Athena's POV:
I stood in front of the living room mirror, staring back at my reflection. There was a small, raw injury at the corner of my mouth that stung sharply every time I tried to open my mouth. I brought a glass of water to my lips, took a careful sip, and swallowed my medication.
"Hmm," Yannick groaned from the couch. He had passed out there after drowning himself in whiskey. I heard the sound of him shifting; he was waking up. As usual, I had already cleaned the entire house and hidden the furniture he'd smashed during his rage into the storage room.
"What time is it?" he asked, rubbing his forehead aggressively as if trying to massage away a hangover.
"It's nine."
He looked at me with a heavy frown, scanning the room. He was likely wondering how he'd managed to fall asleep in the middle of a rant about Damon Royal.
He had come to the conclusion long ago that I was his source of comfort, finding it easy to drift off whenever I was around. He was an idiot. I couldn't kill him, if I did, his men would immediately hurt my sisters, but that didn't mean he wasn't dying anyway. He has been consuming some pills for four years now; it was only a matter of time.
"Get me something to eat." He stood up and cracked his neck. He searched the area, grabbed his suit jacket and phone, and stormed toward the bedroom. I sighed heavily, walked to the kitchen, and began reheating the food I had ordered an hour ago.
I made sure to spit in it before setting it on the dining table for him. By the time he emerged, freshened up and dressed in one of the spare suits I kept hanging in the closet, he looked exactly like the Yannick Orion seen in the newspapers—the polished, superficial version.
Did the public know he treats women like trash? Did they know he traffics young girls, and that my sisters are at risk of suffering the same fate as me? Just another piece of property bought by a heartless man.
"How is it going with the Royals?" He shoved a piece of waffle into his mouth and looked up at me. I stood to the side, leaning against the wall and watching him. I cleared my throat.
"I... I had breakfast with them this week."
He nodded in approval. "Was Damon there?"
I shook my head, and the tension in his brow relaxed. He wanted me to get close to the family, yet he didn't want me anywhere near Damon. He couldn't even keep his own demands straight.
"That Stephanie Royal has a big mouth," he muttered. "She'll spill every one of their family secrets if you just ask."
My fists clenched. I didn't want to ask. Stephanie and I had nothing in common, not a single thing, but she still insisted on being my friend. For years, I haven't had a real friend. Aside from the girls at the club, I've been alone. The last friend I had, two years ago, ended up as a Jane Doe buried in an unmarked grave just because she encouraged me to stand up for myself. She had been willing to drag Yannick through the mud once she saw how he treated me.
My Layla. She died because of me. That was the lesson Yannick taught me: never tell anyone about the reality of our relationship. The relationship of a master and his servant.
"Try to find out something about that new system Royal Technology is launching in two months," he continued. "The public thinks it's just household security... but what does it do exactly? You understand?"
I thought he said I was too stupid to understand business, so why was he asking me now? I simply nodded. I knew once he finished breakfast, he would leave, and I didn't want to do anything to slow him down.
He eventually pushed the half-eaten plate aside and walked over to me. He stood there, staring at me with a look that suggested he was trying to solve a puzzle.
His hand moved toward my face and I flinched. I forced myself to relax as he brushed my cheek with the back of his hand. "You're damn pretty," he muttered. He meant it as a compliment, but to me, it was a curse. The one thing about men is that they all want the most beautiful things, and because of my face, I became a bargaining chip.
Even my uncle never dared to scratch my face when he hit me, nor would he let his friends do it. He would always yell,
"Not the face! Don't scratch her! She's too pretty, and pretty means money."
"How did someone this stupid get a face like this?" He smacked his lips, his thumb brushing the corner of my mouth which was still red from where he'd struck me yesterday. Then his gaze dropped to my body. "And a body like this."
When he was done inspecting his "investment," as he called me, he leaned in and pressed a peck to my lips before finally leaving the penthouse. I scrubbed my mouth harshly the second he was gone, desperate to wash away the feel of him. I didn't even care that I was causing myself more pain.
Hell, I was ready to stab myself, to cut my own flesh and draw blood, if it meant I could finally be free from Yannick Orion.
-
I walked over to the couch, pulled out my recording device, and played the audio from last night. Mr. Anderson's confession played out like music to my ears.
I chuckled and leaned my head back. The image of Damon standing up at the club flashed through my mind. He had stood up when I did, and for a second, I wondered if he was actually going to come over and save me from that disgusting man.
Then I laughed out loud at the thought. There is no such thing as being saved. A man would rather walk on hot coals than save a woman from another man.
ding
The doorbell rang, pulling me out of my thoughts.
I walked to the door and took a peek through the hole. My shoulders relaxed when I saw it was just Steph. I pulled the door open, and she immediately stepped forward, pulling me into a tight hug.
"Oh my god... are you okay?" she asked, squeezing me. My brows furrowed; why was she asking me that?
I broke the hug and stared at her. "I heard what happened to you at the gentleman's club," she spat, her voice dripping with anger. "I swear, I won't spare that old man!"