Kate's POV:

It's funny how my life twisted itself into knots. I sat stiffly on the edge of the couch, the rich leather creaking under my weight, my eyes glued to the television. The Lion King played on the oversized screen, its vivid colors and nostalgic music almost mocking the absurdity of my situation.

"Oh yes, the past can hurt. But the way I see it, you can either run from it or learn from it," Rafiki said on the screen.

The words hit me harder than I wanted to admit. What could I possibly learn from my past? That people like me didn't belong anywhere? That my only value was being bartered off to strangers like a piece of furniture? My fingers brushed the edge of the couch, the leather smooth and cold beneath my touch. The room around me was immaculate, everything gleaming with wealth. The ornate coffee table reflected the soft glow of the chandelier above, its polished surface unblemished.

Everything in this house was exquisite—everything except me.

"When will I be able to see your boss?" I asked, my tone flat as I kept my eyes on the screen. I couldn't bring myself to look at them. Their stares were always too piercing, too amused, like they were in on a joke I didn't understand. "Considering how little value I seem to hold, I don't think it's convenient for someone like me to be here."

Joseph, leaning casually against the wall, let out a soft chuckle. His arms were crossed over his chest, the muscles beneath his shirt taut with an ease that belied his strength. "Why would you speak so ill of yourself, sweetheart?" he asked, his tone dripping with mock concern. "You might not see it, but the boss has a particular eye for... unique finds."

The smirk on his face made my stomach churn. I clenched my fists in my lap, my nails biting into my palms as I fought the urge to snap back.

Michen, who had been pacing behind the couch like a caged predator, stopped abruptly. His gaze burned into me, but I refused to meet it. The tension in the air thickened, his presence looming like a dark cloud.

"He might return tonight, or he might not," Michen said, his voice cold and dismissive. "It could take days. All you need to do is wait patiently and be a good girl until he does."

Be a good girl.

The venom in my throat threatened to spill out, but I swallowed it down, forcing myself to stay quiet. How many times had my mother used those words before leaving me to fend for myself? I pressed my lips together, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response.

"Of course," I said finally, plastering on a mocking smile as I turned to face him. "Why not? I'll learn to behave."

Michen's eyes narrowed, but I turned back to the screen before he could say anything else. The tension in the room grew heavier, thick and suffocating like smoke. I felt their gazes linger on me, heavy and predatory, like wolves circling their prey.

"You'd do well to keep that sarcasm in check," Michen muttered, his voice low and threatening.

The wall-mounted clock ticked loudly, each second dragging out into an eternity. My skin crawled just sitting here, my every breath grating against the oppressive silence.

"Don't break anything," Michen said suddenly, his tone sharp. "Nearly everything here costs more than you'll ever be worth."

I bristled, the words cutting deeper than I wanted to admit. "As if I could," I muttered under my breath. "The house is crawling with armed guards. I couldn't so much as sneeze without someone taking offense."

"What was that?" Michen snapped, his sharp tone breaking through my quiet defiance.

"Nothing," I said quickly, fidgeting with my fingers.

His shadow fell over me, blocking my view of the television. I looked up to find him standing close, his eyes gleaming with something dangerous. He smirked down at me, the corners of his mouth curling with amusement.

"I'd encourage you to listen," he said softly, his voice a low, menacing whisper. "Or you'll find yourself in serious trouble."

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Joseph grinning, his amusement clear. "She's pretty, though. Stubborn, but pretty. I wonder if the boss can handle her," Joseph said with a smirk, clearly enjoying the dynamic unfolding before him.

Michen chuckled darkly, leaning closer. "Sweet little Katie," he said, his tone mockingly sweet. "You should be grateful we haven't broken one of your fingers yet."

My stomach twisted at his words, but I refused to let the fear show on my face.

"I can't wait to see what the boss will do with you," Michen continued, his eyes glinting with malice. "He has... a way of handling disobedience."

I gulped, my throat dry, but I forced myself to keep my expression blank. Inside, my fear coiled tighter and tighter, threatening to choke me.

"Little Katie," Michen murmured, leaning closer until I could feel his breath on my face. "All I need to do is make a phone call, and your worthless body will slump back against this couch in a heartbeat. Don't push your luck."

A shiver ran down my spine, and for a fleeting moment, I prayed for death to come quickly. I stared at him, my expression blank, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing my fear.

He pulled back, laughing softly. The sound sent a chill through me, cold and unfeeling.

"Stay in your room, little Katie," he said, his voice dripping with mock kindness. "Don't test my patience."

The men exchanged glances, their silent communication unnerving. Joseph shook his head, a sly grin on his face as if he were enjoying some private joke.

"I bet she'll last two days before she cracks," Joseph said.

"Two? I give her one," Michen replied, his eyes still on me.

They both laughed as they turned to leave, their footsteps echoing in the expansive room. The heavy door clicked shut behind them, the sound echoing through the silence.

As soon as they were gone, I exhaled sharply, the weight of the encounter crashing down on me like a wave. My chest heaved, the tension in my shoulders refusing to loosen. My legs felt like jelly, trembling as I stood. I grabbed onto the edge of the couch to steady myself, staring at the spot where Michen had loomed over me just moments ago. His words replayed in my head, his smirk etched into my memory like a scar.

I stumbled toward the staircase, each step heavier than the last. My thoughts raced, my mind conjuring up worst-case scenarios. If Michen was this cruel, what would his boss be like? The idea alone made my stomach churn.

When I reached my room, I leaned against the closed door, letting its weight ground me. The world felt too small, the air too thick. My gaze drifted toward the enormous glass doors leading to the balcony. The cool night air beyond them called to me, offering a brief escape from the suffocating confines of this place.

I stepped outside, the breeze biting at my skin, sending shivers down my spine. The sky was a canvas of stars, scattered across the darkness like broken glass. I gripped the cold metal railing, my knuckles turning white. My thoughts were a chaotic mess.

Images flashed through my mind—images I wished I could erase. My body sprawled across the couch, lifeless. Blood pooling beneath me, seeping into the pristine leather. Their laughter echoing in the background as if I were nothing more than a joke, a discarded toy.

I bit my bottom lip hard, the pain grounding me. I have to get out of here, I thought desperately. But how? Every door was locked, every window secured. Armed guards patrolled the property like wolves, their presence a constant reminder of the powerlessness I felt.

The warm water of the shower offered little comfort, the steam curling around me like an oppressive cloud. The tiled walls reflected my distorted image, fractured and ghostly. My hands moved over my body, tracing the scars that painted my skin like an artist's cruel brushstrokes.

Each scar had a story, a reminder of the life I had endured. My fingers paused on the fresh bruise on my ribs, the pain flaring outward with every breath. I winced, closing my eyes as a tear escaped down my cheek.

A loud bang startled me, pulling me out of my thoughts. My heart leapt into my throat, and I froze, listening. Another bang followed, louder and more insistent this time.

"Kate, open the door!" Michen's voice barked, sharp and angry.

Panic surged through me. What did I do? I thought, backing away from the bathroom door. My towel clung to my damp skin, and I clutched it tightly, my mind racing.

The banging continued, each knock reverberating through the room. My chest tightened, my breaths coming in shallow gasps.

The sound of a gunshot shattered the air.

I screamed, my body collapsing onto the floor as I buried my head in my hands. My heart raced, the sound echoing in my ears long after it had stopped.

The door burst open, slamming against the wall with enough force to rattle the paintings. Michen stormed in, his face a mask of fury, his dark eyes boring into mine.

"Are you really that dumb?" he yelled, his voice like a whip cracking through the air.

I flinched, my back pressing against the bathroom tiles as he approached. His hand shot out, grabbing my arm and yanking me to my feet.

The grip on my arm was like a vice, and I whimpered in pain, my tears threatening to spill over. "I didn't do anything," I stammered, my voice trembling.

"You screamed like someone was killing you," he snapped, his face inches from mine. "Do you have any idea what kind of chaos you just caused?"

His words were harsh, but it was the rage in his eyes that terrified me the most. It wasn't just anger—it was controlled, calculated fury, the kind that could explode at any moment.

"I-I heard a bang," I managed to choke out, my voice barely above a whisper.

He scoffed, his grip tightening for a moment before he shoved a pile of clothes into my hands. "You don't leave this room," he hissed, his voice low and dangerous. "Do you understand me?"

I nodded quickly, the tears finally spilling over.

"Good," he muttered, letting go of my arm with a shove. "Don't make me come back here for something this stupid again."

He turned on his heel, striding out of the room without another word. The door slammed shut behind him, the sound echoing through the empty space.

I sank onto the edge of the bed, my body trembling with the aftershocks of fear. My arm ached where he had grabbed me, and I rubbed at it absently, staring at the door as if expecting him to burst back in at any moment.

The tears came faster now, my chest heaving with silent sobs. My head was a mess of emotions—fear, anger, despair. I hated myself for crying, for letting them see my weakness.

But how could I not be weak? I was trapped here, surrounded by men who saw me as nothing more than an object, a pawn in their twisted games.

I lay back on the bed, staring up at the ornate ceiling. The intricate molding and soft lighting seemed so out of place in my life, like a cruel joke. I didn't belong here, not in this room, not in this world.

The silence was deafening, broken only by the faint ticking of a clock somewhere in the room. I turned my head, my gaze falling on the massive glass doors leading to the balcony. The stars were still visible, their faint glow a reminder of the world outside this prison.

I had to get out of here. The thought circled in my mind like a vulture, persistent and unrelenting. The desperation clawed at my chest, rising with each breath, but as I stared at the locked doors leading to the balcony, the weight of my reality pressed down on me like a suffocating blanket. Escape wasn't an option, not yet, and the hopelessness of that realization settled over me, cold and heavy.

The rest of the night passed in a haze of restless silence. I lay on the oversized bed, its silk sheets doing little to comfort me. My mind was a whirlwind of fear, frustration, and a tinge of anger I couldn't shake. Every sound in the house—the creak of the floorboards, the murmur of distant voices—had me on edge, my heart jumping in response.

When the sunlight finally streamed through the windows, it only deepened the weight in my chest. Morning was supposed to bring clarity, a new start, but here it only reminded me that I was trapped.

I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, my bare feet sinking into the plush rug below. The room was bathed in soft light, the elegant furnishings looking almost serene. The heavy velvet curtains swayed slightly in the breeze from the balcony door I hadn't dared to open. It was a cruel juxtaposition—beauty masking the prison it adorned.

I made my way downstairs cautiously, my hand trailing along the smooth banister of the grand staircase. The soft hum of voices grew louder as I descended, snippets of conversation drifting through the air.

"Where is she?" a gruff voice barked, irritation thick in his tone.

"She was in her room last night," another replied, his voice defensive but uncertain.

I paused mid-step, the smallest smile tugging at my lips. Idiots.

Carefully, I continued down the stairs, keeping my movements quiet. The main hall opened into an expansive living area, its marble floors gleaming under the morning light. The guards stood near the entrance, their postures tense as they exchanged frustrated glances. I slipped past them unnoticed, heading toward the kitchen.

The moment I stepped inside, the familiar scents and sounds of cooking grounded me. The kitchen was enormous, with sleek black countertops, state-of-the-art appliances, and an island large enough to seat a family. Everything gleamed with a sterile perfection that felt out of place for a space meant to prepare food.

I opened the fridge, grabbing eggs and butter, and set them on the counter. My hands moved automatically, cracking the eggs into a bowl and whisking them as I heated the pan. The sound of sizzling butter filled the air, mingling with the comforting aroma that reminded me, briefly, of simpler times.

I focused on the task, letting the rhythm of cooking soothe my frayed nerves. But the moment of peace didn't last long.

"You cunning little girl," Michen's voice drawled behind me, low and dangerous.

I froze, my heart skipping a beat. Slowly, I turned to face him, a mischievous grin plastered on my face. "Good morning to you too, Michen," I said sweetly, feigning innocence.

His glare was icy, his fists clenched at his sides as he took a step closer. "I told you to stay in your room," he said, his tone sharp and laced with frustration.

"And I did," I replied, tilting my head in mock consideration. "For three hours." My grin widened. "Then I got bored."

His jaw tightened, his dark eyes narrowing as if he were debating whether to strangle me on the spot. "Bored?" he repeated, his voice dangerously calm.

"Yes, bored," I said, turning back to the stove and stirring the eggs in the pan. "It's not like I have much to do here, locked away like a petulant child. You didn't even leave me a book."

Before Michen could respond, Joseph strolled into the kitchen, his ever-infuriating grin firmly in place. He leaned casually against the doorframe, his arms crossed as he watched the exchange with amusement.

"She's got guts," Joseph said, his voice tinged with admiration as he chuckled softly.

"Guts won't save her," Michen muttered, his eyes still locked on me.

I shrugged, sliding the eggs onto a plate and adding a piece of toast. "You two really need to work on your morning manners," I said, grabbing a fork. "It's too early for all this aggression."

Joseph laughed outright, pushing off the doorframe and sauntering closer. "You're a little spitfire, aren't you?" he said, his tone playful. "I'm almost starting to see why the boss chose you."

I ignored him, focusing on my breakfast as I sat at the kitchen island. Let them threaten me all they wanted. I wasn't going to give them the satisfaction of breaking me.

Michen's patience, however, seemed to be wearing thin. He stepped closer, leaning over the counter until his face was inches from mine. "You think this is a joke?" he said, his voice low and menacing.

I met his gaze, refusing to flinch. "I think this is pathetic," I said evenly. "A house full of big, scary men, and you're all worried about one unarmed girl making breakfast."

His hand shot out, grabbing my wrist and squeezing just enough to make me wince. "Watch your mouth," he warned, his voice a growl.

I bit back the pain, glaring up at him. "Or what?" I challenged, my voice steady despite the fear bubbling beneath the surface.

Joseph stepped in, placing a hand on Michen's shoulder. "Easy, big guy," he said, his grin still in place. "The boss wouldn't want her bruised... yet."

Michen released my wrist with a sharp motion, stepping back. His eyes bore into mine, a silent promise that this wasn't over.

"You've got a smart mouth," he said finally, his tone cold. "Let's see how long that lasts when the boss gets back."

I watched him leave, his footsteps heavy as they echoed down the hall. Joseph lingered, his gaze still on me.

"You should really learn when to shut up," he said, his tone light but carrying an edge. "Michen's not as patient as I am."

"I'll keep that in mind," I said, my tone dripping with sarcasm as I took another bite of my eggs.

Joseph chuckled, shaking his head as he turned to leave. "Good luck, sweetheart," he called over his shoulder. "You'll need it."

The moment the kitchen was empty, I let out a shaky breath, my hands trembling as I set the fork down. My wrist throbbed where Michen had grabbed it, the pain a stark reminder of how dangerous they were.