Chapter Eight
EMERY
Four years earlier
Wearing the dress he’d lain out for me, I hesitate on the threshold of my room.
The white silk clings to my skin, exposing every new curve my body has. My nipples pebble against the material as a deep chill settles in me.
It’s always white.
Pure.
Innocent.
Everything I’m not.
Not anymore.
Hugging my chest to cover my breasts with my arms does little to hide the scooping neckline.
I feel bare.
Exposed.
I’d found the dress draped across my bed after my shower, and from experience, I knew I was only to wearexactlywhat he provided.
But that’s all that had been left—the one silken piece andnothingelse.
I hate these parties.
But I know what will happen if I don’t show.
Taking a deep breath, I leave my room and make my way through the grand house, following the chatter.
Men and women dressed in suits and cocktail dresses gather around, chatting and drinking wine out of their fancy glasses. Theguest listis very much skewed towards men, their ages varying, though if I had to put a number on them, I’d say the majority are older than forty. Many of them have greying hair and bellies that are no longer flatif they ever had been. The scattering of women around the room tends to be younger than their male counterparts, though, from everything I’d learnt from previous parties, they are no less vicious.
These parties weren’t necessarily frequent, maybe only a few times a year, yet, it wasn’t uncommon to see familiar faces. Although, I knew nothing about the guests other than they seemed to share a particular lifestyle that thrived on control and inflicting pain. More than once, I’d seen things I wish I could burn from my memory.
My uncle loved to tell me stories of what some guests liked to do with theirproperty.I don’t know if he told me to let me know how much worse my life could be or if he simply liked talking about it. Sometimes the guests brought theirpropertyto the party, and I’d been to enough of them now that I could usually spot the ones who weren’t here willingly.Willinglymight not be the correct term, seeing as most of them—at least the ones who were brought to parties like this—were so brainwashed they tended to blend in. I could see it in their eyes, though. This dull, lifeless stare. It wasn’t always present, but at some point, the same look always crossed their face. It made me sick to my stomach every time I saw it. I didn’t know the real reason behind these parties. Maybe it was simply a place for monsters to drink and talk of all the horrible things they’ve done. Or maybe it’s a way for those in control to show off what orwhothey own. Rarely did a party run through without some kind of display, whether it was pre-arranged or not. As soon as something starts happening, all eyes gravitate towards it.
I’m not sure I can handle it if tonight is one of those nights.
I stick to the edge of the room, trying to be as invisible as possible, but it’s harder than usual in this stupid dress.
He wants them to see me. And from the way several of the men’s eyes rake over me, it’s working.
My stomach churns. It’s worse now I’m older and know what lurks behind those heated stares, what they mean. It was almost better when I was younger, and I didn’t fully understand the magnitude of evil in this world.
I’d had my own personal devil, but I was still too innocent to recognise how many other demons were out there.
Now I know.
The only comfort is I know he won’t allow anyone to touch me.
No one touches me but him.
He wants them to desire me while knowing they can never have me.