Chapter 3

• Claudia
• After a long bath, I sit in front of the huge mirror in my room, wrapped in a white robe. I observe every detail of my face, which shows the youth of my life countering the centuries of solitude and confinement within this fortress. My white skin, almost milky, shows the need for the sun’s rays on my body. It has been so long since I’ve been under its light that I have forgotten how it feels.
• I stand up with anxiety forming a knot in the pit of my stomach. I pick up a book that I have been reading, but my eyes constantly stray towards the dress. Understanding the reading is almost impossible; the idea of finally meeting my husband today and maintaining appropriate behavior fills me with stress. I am usually impulsive, I say what I think at the moment I think it, I hold nothing back, and if something bothers me, I simply express it without caring about anything or anyone around me.
• I have an imperative need to confront him about his infidelities and the fact that he treats me like a thing, an object without emotions or thoughts of my own. I hate him for what he did to me; he stole my youth and my freedom to confine me in a castle like a criminal who is innocent of her damn luck.
• I throw the book on the bed as I walk towards the dress. It is beautiful; I know it will fit me perfectly. I am tall and slim with the right proportions in the right places; my long hair is a medium chestnut with natural highlights of ash blonde with waves from mid to tip, and my eyes are a bright honey color. My lips are provocative, as more than one person has told me in the past.
• When I was still free.
• “Madam, stop biting your lip; it is distasteful and the gentleman will not like it if you do it in front of the guests,” says Mrs. Clara, standing in front of me.
• I didn’t feel when she entered the room; I am a bundle of nerves. I have to calm down before I mess up and my husband throws me into one of the dungeons that this mansion surely has. I have been pacing for half an hour trying to think of something other than my tormentor, but it’s impossible.
• “I can’t help it,” I whimper.
• “I brought you some tea; maybe it will help calm your anxiety,” she offers me the cup. “They have arrived to style and make up you,” she informs.
• I didn’t realize so much time had passed.
• “Thank you, Mrs. Clara,” I say, sipping the green tea.
• One thing is certain, I won’t be able to hold back my tongue and at some point I will make a comment that will most likely be distasteful to Mr. Mobasseri. It’s inevitable; no one has ever been able to restrain me when it comes to spewing venom, and being a product like I am, I feel resentment towards him and the life I was dealt.
• “It’s time for you to start getting ready for dinner,” I nods, and she ushers in a gentleman.
• “She is beautiful!” he exclaims upon seeing me. “My work is not so necessary when you have a perfect face like this,” he observes me in detail from different angles. “An up do with a natural and blended makeup will make you look like a goddess,” he says, looking into my eyes for the first time.
• By his manners, I suppose he is more of a girl than a boy, but I am discreet and do not comment on anything. I confess that I am pleased that it was him who came and not a female stylist. He makes me sit in front of the mirror again while he proceeds to dry my hair until it is extra smooth, and then he gathers it all up in a high bun, pulling my hair so much that I feel like my eyes are on the sides of my head. A high ponytail that reaches the beginning of my hips, two years without cutting it is no wonder that it is that long.
• He places a brooch with black stones that sparkle beautifully around the bun.
• “Now, dear Mrs. Mobasseri, the makeup,” he announces with a smug smile.
• “Are you sure the hairstyle will go well with the dress?” I question.
• “Of course, dear, the back neckline must look this way,” he asserts. “You have exquisite skin, worthy of admiration,” he assures.
• “Mrs. Clara, do you think Mr. Mobasseri will like it?” I care very little about his approval. However, my freedom depends on him being pleased.
• “The gentleman will be pleased,” I hate how everyone in this damn place worships him.
• I will gain the trust of everyone and make them believe that my ideas of escaping have been forgotten. In this way, one day, I will leave this hell without looking back.
• I feel the texture of different products on my face, brushes passing freely from side to side highlighting the prominent features of my face. As he works, I glance at myself in the mirror and find it incredible how good makeup can work on an unfortunate mortal like me.
• “You look like a goddess descended from heaven,” he points out, pleased with his masterpiece.
• “Thank you,” I murmur, feeling my cheeks burn with embarrassment.
• “What sweetness! A beautiful woman blushing in the twenty-first century,” the sarcastic tone doesn’t sit well with me, but I let it pass. The reality Is that many women in this era are not very modest.
• “The dress is missing,” Mrs. Clara says, breaking the silence that followed the previous statement.
• “Thank you very much for the makeup and hairstyle; you may leave now,” I demand, reminding Mrs. Clara that she must respect me.
• The truth is, her comment still bothers me.
• “Madam, he will help us with the dress…”
• “I have ordered him to leave,” I say in an authoritative tone.
• Thanks to my mother, I learned to instill fear or intimidate without losing control, demonstrating the coldness that my social position grants me. My voice devoid of emotions and the cold gaze through the mirror as I blatantly ignore her presence confirm what I just said.
• “As the lady orders,” his voice comes out tight between his lips.
• I fix a ruthless gaze on him, dropping all the weight of my anger on his shoulders. The anger that I have been accumulating for days, weeks, months, and years.
• With my gaze, I point to the door before turning it back to him. He practically runs out. I do not like to treat people badly. However, I hate when they make insinuations about my personality. With this, he will learn that despite seeing me as pretty and angelic. The truth is that I am an anaconda ready to rip the head off anyone who dares to cross me.
• “You shouldn’t have done that,” Mrs. Clara scolds me.
• “I think that’s why you trained me like a monkey,” I reply.
• “Do you want me to help you with the dress?” she changes the subject.
• I shouldn’t behave like this with her after all; she’s just another employee who follows the orders her boss gives her. I suppose it’s anxiety that has taken hold of me at this moment.
• “Please,” I ask.
• “I will go get…”
• “Only you,” I interrupt her.
• “If you insist,” she says, taking the dress to help me get into it.
• “I insist,” I declare.
• Seeing how tight the dress is, I have put on lace underwear to hide it. I’m not wearing a bra; my firm breasts fit perfectly in the garment; panties and stockings are all I have underneath. I feel like a diva dressed in red; the fine and delicate accessories that Mrs. Clara brought me play a discreet role in my whole outfit; elegance is probably perceived in that way.
• “Did he bring a necklace?” I ask, feeling my bare chest.
• “The gentleman only sent the clothes you are wearing,” she says.
• Damn, he decides everything in my life as he pleases.
• Suddenly, there is movement in the house. Soft music plays, and I realize that the guests are starting to arrive. I stand up after Mrs. Clara helps me buckle the high heels; a slight tremor takes over my body; it seems that nerves are present with greater intensity.
• “You must stay here until the gentleman arrives,” she informs.
• “It seems ridiculous; he will arrive alone. Why can’t I wait for him downstairs?” I shout.
• “The gentleman will arrive from behind and go straight to his room to change clothes,” she explains, generating a new doubt in me. “You two come down together; it’s the right thing to do,” she finishes.
• “To his room?” I question. I have never seen a piece of clothing that belongs to him in this huge room.
• “Yes, Mr. Mobasseri has his own room. You occupy the one next to the main one.” If this one, which is so big, is not the main one, I don’t want to imagine the dimensions of another room.
• “At least the infamous one is shame, and he won’t dare to sleep in the same bed as me,” I comment with a smile of satisfaction.
• “You don’t know what you’re saying.” She sighs, giving up and leaving without waiting for anything else from me.
• I practice my walk with the immense heels. It’s been a long time since I wore them, and now they seem to cause me a bit of discomfort. I look at myself in the mirror as I walk back and forth in the room, and I suppose that when I go down the stairs, I will have to be careful not to trip over the dress train. I would die of embarrassment if I fall in front of everyone.