~Rose's Point Of View~
I didn't breathe until the door slammed behind him.
Even then, the breath I finally pulled in was jagged and full of dust and disbelief, like my lungs had forgotten how to function in his absence. My legs gave a small, embarrassing shake, and I reached blindly for the nearest solid thing to hold myself upright.
The wall was cold against my back. I slid down until I hit the floor.
And then, silence reigned. It wasn't the kind of silence I used to cherish in the convent. Not the peaceful hush of prayer or the lazy lull of afternoon bells.
No, this silence had teeth. It was the kind that pressed into your ears and whispered you're not safe, no matter how tightly you curled your arms around yourself. The kind of silence you find in a predator's den—just before he comes back.
I could still feel him. Not metaphorically but physically.
I could still smell him. My nostrils still tasted that ridiculous mix of smoke, metal, and something warm and animalistic that no man should be allowed to smell like. My skin still burned where his fingers had touched. My lips were raw, scrubbed, but I could still taste him.
I hated that. I hated him. And I hated myself for not biting off his tongue when I had the chance.
What the hell was wrong with me?
I wrapped my arms tighter around myself, trying to suppress the shaking. I wasn't crying. I refused to cry. But the anger in my chest was mixing with something I didn't understand, something so bloody humiliating. I wanted to scream. I wanted to spit in his face. I wanted to find whatever sick, cursed part of me hadn't recoiled when he kissed me and rip it out.
Because that part… had paused.
It had listened. And in that pause, something dangerous had awakened.
I should've been terrified. And I was. Gods, I was. But not just of him. Of what I might become in a place like this.
Because for one horrible, blinding second, when his voice went soft and his fingers toyed with the hem of my dress like I was his newest toy, I hadn't just felt revulsion.
I'd felt seen. That's twisted, I know.
But convent walls don't protect you from pain. They just hide the bruises. They teach you how to scrub yourself clean until there's nothing left but silence. Until you forget that your body belongs to you. Until you lie awake at night wondering if your stepfather's breath will slip under the door again. If his hand will press into your throat until you remember how to obey.
And then Caligo… he comes storming into my world with his teeth and rage and that damn voice that sounds like every forbidden dream and every threat all at once… and tells me I'm his.
His. Not trash. Not a burden and not forgotten.
His.
It was vile. It was possessive. It was wrong in every possible language I knew. But it was the first time someone looked at me like I was something more than a mistake.
And that... that's what terrified me the most.
Because I could survive monsters. I'd done it before. I'd survived bleeding knuckles and broken hymns. I'd survived silence, and grief, and fingers that should never have touched a child. But this?
This strange, burning sensation in my gut when Caligo looked at me like I was a fire he wanted to cradle in his hands, I didn't know how to survive that.
"Idiot," I whispered to myself, digging my nails into my palms. "Get your shit together."
He bought me. He bought me. That wasn't love. That wasn't kindness. That was slavery with fancier sheets and crueler intentions.
I looked up, scanning the dark room again. Weapons. Shadows and a bed I refused to look at for too long.
This wasn't safety. It was a trap disguised as obsession. And I'd be damned if I fell into it without fighting back. But the problem was… I didn't know what kind of fight this was.
I wasn't stupid. I knew what he meant when he said I was his. He wasn't going to let me go. Not unless I clawed my way out.
Or unless I played a different kind of game.
A smart girl would play along. Earn his trust. Smile when he touched her. Wait until he slept and find a knife sharp enough to gut a man or flee… flee for her dear life.
However, his deal was too tempting to run from. He would give me power, enough to bring that devil-soaked convent to book. Perhaps, I was to be the sacrificial lamb.
Sacrifice my life, and my happiness to find power to hand the other girls their lives. Perhaps…
I was still wallowing in my pool of self-pity when the door creaked open.
My body jerked in alarm, every nerve in me sparking like a live wire, but it wasn't him. The footsteps were lighter and without the heavy thunder of Caligo's presence.
A woman stepped inside, her figure somewhat silhouetted against the bulb in the hallway behind her.
She was dressed in plain linen, which was modest and unlike the indecent uniforms the maids downstairs wore. Her hair was streaked with silver, tied back in a neat, low bun. Lines creased her face, but not unkindly. She looked tired, but not broken.
She looked like someone who'd seen enough to understand what pain was—and learned how to carry it without letting it eat her alive.
She didn't gasp at my state. She didn't flinch. She simply stepped inside and closed the door behind her with the soft click of finality. Then she turned to me with a calm expression and smiled.
"You must be Rose," she said gently.
I didn't answer. My throat was raw, my fists clenched so tight I could feel the bite of my nails in my palms.
She didn't seem to mind my silence. Her hands folded in front of her apron, and she slowly approached like someone who had once startled a wounded animal and learned not to make the same mistake twice.
"I'm Aurora. Caligo sent me to be your maid."
I gulped. That word again… his name like heat crawling over my skin.
Aurora's gaze flicked over the room, taking in the shadows, the untouched bed, the way I was curled up on the floor like a thrown-out doll. She didn't ask why. She didn't need to.
Her eyes returned to mine. "I know what you're thinking. You don't want a maid. You want a weapon. A door. A miracle."
I swallowed. My throat bobbed dry:
"But I'm afraid I'm the only one you get," she continued in a voice that sounded like warm tea on a cold day—soothing but unflinching. "And whether you want me or not, I'm the only one who can help you survive this mansion... and the beast who bought you."
T-the beast who bought me?