My disgust was palpable, a bile rising in my throat that I could almost taste. “What do you know about it?” I spat, shrugging his hand off. The words were out before I could even think, a fiery retort to his feigned concern.
Alex took a step back, his eyes wide with surprise. “I just want to help,” he said, his hand hovering in the air as if unsure where to go. “Victoria can be… difficult.”
“You think I don’t know that?” I screamed, the words tearing from my throat. “You all think I’m some naive little maid who’s here for your amusement, for you to use and discard!” My voice echoed down the empty hallway, the sound of my fury bouncing off the walls.
Alex took a step back, his expression a mix of shock and concern. “Emma, please,” he began, but I was already turning away from him, my hand on the doorknob to my room. I didn’t want his pity, didn’t want anyone’s.
As I closed the door behind me, the weight of the evening’s events crashed down on me like a ton of bricks. The tears came unbidden, streaming down my face as I collapsed onto my bed. I could still feel the heat of the guests’ eyes on me, the humiliation of being used as a plaything for their entertainment. The dress, which had once made me feel powerful and desired, now felt like a prison, a constant reminder of the degradation I’d suffered.
I tugged at the fabric, desperate to rip it off, to rid myself of the smell of their lust and the stickiness of spilled wine. With trembling hands, I undid the ties, letting the dress fall in a heap to the floor. My skin felt raw, exposed under the harsh light of the room. I wanted to shower, to scrub away the memory of their touch, but my legs wouldn’t cooperate.
Instead, I stumbled towards the bathroom, my heart racing as I shut the door behind me. The cool tiles felt like a lifeline against the flaming heat of my body. I leaned against the sink, my eyes meeting my reflection in the mirror. The girl who stared back at me was a stranger, her eyes wide with fear and anger.
With a trembling hand, I turned the faucet, the sound of the water a soothing balm to my frayed nerves. The tub quickly filled, the steam curling up and enveloping me like a warm embrace. I stepped in, the water rising around my legs, washing away the stickiness of the spilled wine and the residue of their gazes.
As the warmth of the water began to soothe my body, my mind was still racing. What had I gotten myself into? The mansion had started as a safe haven, a place where I could start over. But now, it felt like a prison, the walls closing in on me with every passing second.
After what felt like an eternity, I climbed out of the tub, my skin pruned and my body still shaking. I wrapped myself in a plush towel, the softness offering a small comfort against the harsh reality of the night’s events. The floor was cold under my feet as I padded back to the bedroom, the door still ajar.
As I stepped into the room, my heart skipped a beat. There, seated on the edge of my bed, was Mr. Harrison, his eyes dark and unreadable. He’d changed into a crisp, black shirt that made him look like a shadow in the dimly lit space. For a moment, I just stared at him, unable to speak, the anger still simmering beneath the surface.
He didn’t look up as I approached, his gaze fixed on the floor. The silence stretched out like a tightrope between us, taut and unforgiving. I moved towards the wardrobe, my hand shaking as I pulled open the door. The scent of his cologne filled the air, mingling with the faint smell of the soap from my earlier shower. It was a potent reminder of what we’d shared, and what I’d allowed to happen.
As I rummaged through my clothes, I could feel his eyes on me, a weight that was both comforting and suffocating. Finally, I found a simple nightgown, one that didn’t scream ‘desire’ or ‘submission’. I slipped it over my head, the fabric whispering against my skin. Without looking at him, I turned to face Mr. Harrison.
“What do you want?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
Mr. Harrison looked up, his eyes locking onto mine. “I wanted to make sure you’re okay,” he said, his voice gruff.
I couldn’t hold back the derisive laugh that bubbled out of me. “Okay?” I repeated incredulously. “You want to make sure I’m okay?” I took a step closer to him, the anger bubbling up in me like a pot ready to boil over. “You watched her humiliate me in front of everyone! Why do you even care?”
Mr. Harrison’s gaze remained steady, unflinching. “Because,” he began, his voice low and intense, “you’re mine.”
The words hung in the air, thick and heavy with meaning. I stared at him, my heart racing in my chest. “I am not yours,” I spat out, walking past him but he grabbed my hand, I tried to pull my hand away, but his grip was like steel.
“Emma,” he said firmly, pulling me back so that I was standing between his legs. His thighs, strong and firm, encircled me, holding me in place. I could feel the heat of his body, the scent of his cologne overwhelming me. My body reacted to him, my heart racing, my breath hitching. I hated how much he affected me, how much I still wanted him even after what had happened.
“You are mine,” he repeated, his voice a low growl that sent shivers down my spine. “And I won’t let anyone treat you that way.” His eyes searched my face, looking for something, a sign of what I was feeling. I didn’t know what he saw, but the tension in his grip lessened, his thumb gently stroking the inside of my wrist.
I stared at him, my heart racing, my mind a jumble of conflicting emotions. “I don’t need your protection,” I said, my voice shaky but firm. “And you’re not so different from Alex.”
Mr. Harrison’s grip tightened, his eyes flashing with something that could have been anger or hurt. “What do you mean?”
I took a deep breath, steeling myself against his nearness. “You both use me, manipulate me,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “You think because you gave me this,” I gestured to the room around us, “that I owe you something. That I’m yours to control.”
Mr. Harrison’s expression darkened, his grip tightening almost imperceptibly around my wrist. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “I’ve never hurt you.”
But anger was a wildfire burning through me, consuming every rational thought. I yanked my hand away, glaring at him with all the fury I could muster. “You expect me to believe that?” I spat. “You’re all the same. Using me, playing your games, watching me suffer!”
Mr. Harrison stood abruptly, his eyes flashing with something that might have been anger or defiance. “Is that what you think this is?” he demanded. “A game?”
I pulled away from him, glaring. “What else would you call it?” I snarled. “You bring me into this… this… degradation, and then you expect me to be grateful? To bend to your every whim?” The words tasted bitter in my mouth, but I spat them out, unable to hold them in any longer.
Mr. Harrison’s eyes searched mine, the muscles in his jaw ticking as he clenched it tightly. “I never meant for you to suffer,” he said, his voice tight. “But you’re not just a maid here, Emma. You’re more than that.”
“Oh, really?” I shot back, sarcasm dripping from each word. “Then what am I, Mr. Harrison? A toy? A plaything?”
Mr. Harrison’s eyes narrowed at my accusation, the tension in the room thickening. “You know that’s not what this is,” he said, his voice tight with restrained emotion.
“Don’t I?” I challenged, raising an eyebrow. “Isn’t that what you’ve turned me into?” I gestured to the discarded dress on the floor. “A toy for your guests to play with?”
Mr. Harrison’s eyes darkened, his jaw clenched tight. He took a step closer, and even though I knew I should be scared, my body thrummed with a different kind of energy. “You know that’s not all you are to me,” he murmured, his breath hot against my skin. “But if that’s what you want to believe, then go ahead.”
With that said, he turned on his heel and marched past me. I felt the warmth of his body as he moved, a stark contrast to the coldness in his voice. The door slammed shut behind him, the sound echoing through the room like a gunshot, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the pile of discarded clothes on the floor.