Chapter 11: Camilla
He comes to me early, and I'm ready.
I've been awake since dawn, selecting my outfit. Cream silk blouse that's professional but hints at what lies beneath. Black pants that show my figure without being obvious. Hair pulled back in a style that suggests competence while leaving my neck exposed.
The lock clicks, and Renato enters carrying what appears to be garment bags and several small boxes. He's dressed in a suit as always, but there's something different about his demeanor this morning. More focused. More... deadly.
"Good morning," I say before he can speak, moving from the window to face him directly. "You look like a man about to begin something he's not entirely sure he wants to finish."
His dark eyes sweep over me, taking in every detail of my appearance with an assessment that feels almost physical. "We start your preparation today."
"Ah. And what exactly does that preparation entail?"
He sets the garment bags on the bed. "First, we address your wardrobe. What you wore yesterday was adequate for a kidnapped socialite. Today we transform you into merchandise that commands premium prices."
The cold way he says it should sting. Instead, I find myself curious about his choices.
"Show me," I say.
He unzips the first bag, revealing a cocktail dress in deep burgundy silk. "For Al-Rashid. Conservative enough to suggest modesty, expensive enough to demonstrate your value."
"How thoughtful of you to coordinate my outfit with my sale." I pick up the dress, feeling the expensive fabric between my fingers. "And you know his preferences how?"
"I do my research."
He moves to the second bag. "This is for Kozlov. Something that suggests innocence but hints at what he can corrupt."
The black silk dress that emerges makes my stomach turn. "Of course. Because that's exactly what every woman dreams of. An outfit designed to highlight her corruption potential."
"This is business, Camilla."
"Is it?" I snatch the third dress from his hands before he can present it properly. White silk that's practically transparent. "Or is this you getting off on playing dress-up with your kidnapped doll?"
"You're being dramatic."
"I'm being honest." I hold up the white dress, letting the sheer fabric catch the light. "This isn't clothing, Renato. This is a 'please rape me' costume. And you picked it out yourself. That’s disgusting."
"Al-Mansouri has specific preferences."
"Al-Mansouri is a sick fuck, and apparently so are you." The words come out hotter than I intended, but I don't take them back. "You want me to parade around in these outfits so you can evaluate how fuckable I look for your buyers?"
"That's not what we're doing here."
"That's exactly what this is." I throw the white dress back at him. "You want a personal fashion show where you get to imagine me with each of these men. You want to picture their hands on me, their mouths on me. What else are you imagining?"
"Enough."
The command in his voice only fuels my anger.
"Don't you fucking dare 'enough' me. You're the one who brought rape costumes to my room. Tell me, when you were shopping for these dresses, did you get hard thinking about Al-Mansouri tearing the white one off me? Did you imagine Kozlov's hands on the black silk? Do you jack off in the shower fantasizing about what these men will do to me?"
"You're crossing a line."
"I'm crossing a line? Fuck you, Renato! You crossed that line when you kidnapped me from my own wedding. Everything after that is just details."
He calmly sets the dresses aside. "This preparation is necessary for the initial viewing."
"For who? For them, or for you?" I step closer, invading his space. "Because I think you want to see me in these dresses. I think you want to play out your own little fantasy before you hand me over to them."
