The sunlight was soft when I finally woke, sliding through the large windows and brushing across the edge of the bed. My body ached in places I didn't know could hurt, and the events of the previous night came back in a rush. The car ride, the dress, his presence, the table, and his words.
I sat up slowly, running a hand through my hair. The room was quiet, still, and for a moment I felt the weight of being completely alone. The city outside was alive, but inside this room, it felt like time had slowed to a crawl.
A soft knock at the door pulled me from my thoughts.
"Come in," I called, my voice hoarse from sleeping.
The door opened, and the same woman from last night stepped inside, pushing a couple of my bags along a polished trolley.
"Good morning, Miss. Your things have arrived," she said politely.
"Thank you. What's your name?" I asked, still adjusting to the surreal reality of waking up in someone else's mansion.
"My name is Selene," she replied. "I'll be helping you while you're here."
"Selene," I repeated, tasting the name. It sounded solid and calm. It was almost comforting in comparison to everything else. "Thank you."
She offered a small nod. "I'll be downstairs if you need anything else," she added before leaving, her footsteps quiet on the polished floor.
Alone, I turned my attention to the bags. They were neatly packed, each item folded with care, but the unfamiliar smell of the mansion mingled with the faint scent of my old home. I hesitated, then opened the first bag. Clothes I had once worn, shoes, and a few personal items greeted me. My hands trembled slightly as I dug through, searching for something I always kept close. A small picture of my mother, the one I slept beside every night at home.
My fingers brushed against the frame, and I froze. The glass was shattered. Someone had already packed it carefully in a small box, the image of my mother lying beneath shards of broken glass. My chest tightened.
I reached for the edge of the glass and cut my finger on the jagged corner. Pain flared sharply, and I hissed, pressing my hand against the bedspread. A small bead of blood welled up quickly.
"Selene!" I called, voice cracking. "I… I cut myself. Can you---"
Moments later, she appeared at the door, calm as ever, with a small first aid kit in hand. She knelt beside the bed, helping me clean the cut and wrap it carefully.
"Thank you," I murmured, wincing as the sting of antiseptic touched the wound.
"Small cut," Selene said simply. "It'll heal quickly."
"I'll take care of this." Selene gestured towards the shattered glass. She walked out and appeared with a trash bag, carefully throwing in the broken pieces of glass.
"Thank you, Selene." I smiled, trying to steady my racing heart.
"I'll be downstairs if you need anything else," she repeated, her tone neutral but efficient.
The picture of my mother, broken yet preserved in the box, felt like a cruel reminder of everything I had lost or everything that had been taken from me. Even in this vast, beautiful mansion, my past had been neatly packed away, just like my belongings.
I sank back against the pillows, letting the quiet of the room wash over me for a moment. Daniel wasn't here, and for now, there was a sliver of solitude I could cling to. But the thought of him returning, of being back under his gaze and control, made my pulse quicken again.
I glanced at the dress on the chair, still neatly folded from last night, and at the sunlight spilling across the floor. This mansion, this life, and this man. None of it felt real. Yet it was all very, very real.
Alone in the room, I let myself breathe, even for just a moment. The world outside the windows continued its steady rhythm, but inside, I was learning how to survive in a world that had been thrust upon me without warning.
Slowly, I started unpacking more of my things, trying to familiarize myself with the contents of the bags. Clothes, shoes, small personal items but none of it made the place feel like home. I kept returning to the small box containing my mother's picture, staring at it quietly. The image slightly bent, but it was still her. Somehow, that small piece of my old life grounded me, reminding me who I was amidst all the control, the wealth, and the fear.
I pressed my hand gently against the frame inside the box, imagining the warmth of her smile and the soft, comforting way she used to say my name. It made the mansion feel colder, emptier, yet strangely motivating. I couldn't let myself break completely. Not now. Not when I didn't even know what this life would demand of me next.
I held the box closer to my chest.