Feel the weight of Vaughn Sutherland's gaze as he told me Ibelongto him.
I don't belong to anyone.
I told him that and I meant it.
But lying here in this massive bed in this unlocked bedroom in his estate in the middle of nowhere, I'm starting to understand that what I believe doesn't matter.
He believes I'm his.
And he has all the power.
The room they put me in is bigger than the entire sleeping quarters at the Sanctuary.
King-sized bed with sheets that feel like water against my skin.
Thick carpet. Heavy curtains.
An ensuite bathroom with a tub big enough to drown in and a shower with six different heads.
There's a walk-in closet.
I found it while Mrs. Silva was explaining where things were.
She opened the door and I nearly laughed.
Clothes. Dozens of them.
Dresses, pants, shirts, sweaters.
All in my size.
All with the tags still on.
"Mr. Sutherland had these brought in," Mrs. Silva said. Her voice was kind. Gentle. Like that made it better. "If anything doesn't fit, just let me know."
He bought me a wardrobe before he even met me.
Before he knew what I looked like beyond a photograph in a catalog.
The thought makes my skin crawl.
Mrs. Silva also showed me the dresser—full of undergarments, also in my size.
The bathroom—stocked with toiletries, expensive brands I don't recognize.
The bookshelf—filled with novels, classics, contemporary fiction.
Everything I could possibly need.
Except freedom.
"The door is unlocked," she said before she left. "You can move about the house as you please. The kitchen is downstairs if you're hungry. Mr. Sutherland asks that you join him for breakfast at eight."
Asks.
Like I have a choice.
"What if I refuse?" I asked.
