He owns me…
Aveline lowered her head until her chin nearly touched her chest.
Theron's hand still rested on her shoulder, heavy and unmovable, while her own fingers curled tightly around the edge of the table. Her nails scraped softly against the wood as she tried to contain the surge of indignation rising inside her.
She used to be a lady.
A real lady.
Her parents had raised her in this very mansion, teaching her grace, dignity, and pride. Servants used to bow when she walked past them. Guests used to greet her with warm smiles.
Then her parents died.
And everything had been stripped away from her.
She didn't even know who had killed them.
She had been reduced to this… someone who had to lower her voice, hide her thoughts, and carefully measure every word she spoke just to survive another day.
A slave.
The word echoed painfully in her mind.
Her throat tightened, but she refused to cry. Not here. Not in front of Theron. And definitely not in front of Theodore.
