“Use your hands.” He rises.
I give him a hateful look. He receives it without a flicker of expression, then looks away and walks toward the door.
I turn to Antonio with pleading eyes. “I don’t know how to wash clothes.” I lift my right hand. “And my hand isn’t exactly healed.”
“Antonio.” The cold voice slices through before Antonio can respond.
I press my lips into a tight line, nostrils flaring.
Antonio chuckles as he rises.
“Don’t worry about it,” he says, and leaves.
Antonio, being the good man he is, sends new dresses for me in the evening. They’re all maid’s dresses, but they look new, unworn—and they actually fit. I don’t know what that tyrant monster hopes to prove by making me wear a maid’s uniform when no one’s even asking me to do the job anymore.
After breakfast, no one called me again until lunch, which went exactly like breakfast. After that, I was left alone with Bruno and my book once more.
After placing the dresses in my room, I walk out. This room is more like a storage space to me now, my living room and bedroom are Bruno’s room.
I pause at the doorway. A sudden discomfort grips my lower belly. I feel a warm rush of blood.It’s my period. Oh shit.
I rush to the bathroom I’ve been using and check my panties. They’re stained with blood. The only pair of underwear I have is now ruined. I can’t take them off, and I can’t keep wearing them. I need new ones. Immediately.
I pull them back on—damp, cold, already uncomfortable—and walk out of the bathroom.
I make my way to the study, where the man who kidnapped me and who should, as a decent human being, provide me with essentials, is likely seated.
I knock. No answer. I try the knob. It doesn’t budge. It’s locked.
My shoulders slump.Now what?I know, with absolute certainty, that no maid in this house will help me. And I have no idea where Antonio is.
An idea strikes, and I act on it instantly. I’ll do what I’ve been doing all along—steal.
I reach the room that has provided me everything so far and push open the unlocked door. The automatic lights flicker on as I enter. No one’s here. I cross to the door that leads to his walk-in closet.
I won’t find tampons here, but I can find underwear.
I step inside. Rows and rows of his clothing line the walls. I start pulling open drawers until I find a box of briefs. Shame floods through me as I rummage through a man’s private things. It’s something no person should ever have to do, but I have no other choice.
I check the size on the box. Large.Does he really have an ass that wide? He must, given how broad he is everywhere else.
“What are you even thinking, Wen?” I scold myself.
I take two from the box and slide the drawer shut.
I slip out of his closet and hurry across his room—but my bad luck finds me just as I open the door.
I almost bump into him. His face registers a brief surprise before his eyes narrow in disapproval.
I quickly hide my hands behind my back and gulp. Audibly.I’m done for.Last time, he said if I entered his room again, he’d lock me in my own.
“I—I have an emergency. I looked for you, but you weren’t in your study.” The words tumble out in a single breath.
“What?”
“I got my period.” The words come out awkward and small.
He lifts a brow. “And what does that have to do with my room?”
