I guess the command to obey Mr. Prest is revoked.
Resting my sore hand on my lap, I sighed into the clingy material of the given gown. Once again, claustrophobia clawed, whispering of panic attacks and weakness.
I clenched my teeth.
You’re stronger than that. You’re better than all of them.
Breathing hard through my nose, I dared believe my lies and forced my blood to calm.
The hard flooring chilled my knees as low murmurs came closer. My ears pricked as the gentle click of men’s dress shoes filled the stark space. My chin begged to rise, to give me a postcard-perfect view of Mr. Prest as his scent and presence surrounded me.
I forbid it.
Instead, I locked my gaze on the grout line between tiles, following the softer grey from the lounge rug to the dining room table.
“I trust you received payment okay?” Master A asked.
Mr. Prest’s legs came into my vision.
I dropped my head further.
He’s not here.
He’s not real.
Don’t look or listen or linger.
My heart chugged with steam and coal, but I won the war. My eyes remained steadfast on the floor.
Mr. Prest came forward a few steps, planting his long, powerful legs where I wished he wouldn’t.
Legs weren’t so bad.
I could handle his legs…ankles really.
That was fine.
But anything else, I didn’t want to see.
“I did. I sent you the schematics and in-depth blueprints in return.” Rustling sounded as Mr. Prest pulled something from the leather binder in his hands. “Here.”
How do you know it’s a binder?
Shit, my eyes had steadily crept upward.
Up his broad thighs, past the slight bulge in his trousers, up the svelte lines of his chest, to the sharp ridges of his throat.
Drop your head!
My command made my shoulders roll as I bowed deeper into the floor. I couldn’t meet his eyes. That was where the danger lay.
If I slipped and looked up, I doubted I’d live to tomorrow if Master A deemed I had some sort of sick fascination (or was it attraction?) toward this monster I couldn’t stand.
No, it isn’t attraction.
It couldn’t be.
After losing my virginity to sexual slavery, I’d been cured of finding anyone pleasing to the eye or connected to my soul.
I doubted I’d ever find anyone like that.
My fate was different to my friends who would live long lives and give birth to kids with boys they’d fallen in love with.
I wanted to be alone.
Safe.
Far away from men.
The two villains talked in low murmurs about delivery dates and inspections.
I didn’t bother straining to hear. I didn’t care.
My skin prickled as Mr. Prest’s voice mingled with Master A’s. The awareness of both of them watching me wrapped a plastic bag around my heart, suffocating me slowly. I didn’t dare move; I could barely breathe. Mr. Prest somehow stole every sense keeping them zeroed in on him.
The battle to keep my eyes down and head ducked became harder and harder to win. Every shuffle of his feet and rustle of his clothing whispered for me to indulge in just a peek.
One peek.
I can’t.
Taking a deep breath, I did what I never thought I’d do and focused on the classical music rather than my abhorrent fascination with our visitor.
I willingly let stringed instruments distract me, even though they only brought nightmares.
That was what Master A was: a nightmare. And one of these days, I’d wake up and this would be all over.
Wake up, Pim…wake up.
After ten minutes or so, Master A snapped his fingers, ceasing their conversation. “Get Mr. Prest a drink, Pim.”
Get up?
Move?
Run the risk of stealing a glance I wasn’t allowed to steal?
My spine rolled in disobedience.
When I didn’t leap into action, Master A lowered his voice. “Did you not hear me?” Nudging my knee with his toe, he grunted, “Get!”
My body snarled with aches and pains as I scrambled to my feet, skidding into the kitchen. Miraculously, I kept my chin tucked and eyes down. However, even without eyesight, I saw Mr. Prest. Felt him watching me. Heard him thinking about me.
His shadow lurked in my peripheral as I scurried around the countertop.
Not once had Mr. Prest addressed me. Not once had he tried to engage me in pleasantries—not like the first time when he’d shortened my name with familiarity.
He hadn’t been threatened by Master A not to speak or look, so why hadn’t he been as strangely kind as he was in the beginning?
I didn’t want to admit it, but the cold shoulder hurt more than a kick from my bastard owner.
Something was to be said about cruelty. Give nothing but barbarity and that was all that was expected. Give tenderness mixed with persecution and the fall from hope hurt far, far worse.
Was that Mr. Prest’s agenda from the start?
Keeping my face covered by my hair as much as possible, I headed into the walk-in pantry where a small cellar was located in the floor.