Dress up; we have a long way to go. His word jolted me out of my thinking.
I picked my clothes from the bed, its silken sheets and towering pillows a picture of indulgent comfort. I quickly dressed up only to meet Luciano's piercing gaze on me, not moving, his eyes intensively fixed on me. I managed to open my mouth and ask him, "Why didn't you do it?" "Well, I've more than enough time to do what I want with your body, not just here," he replied.
He walked straight to the door, called the thug inside, and murmured something in his ear. Without hesitation, the thug lunged at me and seized my hands with force. This act infuriated Luciano. He drove his fist into the thug's stomach, sending him sprawling to the floor. "She is my property—learn to handle my belongings with care," he said coldly. or you might lose your life, including your family's. His words sent a shiver down the thug's body; he got on all fours, pleading for mercy.
Let's go. the thug said, leading me out of the room. My leg felt weak beneath me, wobbling from the scene I just encountered in that room, but I had no other choice but to follow.
I was led down the passage. The passage was narrow and dim, with concrete walls and faint lights casting long shadows along the way, and I wondered to myself if I would ever see the sun again. For a moment, the thought filled me with a flicker of hope. But then the idea of being taken from this place only to end up somewhere even worse made my stomach twist, wiping the brief smile from my face.
I was led into an underground car park, its polished floor reflecting rows of pristine luxury cars—Bentleys with sleek silver grilles, glossy Lamborghinis in vibrant shades of yellow and emerald, towering black G-Wagons that looked like fortresses on wheels, and even a blood-red Ferrari that gleamed like fire under the dim lights.
The thug guided me in, and there he was—Luciano—seated as though he'd been waiting only for me, his lips curling into a knowing smile.
"W-Where are you taking me?" I asked nervously.
"To your new home," he replied smoothly, signaling the driver in a sharp black suit.
"Yes, Boss," the driver said, starting the engine as the car purred to life.
I couldn't remember the last time I had stepped outside. Ever since my father abandoned me here, I had been trapped within these walls, never allowed beyond the so-called VIP section where I was forced to satisfy the twisted desires of billionaires and their endless lust. Life had long since turned bleak and colorless.
As the car pulled out of the underground lot, sunlight poured through the window, so bright it felt almost blinding—perhaps because I hadn't seen the outside world in nearly two years. Not until now. Not until someone finally bought me
"I can't remember the last time I felt happy; my life seems blurred. I don't think it belongs to me, especially when I can't decide my future or what I want to do by myself, but I have to rely on my owner. "Yes, ever since I have been sold by Don Giorgio to this man, my life was no longer mine but his," I said to myself.
As if he could hear me and wouldn't let me go easily, he asked me to sit on his lap, which I did like the obedient pet I was. I could perceive the scent of his cologne brushing against my nose.
I woke up on a vast queen-sized bed, its sheets of soft silk caressing my skin, the velvet headboard rising elegantly behind me. The mattress was so plush it felt like I was sinking into a cloud, every detail speaking of indulgence and comfort.
Whether it was drugs he had given me or sheer exhaustion, I had slept through the entire ride to his house. Now, as my eyes opened, the room's grandeur surrounded me. The high ceiling was adorned with delicate moldings, while a crystal chandelier spilled warm golden light across the polished marble floor. Heavy velvet drapes framed the tall windows, their deep folds rich and regal. Artworks hung gracefully on the walls, and the faint scent of expensive cologne lingered in the air. Everything around me radiated elegance and luxury, so flawless it almost felt unreal.
Lost in the beauty of the room, I was startled by a gentle knock at the door.
"Come in," I said softly.
A young woman, about my age, stepped inside. "Good evening, ma'am. My name is Arielle. I'll be your personal maid," she said in a timid, almost hushed voice.
"Hi, Arielle. I'm Alena. Nice to meet you," I replied, extending my hand for a shake. But she hesitated, her fingers twitching slightly as though she was afraid to touch me.
Arielle had gentle hazel eyes that seemed both kind and cautious, with chestnut-brown hair woven neatly into a braid that brushed her shoulder. She wore a simple maid's uniform, the crisp black and white fabric emphasizing her delicate frame. Though she carried herself with quiet grace, there was a nervousness in the way her fingers fidgeted, as if fear lingered just beneath her timid smile.
"I'm here to dress you up. Boss is waiting for you downstairs," she said softly.
"Okay," I replied quietly.
"We'll start with a warm bath first." With that, Arielle gently led me into the bathroom.
The moment I stepped inside, I was struck by its elegance. The walls were clad in gleaming white marble veined with gold, and a chandelier of crystal droplets hung above, scattering light across the space. A freestanding bathtub sat in the center, sleek and pristine, while polished silver fixtures gleamed like jewelry. The faint scent of lavender and vanilla lingered in the air, and the floor, smooth beneath my feet, seemed almost too perfect to step on. It was less a bathroom and more a private sanctuary of indulgence.
Arielle turned on the tap, the steady stream of water filling the tub as steam slowly began to rise. She sprinkled in fragrant oils that released the soothing scent of lavender and vanilla, letting it mingle with the warmth in the air. Soon, the water shimmered invitingly, its surface rippling as the tub filled. The heat wrapped the room in a soft haze, promising comfort and relaxation, as though the bath itself had been prepared to wash away every trace of exhaustion from my body.
"Get in Ma'am" Arielle said
"There's no need to call me ma'am," I answered quickly.
"I can't… I'm sorry. I have to follow orders—you're my boss," she replied timidly.
Boss? I scoffed inwardly. I'm nothing more than someone else's property.
"But you can at least call me by my name," I insist."
She hesitated, then gave a small nod. "Okay… but only when we're alone."
I managed a faint smile and agreed.
Arielle guided me carefully into the tub, the warm water instantly wrapping around my body like a soft embrace. The heat seeped into my skin, loosening every knot of tension I hadn't even realized I was carrying. For the first time in my life, I felt something close to pure refreshment—it was almost as if I had stepped into another world.
Arielle moved with quiet care, pouring water over my shoulders and running a soft sponge along my arms and back. Her touch was delicate, respectful, as though she was afraid I might break. Each stroke of the warm water left me feeling lighter, cleaner, as if layers of the life I had been forced into were being washed away.
After the bath, Arielle led me into the dressing room. I never imagined it would be this large—walls lined with racks of luxurious clothes in every style and color, like a private boutique.
"Which one would you prefer to wear, ma'am—I mean, Alena?" Arielle asked in her usual soft voice.
At last, she called me by my name.
"You pick one for me. I'm not really good with fashion," I said with a hint of sarcasm, which made her smile.
She reached for a gown—a flowing satin dress in deep emerald, its fabric catching the light with every movement, simple yet elegant.
Arielle helped me slip into gown the smooth fabric hugging my figure as if it had been made just for me. She gathered my blonde hair, pulling it into a sleek ponytail before curling it slightly so it fell in soft, elegant waves. Then she moved to my face, applying makeup with a careful but slightly unpracticed hand. Arielle wasn't exactly skilled at the makeup thing, but somehow, she still managed to make me look gorgeous. Finally, she brushed a deep red lipstick across my lips, the perfect finishing touch.
I caught my reflection and almost didn't recognize myself—I had never looked so beautiful in my entire life.
Once Arielle was done, she gently led me out of the dressing room. We walked together through a long passage, the polished marble floor gleaming beneath our steps. Golden sconces lined the walls, casting a soft, warm glow that made the air feel rich and heavy. Tall paintings framed in gold leaf stared down at us, their subjects—stern men and elegant women—watching like silent guardians of the house.
As we reached the grand staircase, I couldn't help but pause. Its wide steps were covered with a deep crimson carpet, the banister carved from dark polished wood that shone under the light of a crystal chandelier overhead. The house felt endless, every corner whispering of wealth I had only seen in movies.
Arielle guided me down the stairs, our steps echoing in the vast silence, until we finally reached the dining room. The sight took my breath away—an impossibly long table set with gleaming silverware and crystal glasses, the chandelier above reflecting a thousand tiny lights across the polished surface. It was the kind of place meant to impress, to remind anyone seated there of the sheer luxury surrounding them.
What caught my attention even more was the figure seated in the dining room, his eyes fixed on the newspaper in his hands. He didn't look up until Arielle's soft voice broke the silence.
"Sir, she is ready," she said.
Slowly, he turned his head to glance at me—and for a moment, his expression faltered. He looked almost stunned, as though he hadn't expected to see someone like me standing there. But then, just as quickly, his lips curved into a sly, almost dirty smile that made my stomach twist.
"You're not planning to stand there forever, are you?" he said sarcastically.
His words pushed me to move forward, and I slowly made my way down into the dining room. With a flick of his hand, he signaled the maids to serve the meal, and they hurried off to obey, returning moments later with the dishes. The table was soon graced with a silver platter carrying roasted duck glazed in honey and wine, its skin glistening. Alongside it were bowls of truffle-infused mashed potatoes, asparagus drizzled with butter, and a fine bottle of red wine resting in a crystal decanter, the deep liquid catching the glow like rubies.
I'd never seen food like this in my entire life. Maybe being sold could actually be the start of a better life, I thought bitterly, though the thought alone made me hate myself a little.
"Aren't you planning on eating?" his voice cut through my thoughts, jolting me back to reality.
I reached for the fork and knife, fumbling with them awkwardly. It wasn't like I knew how to use such fancy utensils. Watching me struggle, he let out a quiet laugh, and that sound made my resentment toward him burn even hotter.
"Come," he said, gesturing for me to sit on his lap. I obeyed, perching carefully as he guided my hands, teaching me how to hold the utensils properly. I could feel the heat of his body pressing against me, a rush of warmth I hadn't expected, and it made me flush with embarrassment.
His gaze lingered on my lips, and then he leaned in, planting a kiss on my lower lip. This one was different—deeper, more lingering—and it left me aching for more.
Somewhere behind us, a voice hissed in frustration, "Who the hell is she? I'm going to make this house too hot for her—she can't just take Luciano from me like that!."