The air in this penthouse smelled too expensive and classy. It clung to me, an invisible perfume of luxury and isolation, reminding me with every breath that this place wasn't mine. I was a guest here. Worse than a prisoner .A pawn in a game I never agreed to play.
The moment Justin's men dragged me out of my home in my pajamas, no less and dumped me at his penthouse, I knew my life would never be the same. The suite was one of the biggest suites I've ever seen in my life.The walls draped in fine art, the floor soft enough to sleep on. Even the windows, which stretched from floor to ceiling, offered a view of the city that looked too perfect, too far away like a movie I could watch but never touch.
I wandered around the penthouse like a ghost, touching things just to remind myself they were real. The marble counters. The velvet chairs. The sleek, cold metal of the kitchen appliances that I'd never dare to use. Everything screamed of wealth, of a world I had at home but always dreamed of more. But right now I was getting the more in a state I did not like.
But with every step, the reality hit harder: I wasn't here to enjoy any of this. I was here because my father had made a deal with the Devil himself. And the Devil collected his debts with interest.
A knock at the door startled me. One of Justin's staff an older man with sharp features and an unreadable expression gestured for me to follow him. "Miss Clark, let me show you to your room."
His voice was polite, but the way he said "Miss Clark" felt wrong, like it didn't belong to me anymore. I followed him through the penthouse's complex network of hallways, my bare feet silent on the polished floors. He opened a door and gestured inside.
It was a bedroom fit for royalty. The bed was big enough for three people, the pillows so fluffy they looked like clouds. A crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, casting a soft, golden glow on the pink walls. Even the closet was a mini-boutique, lined with clothes that looked as though they'd been handpicked for a princess. But I wasn't a princess. I was a prisoner.
"Miss Clark," the butler said, bowing slightly, "if you need anything, please let us know."
"Please," I said, my voice trembling, "could I borrow your phone? I just...I need to talk to someone."
He looked at me with that same polite mask. "I'm sorry, Miss Clark. Mr. Shawn has instructed us that you are not to use any communication devices at this time."
At this time. The words rattled around in my chest like a cold wind.
"Thank you," I managed, though my throat burned. He bowed again and left, closing the door behind him with a soft click that felt more final than a slam.
I sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the floor, my head spinning. My father's face flashed in my mind lined with worry, eyes full of guilt and desperation. He'd sold me to save himself, and the weight of that betrayal pressed down on me until I couldn't breathe. I thought I'd cry, but the tears didn't come. It was like my body was too tired to produce them anymore.
The exhaustion hit me all at once. My head felt heavy, my eyes burning. I crawled under the covers and let the darkness take me, hoping,praying that maybe I'd wake up and this would all be a dream.
But when I opened my eyes, nothing had changed. The room was still too beautiful, too cold. The pain in my chest was still there, a dull ache that wouldn't go away. I sat up just as a gentle knock sounded at the door. The butler entered again, his expression as unreadable as before.
"Miss Clark," he said. "Your dinner is ready."
I followed him to the dining room, a long table that looked like it belonged in a palace rather than a penthouse. The food was laid out like a feast: roasted chicken, steamed vegetables, an array of sides that could feed a small army. My stomach twisted.
I picked at the food, pushing it around my plate. Every bite felt like cardboard, my mind too clouded to taste anything. I'd just set my fork down when my phone one I didn't even know I had buzzed on the table. I jumped, staring at it like it might bite me.
The screen flashed with a number I didn't recognize, but I knew who it was.
"Hello?"
His voice was like ice, smooth and cold. "Elena."
I shivered. "Justin."
" We will be getting married in two days," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Tomorrow, there will be a public event. The makeup artist and hair stylist will arrive early to prepare you. Do not resist them."
"Wait " I started, but he didn't give me the chance.
"Be a good girl," he said. And then the line went dead.
I stared at the phone, my hands trembling. Married in two days? My mind struggled to process it. This was happening too fast. I hadn't even had time to breathe.
As I sat there in shock, the doorbell rang. The butler appeared almost immediately to answer it. I watched as he returned with a small package, placing it in front of me with a bow.
"For you, Miss Clark."
I opened the box with trembling fingers. Inside was a dress a delicate, expensive-looking creation of silk and lace, the color of fresh cream. It was beautiful and horrifying all at once. On top of the dress lay a small note in neat, cold handwriting: Be a good girl.
My hands shook as I read it. A chill ran down my spine, making the room feel colder than it was. I wanted to scream, to throw the dress across the room, but I couldn't. My body felt frozen.
I set the dress back in the box and pushed it away. I wouldn't let him see me break. Not yet. Not ever.
But deep down, I knew the truth: I was already breaking.
Everything was happening so fast.