~Clara’s POV~
Flashback…..
The echo of the gala’s music was still ringing in my ears, a ghostly sound that contrasted sharply with the violence of the present.
“You embarrassed me! Now Evelyn Vance wants you? What did you do, you little whore?” Julian’s barked, his voice almost likely a physical assault.
He dragged me into the room and threw me.
I felt the air leave my lungs as I stumbled, my heels catching on the plush carpet before I landed hard on the edge of the bed.
I sat there, trembling, my mind a fractured mess of confusion.
I searched my memory, desperate to find a moment where I might have crossed paths with the Ice Queen.
I hadn’t spoken a word to her or even stood in her shadow.
What could I have possibly done to catch the eye of a woman who looked at the world with such coldness.
And what did “want me” even mean?
“I’m sorry… I don’t understand what you mean,” I whispered.
My voice was a thin, betraying the terror pulsing through my veins.
“YOU NEVER UNDERSTAND ANYTHING! NEVER!”
He roared the words, his face contorting into something unrecognizable, something monstrous.
I instinctively squeezed my eyes shut, my shoulders hunching toward my ears as I braced for the impact.
I knew the rhythm of his rage.
First the scream, then the strike.
I waited for the sting of his palm or the heavy weight of his fist.
One second.
Two seconds.
Nothing came.
No blow, no pain.
Only the frantic, heavy sound of his breathing and the rhythmic thud-thud-thud of his expensive Italian loafers as he began to pace the length of the room like a caged animal.
“You’re lucky your presence in this house has finally been useful for once,” he cussed, his voice dropping to a dangerous, vibrating low.
I kept my gaze fixed on the floor, watching his shadow move back and forth.
The more he spoke, the less the word made sense, but I knew better than to ask for clarification.
In this house, curiosity was met with a bruised lip.
“Pack your things,” he commanded, stopping abruptly.
“Starting tomorrow morning, you are leaving with Evelyn Vance to her estate.
“You’ll be there for a year. And after that… after she’s done with you… you’ll crawl back here.”
For the first time that night, I looked up.
I searched his face for a sign of a cruel joke, a twisted prank.
But his eyes were dead—flat, cold, and entirely serious.
The realization hit me.
He doesn’t see me as his wife nor even a human being.
I had become a bargaining chip.
A piece of equity in a business transaction I hadn’t even known was happening.
The horror of it broke my fragile heart into a million pieces.
To be owned by Julian was a nightmare, but to be “collected” by Evelyn Vance, the woman the entire city spoke of in hushed, fearful tones felt like being traded from one monster to another.
Was this truly any different from being sold at an auction?
“And don’t you dare take any of the designer clothes, or the jewelry, or any of the things I bought for you. Do you understand me?” He leaned down, his face inches from mine, his eyes burning with a petty, vengeful greed.
“You leave here with exactly what you came with. Nothing more.”
I nodded quickly.
I would have agreed to leave naked if it meant escaping his reach for a single hour.
He spent the next hour berating me, his words a toxic slurry of insults and reminders of my “worthlessness.” Finally, he turned, strode out of the room, and slammed the heavy door with such force the mirrors rattled on the walls.
I finally let out the breath I had been holding, my lungs aching from the effort.
I clutched my chest, trying to steady the frantic beating of my heart.
And then, in the silence of the room, a strange, forbidden feeling began to bloom in the pit of my stomach.
It was relief.
For at least a year, I wouldn’t have to wake up wondering if today would be the day I ended up back in the hospital.
For a year, the constant dehumanization, the suffocating weight of the Sterling name, and the shadow of Julian’s hand would be gone.
Evelyn Vance might be dangerous, I whispered to the empty room.
She might be cold, and she might be the Ice Queen…
but I doubt anyone could be worse than Julian.
He’s the devil himself.
With trembling hands, I stood up and reached for my old suitcase.
It was time to pack the only things that were truly mine.
I didnt own much anyway, just a worn out sketchbook, a few charcoal pencils, and a faded childhood photo of me and my late parents.
These were my treasures, however miserable.
Despite my terror, a tiny, almost irrational part of my mind drifts back to Evelyn’s gaze at the gala.
It wasn’t pity that I felt when she looked at me.
It wasn’t lust.
It was something…
else.
———————The present———————————
My eyes, fixed on the window, tracked the arrival of a sleek, black Rolls Royce.
It came to a stop in front of the porch.
The car door swung open, and Evelyn Vance emerged, bathed in the afternoon sun.
She wore a custom-tailored white suit, the crisp fabric a stark contrast to the car and this crumbling mansion.
She exuded an aura of cold perfection, an air of indifference that seemed to absorb the shameless posturing Julian and his father were attempting before her.
“Time to go,” I whispered to myself.
Grabbing my small, suitcase and the familiar, comfortable sling backpack the only possessions that was mine, I left the room without looking back.
My heart was beating fast against my ribs with every step I took towards the grand staircase.
I felt an overwhelming urge to collapse, to sink to the floor and let the tears I’d held back all day finally fall.
But Julian’s threat from earlier that morning echoed in my mind, a cold, sharp reminder:
“You better compose yourself properly so that this deal goes through without any hitch, otherwise your life here would be far worse than it was.”
‘I cannot believe this has become my life,’ I thought
Lost in the turmoil of my thoughts, I didn’t realize I had completed my descent until I was standing before Evelyn.
She looked up, her sharp eyes immediately locking onto mine.
The intensity of her gaze fell unnerving and absolute.
Standing so close to her felt unreal, like stepping into a dream.
She was insanely beautiful, yes, but it was more than that.
She smelled of wealth, but more profoundly, of power, of a world that was everything I was not.
The realization, stark and humbling, made me involuntarily lower my gaze, my eyes falling to the floor.
Then, I heard her voice.
It wasn’t loud, but it was direct, unwavering, and carried an authority that silenced the chaos in my mind.
“I hope you packed all your belongings,” she said, “because you’re never coming back here.”
Her words sliced through the thick knot of fear that had been constricting my chest.
And instantly, a strange, unfamiliar sensation washed over me.
‘This nightmare might actually be over,’ I thought.
Without a backward glance at Julian or his father, I followed behind Miss Evelyn.
A man who I later learned was her Secretary, Francis, led is out of the mansion.
I held my breath as the car slowly drove out of the Sterling property, the imposing gates closing behind us like a final punctuation mark.
The car ride to her estate felt suffocatingly silent.
It was too quiet, a deafening stillness that was unnerving compared to the constant noise of Julian’s anger or the hushed whispers of their servants.
And the close proximity inside the car made me hyper-aware of her presence beside me.
She sat with an effortless grace, completely composed.
Often, I would steal a hesitant glance at her, watching her engrossed in her tablet, her fingers deftly answering what I assumed were important emails.
Seeing someone like her, so powerful and self-possessed, made me feel insignificant.
Does she even notice me?
I wondered, the indifference she projected a new, chilling kind of terror.
Anyhow, I eventually turned my attention away from the perfect businesswoman and focused on the window.
I observed the wealthy districts whizzing by— the glass skyscrapers that pierced the sky, the sprawling estates that spoke of generations of wealth, the tranquil light reflecting on a nearby fountain.
It all felt utterly alien to me, a landscape I had only ever seen in magazines.
I was momentarily lost in the view, when I felt a distinct bump on the road.
The jolt was sudden and sharp, and it instantly sent a violent flashback through me, an ugly flashback of my experience at the Sterlings mansion.
My breath hitched in my throat.
The PTSD was so intense that I felt as if I were drowning, gasping for air in the enclosed space of the car.
Evelyn, who had been quietly engrossed in her tablet, briefly glanced in my direction.
Her expression was unreadable, though there a fleeting micro-expression before she returned her attention to the screen.
But moments later, the window beside me smoothly wound down.
A rush of much-needed fresh air whizzed into the car, offering reprieve from the stifling anxiety.
“Thank you,” I managed to whisper, however my words were met with silence.
Our journey to the her estate wasn’t exceptionally long, as we arrived just an hour after leaving the Sterlings.
But my goodness, her home looked like nothing I had ever seen.
It smelled of expensive luxury, yes, but beneath the wealth, it felt strangely sterile and cold.
‘Cold, just like its owner,’ I chuckled inwardly.
Evelyn stepped out of the car with her usual commanding grace, and I immediately followed.
The butler, James, whose name I’d overheard, greeted us at the entrance.
He led us inside.
‘This isn’t just a house; it’s a fortress,’ I thought, my gaze sweeping over the vast, art-filled rooms, the impossibly high ceilings, and the panoramic views of the city lights.
James then led me down a different corridor, away from where Evelyn had disappeared, presumably towards her private quarters.
A fresh wave of nervousness washed over me as the knot in my stomach returned.
Finally, he stopped before an unmarked door.
He produced a key card and swiped it across an unseen reader.
With a soft click, the lock disengaged, and the door swung inward.
“This is your room, Miss Clara,” he said.
As he spoke, he extended his hand, pressing the key card into my palm.
The subtle act of autonomy, the simple gesture of being handed the key to a private, locked space that was mine, left me completely speechless.
“This is the closet,” James continued, drawing open a double door.
It revealed not just a closet, but an entire walk-in room, filled with expensive clothes and accessories.
I let out an audible gasp.
Inside, racks of designer clothes, silks, cashmeres, crisp linens lined the walls, alongside shelves displaying rows of shoes and handbags that probably cost more than my anything Julian had ever bought me.
“These are your clothes, Miss Clara,” he explained, his gaze sweeping over the collection.
“Madame Evelyn expects you to pick from any of them to wear.
They are yours to keep, for the duration of your stay.” The words “yours to keep” felt alien, almost too generous to trust.
He then led me to another closed door within the suite.
“This is the bathroom.” When he opened it, I stared.
It was a spacious space, at least twice the size of my entire room back at the Sterling mansion.
A freestanding, claw-foot tub gleamed under soft lighting, a separate rainfall shower that promised pure indulgence, and the counter was laden with expensive toiletries that smelled faintly of citrus and jasmine.
Before making his final departure, James patiently showed me the rest of the spacious room.
He demonstrated how to operate some of the advanced technologies in the bathroom; a digital shower panel, a heated towel rack and even helped me set the lock system on the inside of the room.
Every detail was designed for comfort, for security, for a luxury I had never imagined.
Finally, the soft click of the main door closing behind him announced his departure.
I was alone.
Alone in this new, impossibly luxurious room.
The silence that settled around me was like a soft blanket for my erratically beating heart.
I sank onto the edge of the queen-sized bed, its plush mattress yielding softly beneath me.
I looked around, taking in the serene blue walls, the city lights twinkling in the distance through the panoramic window.
A deep uncertainty, heavy and complex, settled in my soul.
Is this truly freedom?
Or was it just a different kind of cage, one far more exquisite, far more comfortable in its trappings, but ultimately, just as inescapable as the one I had just fled?
The question hung in the quiet air, unanswered, as I contemplated my new reality.