Bonus Content #3
I can finally see again, and what I see is something I never wish to see again. Only five men are in the audience, but each and every one of them screams wealth. Dirty wealth to the point it’s sickening.
They’re the type of men nothing bad ever happens to. The type of men like my father.
A small man stands in the walkway. With bushy white hair and red eyes, he looks more like a cartoon than a real man.
And he’s the one who bought me.
“Here,” Sleazy man says. “Here she is.”
The other man nods. “Good. Now, come along, Ava.”
I startle at my name. But, of course, he’d know my name. My father sold me to him.
I don’t move quickly enough, so the old man gently grabs my arm and guides me along. I’m surprised by his touch—it’s not as forceful as I’d thought it would be.
He doesn’t say a word as we leave the theater and enter a den of sorts, one filled with couches with lots of men sitting on them. And sitting on the men are women in skimpy black dresses.
“Come along,” the old man says as I avert my gaze. Nothing terribly inappropriate is happening, and yet it feels so intimate.
We leave the club house altogether, and he walks me to a car parked on the street. It’s a Porsche that must have cost hundreds of thousands of dollars.
“Get in,” he says in a surprisingly nice tone.
“I … don’t want to.”
He sighs. “Dear, you have to. You belong to Nikolai Petrov now. I’m sorry.”
“So, you’re not him? The man who bought me?”
“No. I’m just his butler sent here to collect you for him. I’m Edmund. I won’t hurt you.”
“But … you’re bringing me to a man who wants to hurt me. Why else buy me?”
“You father made a deal with my employer. It’s unfortunate, and I honestly don’t agree with it. But Nikolai Petrov is not a man you argue with. So, please get into the car. I don’t want to have to force you.”
His words draw me up short. Edmund and I are close in height, and he’s obviously older than me, but if he works for a powerful man, then he must have some tricks up his sleeve to get me to comply, and I don’t want to see what those tricks might be.
So, with trembling fingers, I open the car door and get inside. Edmund nods once and gets behind the driver’s wheel. He doesn’t lock me in. He doesn’t hit me.
He just drives.
I watch every turn and every road we take until we reach a large, grand Gothic-looking mansion in the heart of Billionaires’ Row.
“Is this it?” I ask, my voice shaking.
“This is it.” Edmund gets out of the car and opens my door for me, holding out his hand.
For some reason, I take it. He offers me a kind smile that doesn’t help my fears.
He may be a somewhat nice man, but he’s working for a horrible one, and that means I can’t let Edmund’s smiles lure me into a false sense of security.
The large double doors open up into a grand foyer that’s bigger than the apartment my mom and I shared.
I choke up at the thought of my mom. I still haven’t let myself cry because once I cry, it all becomes real.
“Oh good, you’re here,” a woman says, hurrying into the room. She’s plump and older, looking more like a fairy godmother than anything else. “I’ve set up your room, dear.”
I blink. “Are—are you talking to me?”
“Why, yes. Who else would I be talking to?” She pauses, then flutters her hands around her face. “Oh, my manners. I’m Mrs. Brown, the housekeeper.”
“Charlotte,” Edmund tells me. “But we all call her Lottie.”
“I like to keep an air of respectability,” she says. “But if you insist, you can call me Lottie.”
“Oh, uh … Mrs. Brown is fine.” It’s strange getting to know the employees of this household when I was just bought by their boss, a man I’ve never met before.
She offers me a warm smile. “All right, dear. Your room is on the second floor, second door on the right. Come to me if you have any questions.” Then she flitters away.
“I’ll show you around,” Edmund says.
The first thing I notice about this house is how empty it feels. In the living room, there’s nice furniture but no pictures on the walls or mantels. There are no shoes kicked off in the entryway. There are no signs that anyone really lives here except for the staff.
Everything is decorated in dark tones—blacks, grays, and the occasional white. There’s no other color anywhere.
It’s like stepping into a black-and-white film.
In the kitchen, the only spot of color is the man standing next to a counter, chopping up carrots. The sight of the carrots makes me think of my mother, and I have to hold back the tears.
“This is Claude,” Edmund introduces. “He’s the chef.”
Claude looks me over before turning his nose up to me. “Another stray, Edmund?”
Another stray? I’m too scared to ask.
Edmund sighs. “Ava will be Mr. Petrov’s wife. Show some respect.”
I practically jump ten feet into the air. “Wife? No one said anything about marriage?”
“Why else did you think Mr. Petrov wanted you?”
“I have no idea why he wants me. I’ve never met him.”
Claude scoffs. “Typical American. So dramatic.”
“Come on,” Edmund says, guiding me out of the kitchen. “I’ll take you to your room.” He leads me upstairs, which is more of the same black, white, and gray interior.
“Edmund, what exactly is going on here?” I ask.
“Um, well, Mr. Petrov will explain that to you. In time. Here we go.” He opens a door and motions me inside. “Your room.”
A white bed. Gray carpet. Gray walls. It’s all so depressing. The home my mom and I built together was so full of color and life. The reason was because my father never allowed any color in our house. It was all white all the time. If I ever made a mess, he would scream at me.
“I’ll let you be.” Edmund leaves before I can object, shutting the door behind him. I slump onto the bed.
Still, I don’t cry. I can’t think of my mother in this place. I can’t think of her lying on the floor with a gunshot wound to her stomach.
I need to move. I need to do something.
So, I leave the room.
Edmund didn’t lock me inside, which tells me I’m not a prisoner here.
I walk down the hallway, slowly, paying attention to everything I see, and once again, everything I see is … nothing. No pictures anywhere. No paintings. No nothing. Just dark gray and black walls.
There’s a door at the end of the hallway. It has a large lion’s face for a doorknob. It’s pure and utter Gothic, and I need to know what’s behind it.
I reach my hand out for it …
“What are you doing?” a man’s voice asks. A voice I haven’t heard yet.
With a yelp, I turn around and freeze.
This man screams dangerous. Tall, dark hair, a scowl, and an intimidating presence.
A deep scar covers his face, but it doesn’t make him any less handsome.
“Uh …” is all I can say.
“That room is not for you. Go back to your own room.”
I nod quickly and run past him, going straight into the room Edmund put me in.
After I shut the door behind me, I realize—I think I just met Nikolai Petrov.