with the punishment, to stop using his power over her body.

She forced herself to smile, though it felt fake, as if she were wearing a mask to hide the turmoil inside. "Alright," she said, trying to sound more enthusiastic than she felt. "Let's go."

As they walked through the market, Layla couldn't help but feel a sense of dread hanging over her. But she pushed it aside. She had a goal now. She would make this dinner perfect, and then, when the time was right, she would beg him. She would plead with him to end this twisted game they were caught in, to stop turning her into his plaything.

But deep down, she feared that no matter how much she gave, it would never be enough for him.