Making sure I'm worth two million dollars.
I should look away.
At the Sanctuary, we were never allowed to look men in the eyes.
It was considered forward.
Immodest. Challenging.
But I'm so tired of looking down.
So, I hold his gaze.
"My name is Vaughn Sutherland," he says.
His voice matches his appearance.
Smooth. Controlled. Expensive.
The kind of voice that's used to being obeyed.
The kind of voice that doesn't need to be raised to make people listen.
He takes a step closer.
Then another.
He moves like he owns the room.
Like he owns everything in it.
Including me.
"You belong to me now."
Not:I bought you.
Not:we have a contract.
You belong to me.
Like I'm a thing.
An object.
A possession to be claimed.
Something hot and sharp rises in my chest.
Anger.
After everything—after the Sanctuary and Father Thomas and Elder Jacob and Sarah's betrayal and the warehouse and the auction and being sold like livestock—afterall of that, this man thinks he can just claim me?
I should be terrified.
Should be screaming, crying, begging.
That's what number thirteen did, and look how well that turned out for her.
