It started with a schedule.
Printed. Laminated. Hung on the wall beside my bed like it belonged there.
6AM – Wake up
6:30AM – Grooming
7AM – Breakfast with Claiborne
8AM – Etiquette and language class
10AM – Walk in the courtyard
12PM – Lunch
1PM – Ballet or piano
3PM – Rest
4PM – Supervised reading
6PM – Dinner prep
8PM – Bath
9PM – Lights off
I wasn't asked if I agreed to it.
Damien didn't come to tell me about it.
It just appeared like everything else in this house—without warning, without care.
When I stared at the list too long, a quiet knock pulled me back.
Not Damien.
Just the maid. A new one. Nervous.
"Miss… you have ten minutes before Madam Claiborne arrives."
I didn't answer.
I just pulled my hair into a tight bun, threw on the ivory dress she'd ironed to perfection, and slid on the satin shoes that blistered my toes.
At exactly 8AM, I sat upright in the study. Hands folded. Back straight.
Claiborne walked in like a storm in pearls.
"Repeat the proper greeting."
I whispered it.
She smacked the ruler on the desk.
"Louder."
Again.
She corrected my posture. My diction. My silence.
For two hours, I wasn't human.
I was a product.
A presentation.
And when she finally left, satisfied with her torture, the girl inside me screamed.
But not out loud.
Not yet.
After lunch, they made me walk the stone courtyard. Alone. Eyes watched from somewhere behind the glass—always watching.
I didn't run.
I didn't scream.
They wanted to break me.
So I stayed silent.
Until evening came.
Until he came.
Damien stepped into the dining room as the staff cleared the plates. His jacket was off. Sleeves rolled. He looked… tired. But that didn't dull the sharpness in his eyes.
He didn't say hello.
He didn't ask how my day went.
He just sat. Ate. Sipped his wine. And looked at me.
"Eat more," he said.
"I'm full."
"Eat."
I obeyed.
I chewed until my stomach cramped and swallowed past the ache. He watched every bite like a hawk watches prey.
When the silence stretched too long, he stood, walked around the table, and lifted my chin with his fingers.
"You're learning obedience," he murmured.
There was something dark in his voice—approval laced with poison.
"But it's not real yet."
I held my breath.
His thumb brushed the corner of my lip.
"I want your mind. Your fear. Your surrender."
He pulled away and walked out before I could blink.
That night, I cried in the bath.
Not loud. Not messy.
Just quiet sobs that fell into the water, where no one could hear.
Because I was becoming what they wanted.
And I didn't know if the girl I used to be was still inside me.