Breaking Free from Servitude

The private dining room at Le Ciel was bathed in amber light, casting long shadows across the white tablecloth. I stood beside the wine cart, my fingers trembling slightly as I uncorked a bottle of Château Margaux 2009. The rich aroma filled the air, but all I could smell was Franklin Barnes' cologne—too strong, too sweet, like rotting flowers.

"Careful with that pour, sweetheart," Franklin said, his eyes fixed on my hands rather than the wine. "I'd hate to see you spill anything... valuable."

I kept my gaze lowered as I filled his glass, then moved to Sullivan's. My husband didn't look at me once as I served him, his attention entirely focused on the contract documents spread between them.

"The quarterly projections are quite impressive," Sullivan said, sliding a folder toward Franklin. "Especially considering our recent... restructuring."

"Numbers look good," Franklin agreed, taking a sip of wine. His hand brushed mine deliberately. "But I'm more interested in the... amenities of our partnership."

I stepped back, positioning myself against the wall as I'd been instructed. The black dress Sullivan had selected felt too tight, too exposed. It wasn't my clothing—it belonged to Valery.

"That dress looks better on you than it ever did on Valery," Franklin remarked, his eyes traveling slowly down my body. "Sullivan has excellent taste in... accessories."

Sullivan cleared his throat. "Eden is here to ensure your comfort, Franklin. Whatever you need."

Whatever you need. The words echoed in my mind as Franklin's hand found my arm, his fingers tracing small circles on my skin.

"Perhaps you could come sit beside me, Eden," he suggested, patting the chair next to him. "I find business discussions flow more smoothly with beautiful company."

I glanced at Sullivan, searching for any sign of protest or protection. His eyes met mine briefly before returning to the contract.

"Of course," I heard myself say, moving to the chair.

Throughout the meal, Franklin's hand remained on my arm, occasionally drifting to my shoulder or back. Each touch sent ice through my veins, but I maintained a neutral expression, refilling his wine glass whenever it emptied.

"You know," Franklin leaned close, his breath hot against my ear, "I've always wondered what it would be like to have a woman like you... personally serving me."

I felt Sullivan watching us, but his expression remained impassive. The deal was worth millions—enough to save his failing company. Enough to justify anything.

---

Later, as I slipped into the kitchen to retrieve more wine, Franklin followed me. The staff had been instructed to stay out of the private area, leaving us alone among the gleaming stainless steel appliances and prep counters.

"Finally," he murmured, backing me against the counter. "I've been waiting all night to have you to myself."

"Mr. Barnes, I should get back—"

"Franklin," he corrected, placing his hands on either side of me, trapping me against the counter. "We're beyond formalities now."

His cologne suffocated me as he leaned closer, his mouth aiming for mine. I turned my head away, but he caught my chin, forcing me to face him.

"Sullivan mentioned you might be... accommodating," he whispered.

Panic surged through me. I pushed against his chest, but he was heavier than I expected. His lips brushed my cheek as I twisted away.

"Please," I whispered. "Not here."

Something in my voice must have registered because he stepped back slightly, though his smile remained predatory.

"Another time, then," he said, straightening his tie. "But soon."

I escaped back to the dining room, my heart hammering against my ribs. Sullivan looked up as I entered, his expression cold and assessing.

"Everything proceeding smoothly?" he asked, not bothering to lower his voice.

"Yes," I managed, though my voice shook slightly.

Franklin returned moments later, adjusting his belt as he sat down. "Where were we?"

---

The next morning, sunlight streamed through our bedroom windows as Sullivan's phone rang. I lay still, pretending to sleep, as he answered.

"Franklin," he said, his voice alert instantly. "Good morning."

I watched through half-closed eyes as Sullivan's expression shifted from cautious to pleased.

"I see," he said after a long pause. "And you're certain that's your... preference?"

Another pause.

"Of course. I understand completely." Sullivan's eyes flicked to me, calculating. "Yes, she'll be available."

He ended the call and turned to me, his smile predatory.

"Good news, Eden," he said, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Franklin is enthusiastic about moving forward."

I sat up slowly, dread pooling in my stomach.

"He has one condition," Sullivan continued, his voice casual. "He wants you to serve as his personal hostess for future meetings."

"What does that mean?" I asked, though I already knew.

"It means whatever he wants it to mean." Sullivan's hand found my shoulder, squeezing tightly. "This is the second favor, Eden. Remember our agreement?"

The debt I could never repay. The kidney that had chained me to this man forever.

"Of course," I whispered, looking away from his triumphant gaze.

As he left the room, I caught sight of something in his expression I'd never seen before—not love or even desire, but something colder and more calculating. In that moment, I realized there was nothing Sullivan wouldn't sell to save his company.

Even me.