My skin crawls. "You were listening to me?"
"This is my house. I'm aware of everything that happens in it."
Cameras. There must be cameras.
I glance around. Don't see any. But that doesn't mean they're not there.
"Are you hungry?" he asks.
"No."
"Thirsty?"
"No."
"Liar."
I clench my jaw. "I don't want anything from you."
"You're going to have to want something eventually, Eden. You can't survive on stubbornness alone."
"Somehow I think I'll manage."
He smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes.
"Tell me about the Sanctuary," he says.
The words hit me like a slap.
"What?"
"The Sanctuary. The cult you escaped from. Tell me about it."
How does he know?
My catalog listing said no family ties. Compliant temperament. Nothing about the Sanctuary.
"Your file," he says, reading my expression. "It was quite detailed. Born into a religious community in the Ozark Mountains. Mother died when you were twelve. Father still living but estranged. Promised in marriage to a community elder. Escaped two weeks before the wedding."
My file.
They made a file on me.
On my entire life.
And sold it along with my body.
"I don't want to talk about it," I say.
"I'm not asking what you want. I'm telling you what I want."
"And I'm supposed to just obey?"
"Yes."
The word is simple. Final.
I stare at him. At this man who bought me for two million dollars and thinks that gives him the right to every part of me.
