“Oh, impressive,” the guard said, dragging her back to the moment. He rolled his eyes as he examined her iron pass, holding it up as though inspecting its authenticity. Rose’s ears burned as she could only hope… “Although…” He tilted his head, his mock-serious expression laced with amusement. “There’s something odd about this. You sure it’s real iron?”

Rose exhaled heavily, her shoulders slumping. Why did she hope? She knew what would happen. “Yeah, yeah,” she muttered, her voice flat with resignation. She raised herself from the chair, “lead the way.”

“Of course,” the guard replied, standing in one smooth motion. He turned, gesturing for her to follow.

Rose trudged after him, each step automatic as her entire body went numb, broken by the occasional jolt of her hand, a reminder to stay in line. Keep her head down and just… let it happen. She had no power here. Just like she’d had no power with Boris. Just like she had no power in her own damn home.

Her nails dug into the skin of her arm, the sting briefly grounding her, distracting her from the relentless throbbing in her hand and the ache in her mind.

The guard opened a door, stepping aside with a theatrical flourish. “After you,” he said with false politeness.

Rose stepped through without hesitation. The air inside was cold, stale. The room was small, windowless, and suffocatingly plain—just four walls, a single chair, and a pattern of dried blood staining the floor.

She didn’t wait for him to say anything. Without a word, she began undressing, desperate to get this over with. Her fingers fumbled slightly, slowed only by the sharp pain and awkwardness of her broken hand, but she would rather do this herself than ask for help or complain. After all, it was the only dress she had left that wasn’t torn. In fact, she’d lost her first dress to one of these ‘inspections.’

Behind her, the guard chuckled as he stepped inside. “That broken hand suits you. Slows you down—just how I like it.” Ge laughed at her, closing the door and locking it with a deliberate click. The sound of the lock sliding into place sent a ripple of unease down her spine. “Come on then, give us a show. There's a good girl”

Rose closed her eyes, trying to steady her frayed emotions. “Albert just looks,” she quickly reassured herself. “He's all talk.” yet that did nothing to help the quick beat of her heart.

“What’s that?”

She shot him an angry glare. “Seriously, you should move on,” she snapped, her voice sharper than she’d intended. “I’m never going to say yes. I’m sure there are plenty of other women here who’d jump at the chance to be your mistress.”

He was good-looking, after all—tall, with sharp features and piercing eyes that would have been attractive if not for his ugly, unredeemable personality.

“But I don’t want any other woman,” he said smoothly, leaning back in the chair as though he owned the room. His gaze swept over her with an unsettling hunger, lingering in ways that made her skin crawl as the dress slipped from her shoulders and pooled at her feet. “I want you, my pet.”

It wasn’t just the persistence that made her skin crawl—it was the way he framed it, as if his attention were a gift she should be grateful for. And she couldn't do anything about it. She was trapped in this room. This city. This world. They could do anything and no one would bat an eye. Yet if she so much as dared to complain.

“An old, sickly-looking spinster with nothing going for her,” he continued. “Perfect revenge.”

Rose froze for a moment, her mind recoiling at his words. Old? Sickly? Spinster? The insults twisted in her chest, mingling with her already fragile state of mind. “Excuse me?” she said, her voice colder now, her movements halting.

He clapped his hands together, his laughter ringing through the room, “There it is,” he exclaimed, “You always give me the cutest expressions!” His grin widened. “And why not? Not much else you can do is there? Besides, Margaret’s been screwing some bastard behind my back for years,” he said, the venom in his words thinly masked by a forced nonchalance. “Why not return the favor? Show her she’s nothing more—no, less—than the ugly little crow standing in front of me.”

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“That’s why you’re harping on this?” she asked, her voice trembling with disbelief. Her heart pounded, the pain in her broken hand now dwarfed by the raw ache clawing at her chest.

She didn’t know what was worse: the fact that it was all just a game to them, that she was nothing more than an object to play with, or the sinking realization that he wanted her because she was something ugly—something that would humiliate his wife. She wasn’t even a prize. Just a punchline.

Her nails dug into her arm, the sharp sting grounding her as his words echoed in her mind. Ugly… little crow. It made a certain kind of sense. They always mocked her age, her appearance. And yet they still… She bit her tongue, hard enough to taste blood. Somehow, that made it all worse.

He shrugged lazily, his smug smile as infuriating as ever. “Sure,” he replied, leaning back in his chair as if this conversation amused him. His eyes swept over her again, “Keep going.” he ordered simply. “Don't want to be here all day, do you? What would the good Lord Silvio think of that?”

Rose was pulled from her shock by his words, Her chest tightened as his words drove home how easily he could threaten her job. And he didn't even care for her. Miserable people ruining others lives just because they could. Except how could she call them miserable. That word could belong only to her, after all her own life truly was--- “oh? Would you like to stay the night?” he offered with a pleasant smile.

Rose quickly moved, pulling the last of her clothes off as he snickered at her, causing her skin to crawl.

“I mean, you’re…” He paused deliberately, dragging his gaze up and down her naked frame. “decent enough, I guess.” he shrugged casually as if he was judging a pied dog. All Rose could do was ball her hands, the pain was more than enough to keep her emotions in check.

“Not something that would be pretty, mind you, but maybe if you put some meat on you, you'd look decent. But seriously, why bother?” His voice turned dismissive, as he waved her away. Words lumped in her throat but she swallowed them. She wanted to get through this quickly. “You’re an old woman who’s never going to find a husband with that miserable attitude of yours.”

“I’m 25,” she spat, the words barely audible. She closed her eyes, annoyed that she’d said anything at all.

The guard laughed again, his amusement only deepening. “Seriously? That’s older than I thought!” he said gleefully. “Why are you even bothering anymore? Do you even know any other women in their 20s who aren’t married?”

Her jaw clenched, and for a moment, she felt the faintest flicker of defiance. But her finger twitched, the movement sending a jolt of pain through her hand—a reminder of what happened the second she stepped out of line. The rage that flared was instantly cooled by a chilling, empty helplessness. She couldn’t do anything. That would just make it worse. Everything she did just made things worse. She stood there quietly, looking back at the guard, her open hands dangling by her sides.

He clicked his tongue, knowing he would get nothing more from her. He stood and closed the remaining distance between them. “Well, whatever,” he continued, stopping inches from her. “Good shelter. Decent food,” the guard began, his words slow and deliberate. He patted her belly, causing her to flinch reflexively. “Might even get some meat on those bones.” He chuckled, his breath hot and sour against her face. “All you have to do is sit there, look pretty,” he added with a shrug, poking the tip of her nose again, “and give my wife a little grief.”

Rose shook her head. Taking a steadying breath, she forced a bitter smile to her lips. “Oh, that’s all? You forgot the part where I have sex with you whenever you feel like it.” His own personal private whore. That’s what he wanted. No—people are attracted to whores, aren’t they? That would make her something worse. She’d be nothing more than a slave, entirely dependent on this man.

The guard shrugged again, unfazed by her tone, his smirk deepening. “I mean, yeah. But honestly, that’s a treat for you, isn’t it?” His voice turned condescending, dripping with the same tone one might use when talking to a child.

This time, she managed to slap his hand away. She didn’t feel afraid now. She felt nothing but a hollow ache in her chest. Taking a sharp step back, she answered him, her voice cold and steady. “I’ve already given you my answer. Are you finished with your ‘inspection’?”

The guard’s smirk faltered. He took a small, angry breath. Then after a moment, he chuckled. The smile returned and he leaned forward, raising a hand and brushing his fingers against her cheek. “Almost,” he murmured, catching her good hand as she raised it to push him off. “Though I think I need to make sure there’s nothing you’re trying to smuggle in.”

There was no joy in his voice anymore, only a lingering, annoyed anger. Her breath hitched in understanding, and her heart began pounding in her chest. It was a thin line, and she crossed it with one small act of defiance. Again, she made things worse. The tension in the room grew suffocating, but before she could say anything, a sharp bolt sounded, signaling the lock’s release. Both turned toward the door, which swung open with a loud creak.