Vivie’s heart pounded as Ashton turned away, his footsteps echoing through the vast foyer. Every instinct in her body screamed at her to run, to find a way out of this nightmare, but she knew better. There was no escaping him. Not now. Not ever.

A man in a dark suit approached her, his expression unreadable.

“Follow me,” he said curtly before turning toward the grand staircase. She hesitated but ultimately had no choice but to comply.

As she ascended the steps, the reality of her situation settled like a weight in her chest. She had been sold. Traded like property. And now, she belonged to a man who could break her with a single command. The man led her down a long corridor, stopping in front of a large wooden door. He pushed it open, revealing a lavish bedroom—too extravagant, too cold.

“This is your room,” he stated. “Dinner is in an hour. Don’t be late.”

Vivie stepped inside, hearing the door click shut behind her. She exhaled shakily, her eyes scanning the space. It was beautiful but impersonal, much like the rest of the mansion. Moving to the bed, she sat down, wrapping her arms around herself. The events of the day caught up to her all at once, and her body trembled. She didn’t belong here. And yet, she had no choice but to stay.

A knock on the door pulled her from her thoughts. Her body stiffened. Was it him? The door creaked open, and a woman stepped inside, carrying a tray.

"Miss Sinclair," she said gently, "Mr. Varela wanted me to make sure you were comfortable."

Comfortable? That was laughable. But Vivie simply nodded, accepting the tray. The woman lingered for a moment before offering a small smile. "If you need anything, just ask."

As the door shut behind her, Vivie let out a slow breath. She had no idea what awaited her, but one thing was clear.

She was in Ashton Varela’s world now. And there was no way out.