The stairs open onto a vast hallway that feels untouched by human presence—eerily empty. She turns left, leading me into a separate section.
The mansion is enormous—larger than my father’s, with a more labyrinthine layout. It looks like the owner of this place likes to live somewhere that feels like a horror movie set. Given how empty and dark some areas are, I’d wet myself if someone asked me to wander alone here.
Nivi leads me into a kitchen the size of a restaurant, where eight people work. Two seem to be chefs—a woman and a man—the rest are helpers, all women. They all pause when they spot me.
“She’s the new slave. Give her whatever work you like,” Nivi announces brightly.
They all look me over, then nod. The kitchen staff wear different uniforms; they have black dresses instead of blue. They weren’t present when my kidnapper introduced me to the others.
She leads me to another area where maids lounge. It seems to be their break room. They laugh at the sight of me, jeering in a language I don’t recognize.
One of them says something to Nivi, who translates for me. “Go clean that toilet.” She points to an open door.
I clench my jaw and walk where she pointed. I step inside, and the moment my eyes land on the toilet, bile fills my throat. There’s stool in the bowl. I vomit, eyes squeezed shut. Laughter echoes behind me. Vomit splashes my dress, my feet. Some hits the toilet.
I don’t wait another second and run. Shouts chase me as I flee the lounge.
I don’t know which way leads out of this hellhole, so I run back the way that bitch Nivi brought me. Tears stream down my face, blurring my vision. I race upstairs to that wing. Nivi follows, cursing and shouting, but she stops at the wing’s entrance.
Antonio said there’s a bathroom here. I try the closed doors, wiping my eyes to clear the blur. I force myself to stop crying. I can fall apart once I find the bathroom.
I try the first door. A bedroom. Another. A study. The next opens onto another bedroom. There’s no bathroom here. Mysuppressed sobs break free again as I take in the sight of myself—vomit-splattered, wrecked.
I stumble into the bedroom, sobbing. I don’t care if it’s someone’s private space. I need to clean myself up. I spot another door inside the room and rush toward it. I open it. It’s a bathroom.
I enter quietly, shut the door, and step straight into the shower. I stand under the warm water until the vomit washes away. Then I peel off the dress and sit beneath the stream, arms wrapped around myself.
No matter how hard I try to cling to optimism, I can’t survive this.This level of humiliation—I can’t handle it.
I could never do this to anyone.
Why are people so cruel?
I want to go home.
When will Dad find me?
My sobs grow louder. I bury my head in my knees, arms locked tight around them. My head burns from crying. Water streams over me, coursing from my hair down my body.
Chapter 3
Salvario
I hear her crying as I stand at the door of my bathroom.She’s under the shower, crying loud enough to drown out the sound of the water falling. That’s exactly how my mother used to cry for hours.
The memory pulls me into its suffocating gloom. I was sitting outside the bathroom while she cried inside.
“What happened, Mama?” I ask her in a small voice.
Her crying stops for a moment, then she speaks in a choked voice.
“Nothing, baby. Why aren’tyou sleeping?”
I press my cheek to the door.
“Mama, are you sad?”
I want to break the door down and run inside to hug her.
