Chapter five

I slowly come to, groggily opening my eyes to find the door's soft light shining on my face. Darius's low, commanding voice cuts through my haze: "Walk to the room."

I'm too exhausted to resist or argue, so I comply, my legs moving mechanically as I follow him. As I walk, I catch a glimpse of Darius's face, and for a moment, I think I see a small, satisfied smile playing on his lips. "You're a fast learner," he says.

As soon as we enter the room, his demeanor darkens, his voice taking on a harsh tone. "You're my property now," he growls. "No one touches you, except me."

My anger flares, but hunger and fatigue keep me silent. I'm too tired to fight back, too tired to care. Darius's gaze lingers on me, his eyes seeming to bore into my skin.

"Hit the shower," he commands finally.

I long to collapse onto the bed, to sleep for a week, but Darius's words hold a hint of promise. "Hit the shower, and remain a good girl, and you'll eat."

The promise of food is enough to get me moving. I'll do whatever it takes to get something to eat. With a surge of resentment, I head towards the shower, Darius's parting words echoing in my mind.

Sure! Here's a continuation that keeps the tension high and stays true to her perspective:

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The bathroom is colder than I expect, the tiles chilling my bare feet as I step inside. I turn the faucet and let the water run, hoping the sound will drown out the racing thoughts in my head.

His property? The words repeat like a cruel chant. I grip the sink tightly, staring at my reflection. My face looks hollow, tired — like someone who’s barely holding on.

I strip off my clothes and step under the lukewarm spray. The water stings as it hits my skin, washing away the dirt and sweat. But no amount of scrubbing can erase the feeling of Darius’s gaze — that possessive glint that made my stomach turn.

Stay calm, I tell myself. Get through tonight.

When I finish, I wrap a towel tightly around me and step back into the room. Darius is there, lounging on a chair near the bed, a plate of food resting on the table beside him. The scent of warm bread and roasted meat makes my stomach twist painfully.

"Good girl," Darius murmurs, his eyes scanning me from head to toe. He gestures to the plate. "Eat."

I hesitate, unsure if this is some twisted game. But my hunger wins. I move quickly to the table, ignoring the way his gaze lingers on me. Each bite feels like a small victory, but I can’t enjoy it — not with him watching.

"You’re learning," Darius says after a while, his voice low and almost... pleased. "Keep it that way."

I don’t answer. I just focus on my food, pretending I can’t feel the storm brewing between us.

The food barely settles in my stomach before exhaustion pulls at me again. My limbs feel like lead, my eyelids heavy enough to slam shut on their own. I push the plate aside and drag myself toward the bed.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Darius’s cold voice stops me mid-step.

“I just... I need to sleep,” I mumble, barely able to form the words.

“Who told you it’s your bedtime?” His tone is sharp, laced with cruel amusement.

I turn to face him, my body swaying with fatigue. “Darius, please...”

His eyes darken. “That’s Prince Darius to you,” he snaps. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

I clench my fists, swallowing down the sharp reply bubbling in my throat. Don’t push him, I remind myself. Just survive tonight.

“Fine,” I whisper. “Prince Darius... can I please sleep now?”

He leans back in his chair, arms crossed, like he’s savoring my struggle. “Tch... Don't let me get started,” he mutters. “You think you’ve had it rough?” He scoffs, his eyes narrowing. “You don’t know what cruelty is — not yet.”

His words send a chill down my spine. I thought I knew what cruelty looked like — I thought I could be cruel when I needed to be. But this... this is different. Darius isn’t just wicked — he’s cold, ruthless, and utterly heartless.

“You’re lucky I’m feeling generous tonight,” he says with a sneer. “Get in bed before I change my mind.”

I don’t hesitate. I stumble toward the mattress and practically collapse onto it, too drained to care about his twisted idea of power. The last thing I hear before sleep pulls me under is his voice — low, sharp, and laced with a warning.

“You’ll learn soon enough... you’re mine now.”

I barely remember falling asleep, but morning comes far too soon. The harsh sound of Darius’s voice jolts me awake.

“Get up,” he barks.

I groan and bury my face deeper into the pillow. “Just... five more minutes...”

“Get. Up.” His voice cuts like ice. Something hits the bed — a crumpled envelope — and I force myself to sit up, blinking against the morning light.

“What’s this?” My voice is hoarse, my body still aching with exhaustion.

“A letter,” Darius says flatly. “From your parents.”

My heart skips a beat. “Since when?”

He shrugs, his expression indifferent. “I forgot to give it to you.”

Forgot? My fingers tighten around the envelope. “You forgot?” I repeat, my voice rising. “You had this the whole time?”

“It’s just a letter,” he says dismissively.

“A letter from my family!” I snap, climbing out of bed. “You don’t get to decide when I hear from them!”

Darius’s eyes narrow, that cruel glint flashing in his gaze. “Watch your tone.”

“No!” The anger spills out of me like water bursting from a dam. “You’ve been nothing but cold, wicked, and heartless since I got here! You think you can treat me like your property, but you’re not—”

“Enough!” His roar cuts through my words like a blade. He steps forward, and I instinctively step back. His presence is suffocating, his stare sharp enough to pin me in place.

“Don’t test me,” he growls. His voice drops lower, colder. “You’re lucky I’m tolerating this much.” His eyes lock on mine, unflinching. “Next time you raise your voice at me, you’ll regret it.”

The threat lingers in the air like a storm cloud, and I know better than to challenge it. My breath stumbles out unevenly as I lower my gaze.

“Good girl,” Darius mutters before turning away, his footsteps fading as he leaves the room.

I clutch the letter tightly, fingers trembling. My pulse is still racing, but I force myself to focus and tear the envelope open.

The handwriting is my father’s — sharp and rigid, just like him.

We’re sorry, it begins. We did what we had to for the family, for the empire. Times were hard, and this was the only way...

My vision blurs as I read. They sold me. Sold me like cattle — like my life was just another debt they needed to clear. My mother’s name appears near the bottom, her apology softer but no less painful.

And then I see it — the last line, scrawled in rushed handwriting:

Thanks for being our town hero.

I freeze. That word — hero — twists something deep inside me. Ever since I was little, I dreamed of being one — someone who saves lives, someone who matters. I wanted to heal, to help... to be something. If things had gone differently, I’d be in college right now, studying to become a nurse.

But instead, I spent my life wielding blades and learning to fight. I traded bandages for battle scars, and somewhere along the way, that dream of saving lives got buried beneath blood and survival.

I press the letter to my chest and shut my eyes tightly. A hero? I let out a bitter laugh.

If only they knew.