Chapter 34 Grace
My eyes flutter open, not with the jarring clarity of sunlight but with the heavy, leaden weight of utter exhaustion. My head throbs, there’s a dull ache behind my temples, and a memory of something I can’t quite figure out.
I’m in a cage.
Cold metal, smooth and unyielding presses against my back.
The bars are close enough that if I reach out with both arms they would pass right through, but the space is small, claustrophobic. My limbs feel heavy, useless, like lead weights strapped to me.
I push myself up, my muscles screaming in protest. The cage rocks slightly, a low, rhythmic vibration that sends chills down my spine.
Where am I? This isn’t the damp, stone cell.
This, this feels different. Cleaner, somehow.
The air isn’t stale but carries a faint perfume, as if someone has lit incense nearby and it’s wafted over.
My gaze darts around, taking in my surroundings.
The cage is bolted to the floor, centred in a room that is surprisingly large.
High ceilings, maybe? I can’t see the top.
The walls are a deep, plush burgundy colour, rich and velvety, absorbing the dim light filtering through some unseen source.
There’s heavy drapery covering windows, blocking out the outside world entirely.
This isn’t right. Where the hell am I? How did I get here?
My eyes land on a small, woven wool blanket folded neatly at the foot of the cage.
It’s a deep, comforting blue, smelling faintly of lavender.
Next to it, tucked into the corner is a simple ceramic bowl filled with clear, cool water.
A sip of that would be heaven right now.
As I lift the bowl, the water sloshes slightly.
It’s clean. Pure. So fucking good. I feel a small flicker of relief, so faint it’s almost drowned out by the overwhelming dread.
I look around again, my gaze sweeping the unfamiliar room.
It’s luxurious in a way that feels opulent.
Velvet drapes the windows, thick carpets mute the outside world, and the air hangs heavy with the scent of expensive incense.
The furniture is a mishmash of styles – plush couches piled high with cushions of every conceivable colour and pattern, low tables with intricate carvings, and even a small, ornate coffee table shaped like an abstract flower.
It feels less like a room and more like a stage set for some decadent, forbidden play. A Turkish harem? The thought sends a shiver, not of excitement, but of cold dread down my spine.
My eyes keep returning to the far side of the room.
There are shapes huddled close together, almost asleep on a plush chaise lounge.
Three figures, indistinct at first, their forms soft in the dim light.
They seem to be curled up together, but something feels wrong.
Their postures are too still. Their breathing, if I can hear it is too rhythmic, too uniform.
I frown, leaning closer to the bars, straining my eyes.
They look human, dressed in soft, flowing fabrics that look like lingerie. Silky nightgowns or negligees, perhaps? But their faces are turned away, their features hidden. Are they guards? Prisoners like me? Or something else?
The air shifts. A sigh, soft and drawn out. One of the figures stirs, stretching languidly. A movement that seems almost artificial, like a puppet untwisting its strings. Then another, and another.
Slowly, deliberately, they turn their heads, their eyes opening.
Their gaze finds me instantly, sweeping over my face, my body huddled within the cage, the confusion etched onto my features. Their eyes are wide, dark, and unnerving.
There’s a flicker of something unreadable in them; amusement? Intrigue? Possessiveness?
They sit up straighter, the soft fabrics rustling. They look beautiful, almost regal dressed in that lingerie. They stare at me, and a strange, low murmur starts, like a shared thought between them.
It’s almost musical, a soft, breathy sound that sends a chill down my spine.
One of them speaks, her voice a low, melodic whisper. “Who are you, then?”
My heart lurches. Who am I? The question hangs in the air, heavy and impossible. I open my mouth, the word ‘Grace’ forming on my lips, and then a flicker of doubt crosses my mind.
No, Grace is not me.
Grace is the name I was born with, the name I had once, but not anymore. Not now.
They exchange glances when I don’t answer, their expressions unreadable.
Then, a woman steps forward. She’s the one who spoke, with long straight perfect black hair.
The other two, the redhead and the brunette flank her, rising smoothly from the chaise.
They move as one, their steps silent on the plush floor.
They start circling the cage, their eyes never leaving me.
I feel trapped, exposed. The blanket is my only shield, but it doesn’t offer much warmth or security. I clutch it tighter, pulling it over my body, trying to regain a sliver of dignity, of normalcy.
One of them reaches through the bars and as her fingers make contact with my skin, I jump. Another seizes the moment and grabs the blanket, ripping it from my grasp.
I cry out, falling back and land on my arse.
They gasp in unison, staring at me more, at where I’m now exposed.
I try to cover myself, to snatch back the blanket but it’s three against one. They reach through, smacking at me, chastising me the only way they can.
With a sharp crack a hand slams into the side of my head, forcing my skull against the unforgiving metal. The sound is sharp, loud. Stars explode behind my eyes. Pain radiates outwards, sharp and sudden. My vision blurs for a moment.
“Dogs are not shy,” the redhaired girl hisses, her voice dripping with contempt. “Now, behave.”
The other women laugh, a low, throaty sound that doesn’t sound remotely amused.
“What’s this?” A voice calls from the other side of the room.
The three girls stop, turning in one synchronised movement to face the newcomer.
“Mistress.” They murmur in a tone of unmistakable reverence, and that word puts the fear of God into me.
My arms tremble as I force myself to sit up, to face whatever this is.
But I’m not allowed to look at her. At a mistress. Panic swirls in my gut and I hastily drop my gaze, hoping that no one has realised what I’ve done.
I can hear her feet as she approaches. I can see the sharp, delicate, expensive shoes as she comes to a stop outside my cage.
“I see you’ve met our new addition.” She says, but not to me, to them.
They don’t reply but I feel the way they react, as if my mere presence is both an affront and an insult to them.
The Mistress squats down, reaching through the bars and snatches at my face as I cower.
“Look at me.” She snaps as she does it and my body relaxes, my body obeys despite my terror.
It’s the same woman from before, the one who’s trained me, who’s tortured me, who’s abused my body so much I can barely think straight. The thought doesn’t give me any reassurance.
She drops her gaze, staring at my body. She makes a point of sneering more at the way my skin rolls over itself just a little, at the way I curve out around my waist. In my head, I snarl that if they wanted a woman who was skinny then they should have stolen someone else and not me, but I know better than to voice it.
She frowns as if she’s heard my thoughts and then she stands, folding her arms over her chest.
“Not much to work with.” She mutters, and the three waifs giggle loudly.
She produces a key from her pocket, opening the cage and she stands expectantly. Only, I don’t know what to do. She hasn’t given me any instructions.
“Get out.” She hisses, snatching at my hair, yanking me forward. “Master will be here very soon, do you think he wants to wait for the likes of you, dog?”
I don’t know what to say, what to do. I cry out more as she drags me across the room, using my long hair as a leash while I struggle to get any footing. When I get to the other side, I can see the three women are there, preening, prettying themselves.
The smell of perfume intensifies and they start brushing each other’s hair, helping each other get ready.
“Stand.” Mistress says to me.
I do it quickly, scrambling to my feet as fast as my exhausted body can move. I feel exposed, violated. Naked not just physically, but emotionally and mentally stripped bare.
She circles me, tutting more, poking at the flesh above my hips. “Fat.” She mutters under her breath. “A fat lazy dog. That’s what he’s bought.”
The other girls laugh again, running their eyes over me with more contempt.
Somewhere far off, a bell goes off. The three women gasp, rushing to take position, kneeling one beside the other in a neat little row right in front of the door with their heads all bowed.
“Quickly.” The mistress hisses, ramming some sort of fabric dress over my head, down over my body. It’s silk, sheer, a beautiful delicate pink that seems to mimic my skin exactly. Mistress pushes me forward, pushing me down, and I only just make it to the floor as the huge double doors open.
My heart hammers in my chest. I bite down on my tongue to stop my teeth from chattering, but my body still shakes uncontrollably as he walks in.
I don’t need to look. I know better than to raise my head anyway, but I know who it is, who is here.
He takes one measured step after another. He murmurs something to the Mistress and then nods before he turns all his attention on the dark-haired girl. He cups her face, he strokes her hair and she blushes, she swoons, she loves every minute of it.
I don’t know what I expected. I don’t even understand why this is making me angry but as I stay on the floor, as I kneel, he plays with the other women, he gives them attention, and he acts like I’m not even here.
What the fuck? What does this man want from me?
He’s hurt me, abused me, had me locked away and tortured for I don’t even know how long, and now that he’s seeing me again it’s like I’m nothing to him. But surely he wouldn’t have paid all that money, wouldn’t have done any of the things he has if I mean nothing to him?