CHAPTER 110
Aria’s POV
I wanted to charge forward, to confront the man who had sold me into slavery all those years ago. My feet itched to move. I wanted to storm the platform and make him look me in the eye.
But just as I was about to step forward, Denderick caught my arm.
“Not yet, my love.” he growled in my ear. “Patience.”
I swallowed my frustration, though every instinct screamed at me to move, to act. The longer we waited, the more I felt like the opportunity would slip through my fingers, like I would lose my chance to confront the man who had torn my life apart.
But Denderick was right-this wasn’t the time to rush. Not with so many eyes on us.
So, we waited.
The crowd slowly began to thin out, buyers leading their new slaves away like they were leading cattle to slaughter. One by one, the slaves were purchased and taken off the platform, until only the slave master remained, standing triumphantly on the raised wooden structure and counting his gold coins.
His greedy eyes scanned the last remnants of the crowd, making sure no opportunity for profit was missed. When the last buyer left, he stepped down, heading toward the rundown building behind the platform. He hadn’t noticed us yet. Good.
“Now,” Denderick said softly, and we moved together, keeping our distance but following him closely enough not to lose him. I could feel my heart pounding harder as we moved towards that grim house.
The building was worse up close. The walls were cracked, the windows smudged with dirt, and the door hung loosely on its rusted hinges. Inside, the air was cloudy with the stench of sweat, damp wood, and something far worse that I couldn’t quite place. The wooden floor creaked under our feet as we walked through the narrow hallway, past rows of slaves sitting on the ground, bound in chains.
I glanced at them, and my heart broke.
Their faces were blank, resigned to their fate. I knew that look. It was the look of someone who had given up hope. Their wrists were raw from the shackles, their clothes were torn and dirty. Some were too thin, their skin stretched over bones, while others simply sat there, staring at the ground in silence. None of them even looked up as we passed.
It took everything in me not to cry. Not everyone would be as lucky as I had been. Not everyone would get the chance to escape, to build a better life. And the thought of it-that this was their future, that this was all they had to look forward to-filled me with a deep, burning rage.
We had to put an end to this. Somehow.
At the end of the hallway, we reached a wooden door. It was slightly ajar, and through the gap, I could hear the sound of low murmurs. My stomach turned.
Without a word, I pushed the door open and stepped inside, Denderick close behind me.
The room itself reeked of filth. The walls were stained with years of neglect, and the furniture was mismatched and worn. A single oil lamp flickered on the desk. The only other piece of furniture in the room was a battered couch in the corner, its fabric torn in different places.
The slave master sat at a large, cluttered desk, papers and coins scattered across its surface. But what caught my attention wasn’t the mess or the sparsely lit room. It was the sight of a young girl, no more than sixteen or seventeen, sitting on the man’s lap. She was thin, her face pale, her eyes wide with terror as the man’s pudgy fingers caressed her body.
I felt bile rise in my throat.
“Let her go,” I snarled.
The man’s hand stilled, and he looked up at me, annoyance flashing in his dull eyes. He shoved the girl off his lap, and she stumbled, quickly retreating to the corner of the room, her eyes darting between us.
“And who do you think you are, barging into my office like this?” he roared, standing up and slamming his hands on the desk. “You have no business here, girl. Get out before I-”
Before he could finish his sentence, Denderick stepped forward. He didn’t raise his voice, but the authority in his tone was unmistakable. “You’ll lower your voice when speaking to her, if you want to continue breathing.”
The slave master stopped talking, and he shrank back. He sat back down, sinking into his chair like a cornered animal.
“Fine, fine,” he muttered, waving a hand dismissively. “Take a seat, both of you.”
Denderick and I sat, though I wanted to remain standing, to loom over this man the way he had once towered over me. But I needed answers. So I forced myself to stay calm.
I leaned forward, placing my elbows on the table. “Do you remember me?” I asked, my voice steady but laced with anger.
He blinked in surprise as he glanced at Denderick and then back at me. “What’s this about?”
I wasn’t letting him off that easily. “You sold me,” I said, my voice growing colder. “almost a year ago. Do you remember?”
He scoffed, leaning back in his chair. “I sell hundreds of slaves every day. You think I have time to remember every single face that comes through here?”
My stomach twisted at his indifference. But I pressed on. “You remember me. Think harder.”
For a moment, he was silent, staring at me as if I were a minor inconvenience. But then something changed. His eyes narrowed, and he tilted his head slightly, studying me more closely. Recognition flickered across his face.
“You…” His voice trailed off, and his eyes widened. “You’re the witch and the werewolf hybrid. The one I sold a year back.”
I felt my heart skip a beat. He remembered. After everything, he remembered exactly who I was.
A cold smile curled on his lips. “I don’t think I can ever forget a sale like that. You fetched a good price. One million gold coins, if I remember. Got rid of you just in time before the word spread about your… condition.” He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a sneer. “What do you want now? Come to thank me for putting you in your place?”
I felt Denderick stiffen beside mw, but it was my voice that cut through the tension.
“No,” I said softly. “I came to make sure you never forget what you did.”