Sophie had been locked in that room for almost an hour. The place was beautiful. White, elegant, spotless from the carpet to the bed and every single piece of furniture. But to her, it felt cold and suffocating. She knew this room had been designed for women, and the thought that Damien’s other lovers might have once stayed here made her sick.
Half an hour ago, one of Damien’s guards came in carrying a tray of food. The man had a blank face, didn’t say a word, set the tray down on the table, and left, locking the door behind him.
Since then, Sophie had been fighting the urge to look at the food. Her stomach was growling, her throat was dry, but her pride was tougher than her hunger. She hadn’t eaten since noon, too nervous about her wedding to Damien, and now the smell of the warm meal felt like torture.
She looked down, trying to distract herself, but her eyes caught a glass of orange juice on the table. The bright color glowed under the light, looking way too tempting.
Maybe just a sip. It wouldn’t hurt.
She shook her head. No. She couldn’t give in.
Her thirst only grew worse, her mouth felt dry, and her throat burned. She kept staring at that glass until finally, she gave up. She grabbed it quickly and drank the whole thing in one go.
For a second, guilt flashed through her, but at least the thirst was gone. She put the glass down carefully and turned toward the big window at the end of the room. Maybe behind those white curtains, there was still a way out.
She started walking toward it, but after a few steps, her vision spun. Her chest tightened, her skin burned. She froze, clutching her forehead.
What’s happening to me? Her breathing grew heavy, her body was on fire, and cold sweat dripped down her temple. She forced herself forward, but her knees buckled. Panicking, Sophie grabbed the table for support, then banged weakly on the door. Her voice cracked, barely a whisper, a faint plea echoing in the silent room.
* * *
A few minutes later, footsteps hurried toward the door.
Damien opened it slowly, his sharp gaze sweeping the room. The chandelier swayed gently above, casting shadows on the white walls. The food tray was untouched. Only the glass was empty.
Stubborn girl. He almost smiled. She really thought she could defy him by starving herself. She had no idea he always had another way to break people.
A soft sound from the bed made him turn. Sophie was there, writhing restlessly on the satin sheets, her face flushed, eyes half-open.
“Please… it’s hot…” Her voice was barely more than a whisper.
Damien walked closer and sat on the edge of the bed. He touched her forehead. Normal temperature. But her skin was burning, and sweat drenched her hairline. He grabbed a glass of water from the table and lifted her up so she could drink.
“Hot… please…” she murmured again, her voice trembling.
Something felt off. Damien frowned, lowering her back onto the bed before stepping away.
“William!” His voice cut through the hallway.
Moments later, his guard appeared at the door, bowing his head. “Yes, sir.”
“What did you put in her drink?” Damien’s tone was cold and sharp.
William didn’t flinch. “My own mixture. You know what kind.”
Damien’s jaw tightened. “I never told you to do that. You know what happens if you cross me.”
“Apologies, sir. But you told me to make her give in. She was too stubborn. This was the only way. If you don’t want her, you can just leave her there.”
“She’s in pain,” Damien snapped.
William shrugged. “You can ease it. After that, she might finally listen to you.”
“How much did you give her?”
“A normal dose. But the effect depends on the person.”
“How long will it last?”
“A few hours. Maybe all night.”
Damien went quiet. His eyes darkened, but he didn’t say another word. He turned and walked back into the room.
Sophie was still on the bed, trembling, her face red and her gaze unfocused.
“I’m burning… it hurts…” she whispered.
Damien sat down beside her. “My man put something in your drink,” he said calmly.
“Something? Poison?” Her voice was faint, scared.
“Not poison. But it’s strong.”
A flicker of understanding crossed her face. She tensed up, trying to pull away, but Damien held her by the shoulders. “Drink more water,” he ordered.
She drank, her hands shaking, then looked at him again, her eyes glassy. “Why do you suddenly look so… good?” she murmured with a dazed smile.
He pulled his hand away. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“Why is it so hot?” she whispered again, sounding drunk.
The water didn’t help much. Damien grabbed her arm and helped her up. She didn’t resist, even smiled faintly as he led her to the bathroom.
He turned on the shower and placed her under the running water.
“It’s cold…” she said, curling up under the spray.
“You just said you were hot.”
“I was. Now I’m freezing.”
“That’s normal. It’s eleven at night,” he muttered. He watched her for a moment, then exhaled slowly. “Feeling any better now?”
She nodded weakly. “Yeah. A lot better, actually.”
He turned off the water, grabbed a towel, and handed it to her. “That was from the orange juice. William did it without my permission.”
She shivered, looking confused. “Did he… poison me?”
“No. But you shouldn’t have drunk it.”
He stared at her for a long moment before speaking again, his voice flat. “Dry off and change into something from the closet. I’ll be outside.”
He shut the bathroom door behind him, leaving her alone. And for the first time in a long while, his mind was clouded not just with anger, but with something else, something he didn’t want to name.
Aksara