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“It’s okay, Jenkins,” I say. “But who is she?”
“Ethan Locks,” the woman says, speaking over Jenkins and walking toward me with her hand extended. “My name is Lucille and I’m with The Syndicate. We need to talk.”
I take her hand and shake, but the world feels like it dips and disappears around me.
I knew The Syndicate would come and check on Aria, but they assured me it would be discreet. They said they wouldn’t even be seen or noticed by me or anyone in my staff. They assured me that they’re professionals, and that they do this all the time.
If this woman is from The Syndicate and she’s here, in my home, speaking with my butler, then something is wrong. Something is very, very wrong. She shouldn’t be here.
I feel like the world is spinning around me as fear for Aria spikes through my body.
20
Aria
When I wake up, he’s gone. That doesn’t surprise me. But what surprises me is that he slept in my bed all night, and only left during the early hours of the morning.
I woke up when he left, but only briefly. He slipped out of the bed and for a second, I thought it was a dream.
But hours later, when I’m fully awake, I know that it wasn’t a dream. He really slept in the bed with me, our bodies intertwined and cuddling. That’s the most intimate thing we’ve done together, and I can hardly describe and explain how happy it makes me feel to know that he was willing to stay with me.
He opened up to me. I stretch, smiling to myself. He really opened up. That story about his father is horrible, and reminds me so much of myself. I didn’t know that we had this much in common, but clearly we grew up in similar circumstances. He knows pain and suffering in the same way that I do, which almost scares me.
But it shouldn’t scare me, I know that. I should be elated, and I am. This is what I want, what I’ve always wanted from a man. This level of intimacy was never something I ever pictured could happen for me. I assumed I was always doomed to push men away and to live my life alone.
Maybe that doesn’t have to be the case. Maybe there’s something more happening here. He finally fucked me, finally held me, finally made me his. Everything should be perfect.
So why do I still feel like there’s something missing?
He still owns me. At the end of the day, that’s the truth. He owns me and there’s nothing either of us can do about it. No matter what happens between us, it’s only happening because he bought me. I don’t know what’s real and what isn’t.
Him opening up was real. And the way I’m feeling is real. But I don’t know what any of that means, how long any of it will last, because of our situation. It’s inherently messed up.
I wish I could just tell him that I want him to get his money back. Or that I will donate all my money to a charity or something, if it just means that we can have something beyond this exchange of value. I want him for real, not as some man that bought me and keeps me as his pet. I want something real.
I want whatever happened last night to keep happening. I’m afraid that it was just a moment of weakness for him, and as soon as we wake up, the spell will be over.
It’s impossible to say one way or the other.
The day drags on. Jenkins brings me lunch and I don’t hear from Ethan at all. I keep thinking about him, of course, but I just keep doing what I always do. I’m confused and trying to figure all of this out, but there’s nothing I can do.
I’m still stuck in this room, waiting for him to come to me. I know he will, or at least I feel that he will deep down inside of me. He’ll come and we’ll talk. And we’ll make this real.
I’ll give up the money. Forget about the money. Sure, it’s a life-changing amount, but I’d give it all up for the chance at something real and lasting and good.
It’s a crazy thought, giving up millions, but I can’t help but seriously consider it. Maybe if I told him that, he’d break the contract and we could try this seriously. I don’t know if he’d even want that, though. The whole point of buying me is that it’s temporary and there aren’t any feelings involved.
Feelings are involved now, though. I can’t say what they are or what they mean, but they’re there and I can’t stop them.
The day wears on and soon it’s around five. Normally, Jenkins is very prompt with my dinner, but today something is different. He brings it at five on the dot, which is way too early for me, but I haven’t really complained. Today though, it’s five thirty and there’s still nothing.
I shrug and figure maybe he’s finally figuring out that five is too early for a healthy young lady like myself.
