Chapter 16 Sophia
Sophia
Isat up, adrenaline pumping through me. How could I have fallen asleep? I blinked, disoriented, my pulse surging in my throat. The room was dimmer now, evening or early morning light bleeding weakly through the tall windows.
A man stood in front of me.
Older. Late fifties, maybe. Dressed in the crisp uniform of house staff. He wasn’t large or imposing. No cruel smirk. No hollowed-out eyes. Just a lined face, a tired mouth, and something else, something that looked like regret.
He held a small tray in his hands, A plate with a hunk of bread. A glass of water.
He set it down on the low table beside me, moving slowly, carefully, as if this was nothing new to him.
His eyes met mine for the briefest second. A sad, knowing look.
Then, without saying anything, he walked away.
I watched wordlessly as he finally disappeared through the archway at the end of the long, wide open hall.
I stared at the food.
I wasn’t hungry. I wasn’t anything.
I just sat there, the chain cold around my ankle, the man’s silent pity lingering in the air long after he was gone.
I reached for the water, my hands unsteady, the chain at my ankle rattling with the movement. The first sip was cold, shocking against my dry throat. The second went down easier.
Then, footsteps.
Slow. Purposeful.
A whistle followed, tuneless and off-key, threading through the silence like something rotten.
I set the glass down with trembling hands.
Ivan stepped into view.
He strolled down the hall like he owned it, because he did. His hands were in his pockets, his shoulders loose, like this was just another uneventful moment.
I couldn’t look at him.
Couldn’t meet his eyes.
I stared at the floor instead, at the fine dust along the edges of the rug, at anything that wasn’t him.
He got closer.
The whistling stopped.
I felt him there, his shadow cutting across the floor in front of me. My fingers curled against my knee.
The door beside me creaked open, and he stepped inside.
The latch clicked shut behind him.
I stayed frozen, my gaze still on the floor, waiting until the silence felt real again.
Beyond the door, his voice rumbled. Low, coaxing, commanding. I couldn’t make out the words.
A woman giggled.
Minutes passed. Maybe more. My mind filled the silence with possibilities, each one worse than the last.
I heard the sharp chime of a belt buckle, rhythmically ringing like a bell.
Then, gagging. Choked coughing.
Then, wet, rhythmic slaps.
Sex.
I went rigid. Staring at the door, pulse hammering.
It went on. And on.
The sounds ebbed and swelled, the woman’s unrestrained moans turned to gasping, then to something more strained.
I shoved the images away, but they lingered, sticky and unwanted. In their place, fear coiled tight in my stomach.
Was that about to happen to me?
The door flung open so fast I flinched.
A woman stumbled out, naked, flushed, euphoric. Drunk on life. A wine bottle tilted to her lips as she swayed, giggling softly to herself.
She saw me.
Froze.
Tilted her head in idle curiosity.
“Hello,” she said, unashamed of her nakedness or what dripped down her chin.
I said nothing.
Then Ivan came out, wearing only jeans. I looked up at his face and scooted away from him.
“Who is this?” she asked.
“Gabriel's girl.”
“Ivan,” the woman pleaded, but her tone didn’t match the seriousness I needed.
“Why is she here?” Her eyes narrowed, shifting from me to him.
“Quiet,” he snapped.
She lowered her head and gave him a lustful sideways glance as he walked toward me.
“Sophia, why are you here?”
I said nothing, but he kept staring.
“You kidnapped me.”
He laughed, looking out the window with a satisfied grin.
“Yes, I did. But why?”
I gulped, looked at the woman, then to the ground.
As if reading my thoughts, he put his hand to his bare chest, as if he were offended.
“I don't want to fuck you. I'm not an animal. I'm a married man. Caroline's more than enough for me."
I looked up sharply.
“Caroline?”
She smiled timidly, but her eyes were dark with desire. She put a hand to her mouth, as if she were ashamed of the giggle she let out but not her nakedness.
I blinked in disbelief.
“Gabriel, Damien, everyone's trying to save you.”
She gave Ivan a confused look. He responded with an evil smirk, then slapped her ass.
“Back to your room. Now.”
She squealed, and her bare feet padded across the floor, and she was gone.
He crouched down next to me. I wouldn’t meet his eyes. He reached out, grabbed my chin and lifted my head toward him. His eyes were hard and sharp. Demanding.
“Caroline took some work to become the woman she is today. She was unwilling to be the wife I needed her to be. She was very…”
His eyes narrowed.
“Maladjusted. But under my guidance, under my strict tutelage, she’s become quite the—”
I spit in his face.
He didn’t flinch.
Silence followed. Thick and instant.
The room itself seemed to hold its breath, waiting for him to move, to lash out, to do what men like him were always expected to do when challenged.
He blinked. Once. Slowly.
Then he stood.
The back of his hand came across my face—not hard, not soft. Calculated. Enough to sting, to hum beneath the skin, to remind me that I was weak.
He wiped the spit from his face with the same hand.
My cheek burned, but I didn’t look away.
He crouched again, this time slower. He didn’t reach for me.
He just stared.
“You should be careful with that mouth,” he said. “I may be married but plenty of my men aren’t. Spit on one of them, they might take it as an invitation.”
I stared back, my pulse pounding in my ears.
He stood again, hands sliding into his pockets.
His eyes raked over me one more time.
“You’ll see Caroline again soon. Maybe then you’ll understand she’s already been saved.”
He turned his back to me and started walking away.
Before he disappeared through the archway, he paused, looked back at me for a long moment.
Then he was gone.
I sat there, the sting on my cheek blooming slow and hot, the metal cuff cold against my ankle.