Chapter 3

• The first thing I felt was the dull ache in my head. The second was the crisp, sterile scent of antiseptic.
• My eyelids fluttered open, revealing white walls, a dimly lit room, and the faint beeping of a heart monitor.
• I was in a hospital.
• A nurse stood beside me, adjusting the IV drip. Her uniform was neat, her expression unreadable.
• I reached out weakly, tapping her arm. She startled before nodding quickly and rushing out of the room.
• Moments later, a doctor entered, a middle-aged man with glasses perched on his nose. He glanced at my chart, then at me.
• “How are you feeling?” he asked, pressing his fingers lightly against my wrist to check my pulse.
• "What happened?" I croaked, attempting to sit up. A sharp throb shot through my skull, forcing me to sink back onto the pillows with a hiss.
• “Relax, Miss, you were brought in by Mr. Damien Dante. He said he rescued you from an assault. The man who attacked you has been arrested” the doctor said firmly.
• I let out a shaky breath. Relief mixed with disbelief. He’s gone? The weight pressing against my chest lifted slightly.
• “Thank you,” I murmured.
• The doctor gave me a small nod. “You should be thanking Mr. Dante, not me.”
• I blinked. “Where is he?”
• “He should be here soon. He asked us to call him when you woke up, and we already did.” The doctor scribbled something on my chart. “You’re stable now. You’ll be discharged soon.”
• I nodded, though a part of me wished I could stay just a little longer—just enough time to figure out what to do next.
• When the doctor and nurse left, the room fell into silence. I stared at the ceiling, thoughts spiraling.
• The memories of last night crashed down like a tidal wave—the terror, the helplessness, the sickening weight of Mr. David pinning me down. A lone tear slipped from my eye.
• How much longer could I endure this? Every time I thought things couldn’t get worse, life found a new way to prove me wrong. I was exhausted—mentally, physically, emotionally.
• Will things ever change?
• I swallowed back the lump in my throat, but before my thoughts could spiral any further, a very handsome man strode in like he owned the place.
• Power exuded from him like an aura, like he was a king walking through his own domain.
• I shamelessly drank him in—tall, handsome, and devastatingly built, like he’d been handcrafted by sin itself.
• He had a body meant for trouble… or pleasure. The kind that could turn an uptight girl like me into a moron.
• He was like a dangerous demon sent to give women impure thoughts, or he might've been the devil himself.
• He was dressed in a dark nest three-piece suit that fit him too perfectly, his black dress shirt unbuttoned just enough to tease at the strength underneath.
• He moved with slow, deliberate grace, like a man who knew the world bent to his will.
• And damn, the world probably did.
• His gray eyes locked onto mine, unreadable, cold. For a split second, my breath hitched. He was… intense.
• God help me, I was gawking.
• I quickly tore my gaze away, my cheeks warming.
• He walked to my bedside, settling into the chair beside me. The scent of something rich—expensive cologne, probably—lingered around him.
• “It’s good to see you awake,” he said, his voice deep and edged with something unreadable.
• It clicked.
• He’s the one who saved me.
• “Are you Mr. Damien Dante?” I asked, though I already knew the answer.
• “Yes.”
• A rush of gratitude filled my chest. “Oh my God—I-I'm so sorry I didn’t recognize you. Thank you, sir. Thank you for saving me.” My voice wobbled slightly, betraying how much the past twenty-four hours had broken me.
• His expression remained unreadable, but he studied me carefully. “Mind telling me who that man was?”
• My stomach twisted. I hesitated, then looked down. “He… he’s my owner.”
• Damien’s eyes sharpened. “Pardon?”
• Shame burned through me. “He—he bought me to work for him as a maid, but he tried to force himself on me...."
• I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.
• His jaw tightened. “You sell yourself to different men" The disgust in his voice made me flinch.
• “No!” I blurted.
• "What do you expect was going to happen by selling yourself?”
• “I—I was sold to him. By my stepmother and I have no choice but to obey her if I want to survive"
• "Really? ”
• His gaze darkened, but his voice was cold and clipped. “And you call that surviving?”
• “Please do not judge me.” I snapped, anger flaring. “You have no idea what I’ve been through.”
• He leaned back slightly, watching me. “I assume you’ve at least finished college?”
• I swallowed. “I… haven’t been to college yet.”
• His frown deepened. “Then what do you do with the money you earn?”
• I let out a bitter laugh. “I don’t get to keep it. My stepmother takes everything.”
• He was silent for a long moment, his gaze unreadable. Then he reached into a sleek shopping bag beside him and dropped it onto my lap.
• “Here,” he said simply.
• I blinked. “What’s this?”
• “Clothes. I picked them up on my way here.”
• My lips parted slightly in shock.
• No one had ever bought me new clothes since my father died. The only person who ever tried was my best friend, Chloe.
• Every other piece I owned had been Amber’s cast-offs, things she deemed too worn or ugly to wear herself.
• “What’s wrong?” Damien asked, tilting his head slightly. “Don’t tell me you planned on going home in a hospital gown.”
• I snapped out of my daze. “N-no, sir. Thank you.”
• He nodded. “Do you have a phone? You should call your stepmother.”
• I froze.
• If he called my stepmother, she’d drag me back home—and I’d be right back in the cycle of hell. I wasn’t strong enough. Not yet.
• “I… I don’t have my phone,” I lied.
• He arched a brow. “Do you know her number? I’ll call her for you.”
• Panic surged through me. “Please don’t.”
• His expression hardened. “Why?”
• “I just—” I swallowed, my voice cracking. “I don’t want to go home yet. I—I just need to rest.”
• He studied me, as if searching for a lie. “This is a hospital, not a hotel.”
• "I know... I just need a little more time to rest. I promise I'll leave before nightfall."
• His gaze sharpened. "Why are you so afraid to go home?"
• "You wouldn’t understand," I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper. "I just... I can’t. Not yet." My throat tightened as I blinked rapidly, willing the tears away. "Please, just ask the doctor to let me stay a little longer."
• He studied me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. "Where are your parents?"
• A painful lump formed in my throat. "They’re... gone." The word felt heavy, final. A single tear slipped down my cheek, and I quickly wiped it away.
• He exhaled slowly. "What’s your name?"
• "Ayla." My voice wavered. "Ayla Anderson."
• His intense gray eyes never left mine, and for a fleeting second, I wondered if he could see straight through me—to the fear, the exhaustion, the quiet desperation clawing at my insides.
• Finally, he exhaled. “How would you like to earn real money for yourself, Ayla?”
• I snapped my head up. My heart pounded. “What?”
• He leaned forward slightly, his gray eyes gleaming. “I assume you’re good at housework?”
• I nodded cautiously.
• “Work for me.” His voice was smooth, deliberate. “Be my maid. I’ll pay you well—enough that you’ll never have to depend on anyone ever again.”
• I stared at him, my heart pounding in disbelief.
• A way out.
• A chance to escape the chains I’d been forced into.
• A deal with a man who was just as dangerous as he was intriguing.