The sunlight bled through the grand windows of Annelise's luxurious dining room, a room that once echoed with elegant dinner parties, laughter, and success. Now, it reeked of mockery and humiliation.
Five women...models Annelise once considered peers...sat like queens around the marble dining table. Yvette wore a form-fitting emerald satin dress with golden tassels, her nails sharp and red. Rosa draped herself in a silk lavender robe, a silver necklace dancing on her collarbone. Julienne, always theatrical, flaunted a black leather trench coat with velvet lining. Cleo opted for a crystal-beaded corset top and a skirt that shimmered like moonlight. Vivienne, smug and composed, wore a tailored crimson blazer and nothing underneath but a lace bralette, legs crossed confidently.
Their eyes glinted with cruelty as Annelise moved quietly across the kitchen. She was barely recognizable. Her once radiant skin was marred by bruises....deep purple blooms on her arms, red finger marks etched on her cheeks, and lashes striping her thighs. She wore nothing but a tattered camisole and translucent underwear. Her hair was a tangled mess, falling over her hollowed eyes. She didn't dare look at them. She had stopped looking at mirrors.
As she reached to serve them the steaming bowls of soup, Merci entered. Her footsteps sharp. In her hand was a glass of cold water. Without a word, she tipped the glass over Annelise's head. Water streamed down her bruised body, soaking the last of her dignity.
"Oops," Merci chuckled. "I thought you needed to cool off."
Yvette laughed. "Honestly, Annelise. You're the best entertainment we've had in weeks."
Rosa took a spoonful of the soup, then gestured to Annelise. "Come here. Hand."
Annelise hesitated.
"Now."
Trembling, she extended her hand. Rosa slowly poured the hot soup onto her open palm. Annelise bit her lip so hard blood trickled from it, a stifled scream caught in her throat. But Cleo lunged from behind and clasped her hand over Annelise's mouth, whispering venomously, "Don't ruin the fun, darling."
Merci held up her phone, recording the whole thing, zooming in on the tears spilling down Annelise's cheeks.
Far away, in a grand, opulent theater, Matteo leaned back on his velvet chair, watching the livestream with amusement. The screen flickered like a private play....his own orchestration of pain. Eliane stood by his side in a frilly, humiliating maid costume, complete with a white headband and ankle socks. Her eyes were fixed on the floor.
"You're looking really beautiful in this dress, Professor," Matteo said, sipping his wine.
Eliane didn't respond.
He grabbed her wrist and yanked her closer. "I said, you're looking really beautiful. Say something."
She trembled. "Y...Yes, sir."
A door creaked. A woman in a sharp suit entered.
"Mr. Matteo, your guests are waiting in the office."
Matteo waved his hand. "Let them wait."
The woman turned, but not before shooting Eliane a scornful glare...one Eliane felt deep in her chest. Something about her… dangerous.
"Hey, professor," Matteo said, his arm slinking around her waist. "Why don't you go and entertain them? They've come a long way to see you."
Eliane flinched. "Please.....… I'm begging you. Don't make me…..... don't make me go out there. Please…... not like this."
A tear rolled down her cheek. She fell to her knees, clutching Matteo's hand. "I'll do anything else. Anything. Just….... let me keep what little is left of my name."
He crouched beside her, cupping her chin. "Anything?"
Eliane nodded frantically.
"Then become my personal dancer. I'll keep you hidden. I promise. No one else will see you…... unless I want them to."
The shame that crossed her face could've melted steel. She nodded.
Back in the mansion, Annelise collapsed on the floor once the women were done toying with her. Her back ached. Her palms stung. Her soul felt scraped raw.
She dragged herself into her bedroom and curled into a fetal position, her chest shaking with silent sobs.
"I have to leave," she whispered to herself. "I have to get out of here… or I'll die in this house."
But where could she go?
No friends. No family who could help her. She knew what happened to girls who were desperate in this city.....they were used and tossed away. She couldn't afford another trap.
Merci walked in, dressed casually now, holding a newspaper.
"Here," she said, throwing it on the bed.
Annelise didn't answer.
"I said...here. Might be useful for trash like you."
She left.
Annelise unrolled the paper with shaking fingers. Her eyes scanned the classified section until they stopped at a small, almost invisible ad:
Maid Wanted. Live-In. Immediate Start. No ID required. Safe quarters provided.
A phone number followed.
Something inside her stirred...not quite hope, but the idea of escaping this room, this house, this nightmare. She wiped her tears. Her lips trembled as she whispered to herself, "Maybe I'll survive. Just maybe."
But she didn't know the mansion where she'd be employed next…... was one she would never truly leave.