Odette's POV
I don't know how long I had been locked in this damned room, and honestly, I didn't care anymore. I didn't care about time, I didn't care about food, I didn't even care about my life.
All I wanted was for everything to just end.
"I said I don't want any food!" I screamed at the female worker hovering near me—the same one who'd been trying to force-feed me for days since I woke up.
I had told her no, countless times. I had made it crystal clear that I would never touch anything prepared in this demonic place. Yet she never left. She kept coming back, kept trying to persuade me like her own life depended on getting me to eat.
It was infuriating. Could she not see that I hated this place? This gilded cage? They wouldn't even let me have an electronic device to distract myself, let alone allow me to take a single step outside.
She sighed softly, almost pitifully, before trying again. I heard her footsteps shuffle closer, then the scrape of wood against silk as she dared to push the tray nearer to me.
That sound—the smooth drag of the tray over my bedspread—set something off inside me.
I snapped. My anger rose so fast it burned my throat raw. "I said I won't have any food!" I shrieked, fury pouring out of me as my hand moved before I even realized it.
The next thing I heard was the crash. Glass dishes shattering across the floor, the sound sharp and violent. My fists stayed clenched, my body trembling with rage. I was so lost in it, drowning in that storm of helplessness, that I didn't notice anything else.
Not until I heard her.
"Ouch…" Her voice cracked, soft and pained, followed by the heavy thud of her body hitting the ground.
My eyes widened instantly, my fists loosening. I must have hurt her. The thought slammed through me. I hadn't meant to. God, I hadn't meant to.
But she barely made a sound after that fall—barely moved at all—which only made me panic more. That silence was worse than her sighs, worse than her endless nagging. It meant she was actually hurt.
I scrambled up from the bed, hands stretched in front of me, reaching out into nothing, my ears straining to find her. My heart pounded in my chest.
"Madam, no!" she suddenly shouted, voice high with alarm, as if warning me of something.
But it was too late.
My bare foot came down right onto the shattered glass. Pain shot through me instantly, excruciating, white-hot. My legs buckled. I lost my balance and went down hard, my body crashing onto the floor.
And it only got worse. My hands and knees hit the remaining shards, stabbing into me. Tiny knives burying into my skin.
I gasped, biting my lip so hard I tasted iron, trying desperately to hold the scream back. My whole body shook as fire spread through me.
The sting in my eyes came next, that damn familiar burn I was beginning to hate with every part of me. Tears. Always tears. I wanted to claw them out, to never cry again, but they blurred my sightless gaze, spilled down my face anyway.
The worker's panicked voice cut through my misery.
"Oh no, Madam—you shouldn't have gotten up at all. H-he'll kill me."
The woman's words made me frown through the haze of pain. Who would possibly want to kill her—and for what?
"Who will kill you?" I asked, confusion spilling into my voice as the pain dulled for a moment under the weight of my curiosity. I heard her shifting, slow careful steps on the floor as she tried to reach me without cutting herself too.
"Boss will kill me," she confessed instantly, panic twisting her voice. Her hand found mine, trembling violently. She was shaking so much I could feel it down to my bones.
"Boss…" I whispered the word like a curse, my lips trembling as memory sharpened the fog in my head.
The devil.
The monster who ended lives like they were scraps beneath his feet. Innocent or not—it never mattered. I had seen it myself, seen the ruthless way he destroyed and discarded without blinking. He did not care. He would never care.
And in that moment, I understood perfectly why Mara—because that's what she would soon become to me—was terrified for her life.
"I'll… I'll get a doctor for you," she stammered, her voice breaking with guilt, though I was the one who had lashed out and hurt her, the one who had dragged myself into this state. She sounded apologetic, desperate, scared out of her mind.
And then I felt it—the warm drop of liquid sliding onto my hand.
Tears.
She was crying.
"Wait," I said quickly, my voice sharp enough to freeze her mid-step. I raised my left hand—the one not shredded by glass—and she paused, hovering uncertainly beside me.
"What is it, Madam? Is something else the matter?" Her voice cracked, thick with fear. She was truly frightened, and yet still here, still helping me.
"What is your name?" I asked, my tone soft but steady, waiting.
There was a long pause before she answered, hesitant and confused. "M-my name is Mara, Madam."
I smiled faintly, though my lips trembled. It was small, broken, but it was real. "Mara," I repeated softly, tasting her name as if it mattered more than anything else in that moment. Slowly, carefully, I lifted my left hand, searching for her. She understood, guiding me gently so I wouldn't brush the wounded flesh.
"He won't hurt you, Mara," I whispered, promising what my heart barely believed but my soul demanded. "I'll make sure of it."
She went still. I could feel it—the way her body locked up under my touch. Maybe she thought I was crazy, maybe she thought I was lying. But I had already sworn it to myself: as long as I drew breath, I would not let that bastard take another life around me.
Hurried footsteps thundered into the room, shattering the fragile quiet. Mara flinched violently beside me.
"What happened here?" a man's voice demanded, deep and sharp with authority.
"She's wounded badly—get the doctor!" Mara cried out in a rush, her fear cracking through her words.
The man didn't hesitate. His voice boomed through the hall, shaking the walls: "Get the doctor!"
His tone was different—commanding, forceful. A guard, not a mere worker.
…
It wasn't long before the doctor arrived. By then, I had been lifted back onto the bed, glass pulled from my flesh as hands worked quickly to stop the bleeding. My skin stung. My body trembled. My teeth dug into my lip to keep the sounds of pain inside me.
And then it came.
That voice.
That painfully familiar voice that froze me where I lay, every drop of blood in my veins turning to ice.
"What the fuck happened to her?"