Because I do.
14
KEIRA
Iretreat to Amisra's room and close the door behind me with careful, deliberate silence. My hands shake as I turn the lock—not to keep anyone out, but to give myself the illusion of control. Of boundaries that actually mean something.
The child sleeps on, her small face still blotchy from crying, one hand curled against her cheek. She looks so much like Daryn in this moment—the delicate bone structure, the way her brows furrow even in sleep. My throat tightens.
I sink into the chair beside her bed, pull my knees to my chest, and try to breathe through the roiling nausea in my stomach.
Your contract and all associated ownership rights.
The words loop through my mind like a curse. Like a brand searing itself into my skin.
I knew this world was cruel. Knew what it meant to be human in a society built on our subjugation. I've watched friends disappear into contracts they couldn't escape, seen women dragged away by owners who saw them as nothing more than warm bodies to use and discard. I've lived my entire life walking the razor's edge between freedom and bondage.
But I never thought?—
Gods, I'm such a fool.
I let myself believe. Let myself imagine that maybe this time could be different. That Valas saw me as more than property, that the way he touched me meant something beyond ownership. That his kisses were about desire, not possession.
That I had a choice.
The sob catches in my throat before I can swallow it down. I press my fist against my mouth, bite down hard on my knuckles to keep the sound from escaping. Amisra doesn't need to wake up to me falling apart. She's already lost her father today. She doesn't need to lose the only other stable thing in her life because I can't hold myself together.
But gods, ithurts.
It hurts in ways I didn't know were possible. Like someone has reached inside my chest and torn out everything soft and hopeful and ground it beneath their heel.
I thought you were different, I want to scream at Valas.I thought you saw me.
But he does see me. That's the worst part.
He sees me exactly as I am—a human woman with a contract, owned and bound, worth fifteen lummi a month and whatever use he can extract from my body.
The thought makes my stomach heave. I barely make it to the washbasin in the corner before I'm retching, bringing up nothing but bile and the bitter taste of my own stupidity. My vision blurs with tears I refuse to let fall.
When the spasms finally stop, I rinse my mouth and return to the chair. Amisra hasn't stirred. Lucky child. At least she can escape into sleep.
I can't seem to manage it.
Every time I close my eyes, I see Valas's face when that merchant—Kelrin, was that his name?—explained the terms of my contract. The shock. The horror. The devastation.
He didn't know.
I believe that much at least. He truly had no idea that Daryn had purchased my contract, that I came with the house and the furniture and all the other assets being transferred.
But he knows now.
And that changes everything.
Because no matter what he says, no matter how he looks at me or touches me or whispers sweet promises in the dark—he owns me. Legally, magically, in every way that matters in this cursed society. I'm his property. His possession.
Hisslave.
The word cuts through me like broken glass. I've spent years avoiding that label, clinging to the fragile dignity of being contracted rather than enslaved. As if there's any real difference. As if a few lummi and a room of my own somehow elevates me above the other humans who scrub floors and empty chamber pots and warm their masters' beds.
