I'm stuck.
I clear my throat and straighten my posture. "You own me," I say, bitterness dripping off my words. "That's what you said. My body. My life. So why pretend this is a job?"
"Because it is." He pushes off the counter and takes a step closer. I force myself not to shrink back. "I paid a million dollars for you. That makes you mine. But I'm not interested in keeping you in a gilded cage. You'll work. You'll earn your keep. And in exchange, you'll be safe."
"Safe." I laugh, and it comes off a little unhinged. "Safe from what?"
His jaw tightens. But he doesn't answer. The moment hangs in the air until Oscar clears his throat delicately. "Sir, perhaps Miss Thea would benefit from some rest. It's quite late, and she's clearly been through an ordeal."
That's putting it mildly.
Gabriel's gaze flicks from Oscar to me.
"Fine," he says. "Show her to her room. Make sure she has everything she needs."
"Of course, sir."
He turns to leave, then pauses at the door, looking back over his shoulder.
"One more thing, Thea."
I meet his gaze, and it's like looking into the eyes of the devil himself.
"Don't try to leave."
And with that, he's gone.
I sit there, shaking, until Oscar sets a cup of tea in front of me.
"Drink," he says gently. "It will help."
I wrap my hands around the cup, letting the warmth seep into my palms. I take a deep, slow breath.
Looking around the kitchen, the gorgeous, expensive kitchen, I try to convince myself that this is nothing more than a horrible dream. That tomorrow morning I'm going to wake up and realizenone of this happened, that I never followed Mick down that hallway, that Sylvie is still at that bar ordering her second drink.
But I didn't drink enough for that excuse. I was completely clear-headed when I walked through that door.
Which means I have no one to blame but myself.
The thought sits in my stomach like a stone.
"He owns me?"
"That's about the long and short of it," Oscar says.
"He really thinks he owns me?"
Oscar hesitates, then sighs before easing into the seat across from me.
"Mr. Moretti is a complicated man," he says carefully. "But he's not cruel."
I think back to what Gabriel said about the other men at the auction and about Sylvie. I think of her at a different mansion, one not so opulent, with some creep making her do God knows what.
My stomach tenses, and tears form in my eyes.
Oscar doesn't miss a beat. He slides out of his chair and snatches a box of tissues from the counter. I take the two seconds he's gone to compose myself.
"Here, young lady."