He Sold His Blindfolded Mistress To The Highest Bidder

The morning after the party, I woke to the sound of Victoria's voice outside my door. Her tone carried that particular sweetness that always preceded new cruelty.

"Alexander, darling, we need to discuss Sarah's... little display of defiance last night."

I froze in my bed, straining to hear Alexander's response. My heart hammered against my ribs. What defiance? I had performed exactly as commanded, cleaned when ordered, remained silent throughout.

"I noticed it too," Alexander replied, his voice cold. "That look in her eyes when you kissed me."

"It's dangerous," Victoria continued. "After everything she's done to us, we can't risk her developing... ideas. Not when we're so close to being free of her."

Their footsteps moved away, but the damage was done. The tiny spark of defiance I'd felt last night had been noticed—and would be punished.

An hour later, Alexander entered my room without knocking, Victoria trailing behind him like a shadow. In his hands was a slim black case.

"Your privileges are being revoked," he announced, opening the case to reveal what looked like a sleek metal anklet. "You've been given too much freedom."

I backed away instinctively. "I haven't done anything—"

"Silence." His voice cut through the air like a whip. "Victoria believes you're planning something. I trust her judgment implicitly."

Victoria's lips curved into a smile as Alexander approached me. "It's for your own good, Sarah. We wouldn't want you getting lost before your contract expires."

The anklet was cold against my skin as Alexander snapped it closed. A small green light blinked to life on its surface.

"This will alert security if you leave your designated areas," he explained. "From now on, you'll remain in your room unless called to perform. No more wandering, no more serving guests."

"Consider it a promotion," Victoria added with false sweetness. "Now you're just for... special occasions."

Alexander straightened, his gaze clinical as he assessed me. "The new rules begin immediately. Your meals will be delivered. Your bathroom privileges remain unchanged."

After they left, I sank onto the edge of my bed, fingers tracing the smooth metal encircling my ankle. The cage had just grown smaller, the walls closing in. But why? What had they seen in me that frightened them so?

Days passed in suffocating isolation. I was permitted out only to perform, then immediately escorted back. The anklet became an extension of myself, its weight a constant reminder of my captivity.

One afternoon, as I was being returned to my room after a particularly grueling performance for Alexander's business partners, I noticed a new face among the staff—a young woman with kind eyes who brought fresh towels.

"I'm Maria," she whispered when Alexander's security guard stepped away momentarily. "Are you alright? You look—"

"Help me," I breathed, the words escaping before I could stop them. "Please, I'm not here willingly."

Maria's eyes widened, but before she could respond, a shadow fell across us.

"How touching," Victoria's voice sliced through the moment. "Making friends, Sarah?"

Maria paled, clutching the towels to her chest. "Ma'am, I was just—"

"Fired," Victoria finished for her. "Pack your things and be gone within the hour."

After Maria was escorted out, Victoria turned to me, her smile predatory. "You never learn, do you? Perhaps we need someone less... sympathetic overseeing your care."

The next morning, my new overseer arrived—a stern-faced woman with cold eyes who spoke only to issue commands. Another link in my chain of isolation.

Three days later, Alexander summoned me to his study. Victoria sat perched on his desk, dressed in a white sundress that made her look deceptively angelic.

"We have wonderful news," she announced, her eyes gleaming. "Dr. Alistair Finch is coming tomorrow. He's going to fix those eyes of yours."

I felt a chill spread through my body. "Fix?"

"Your eyes," Alexander explained, studying me dispassionately. "They're the wrong color. Victoria finds it... disturbing."

"They should have been blue," Victoria said softly. "Like our baby's would have been."

Alexander's expression hardened at the mention of the child—the child that had never existed as she claimed. "Dr. Finch specializes in iris pigmentation procedures. He'll make them the right color."

"Consider it a gift," Victoria added, sliding off the desk to approach me. She reached up to brush a strand of hair from my face, her touch making my skin crawl. "A final tribute to what you took from us."

As they discussed the procedure—scheduled for the very next day—a new kind of fear gripped me. Not just for what they planned to do to my eyes, but for what Victoria's words implied.

A final tribute.

What exactly did they have planned for me when the contract expired?