13. Geneva

13

GENEVA

C alix sends me one last smirk before disappearing, leaving me in a haze of mixed emotions. I lean against the bathroom wall, my breath still coming in short, sharp bursts. I know that I'm running late to get ready for the day's duties, but I need a wash after that.

Turning on the shower, I let out a sigh as I go under. The warm water streams over me, washing away the remnants of our encounter, but not the imprint it left on my mind.

"Touch yourself," he'd commanded. And I'd done it. Not just because he asked, but because, in that moment, I wanted to. The memory sends a shiver down my spine, a hint of shame coursing through my body. But then, it's quickly surpassed by an overwhelming empowerment.

I satisfied Calix , I think to myself, almost in awe of what I'm capable of.

I finish washing up, scrubbing away at my skin. Each stroke of the washcloth feels like a small rebellion, a declaration that I'm not beaten yet. I step out of the shower and wrap myself in a towel—the same towel that I had discarded earlier.

I slip into my uniform, a plain dress that feels more like a cage than clothing. I grab the two crystals on the counter and slip them into my pocket. As I'm fastening the last button, the bathroom door flies open, nearly hitting me in the process. Derina bursts in, her dark eyes scanning me with disapproval.

"Honestly, Geneva," she retorts, eyeing me like a predator sizing up its next meal. "You look like you've been dragged through a thornbush and then tossed off a cliff for good measure."

I bite my tongue hard enough to taste blood, resisting the overwhelming urge to snap back with something equally vicious. I'm so sick of her and her blatant disrespect towards me. She's had it out for me the moment I stepped foot into this manor.

Instead of saying all the venomous words resting on my tongue, I force a neutral expression. "I'm dressed, aren't I? That's what matters."

Derina's lips curl into a sneer that makes my skin crawl. "Barely," she scoffs, reaching out with her sharp nails. She tugs at my sleeve, nearly ripping it in her unnecessary show of force. "This seam is coming loose. Shoddy work, just like you. Can't even dress yourself properly."

"Hey!" I protest, jerking my arm away from her grasp, my temper finally flaring. "I didn't make the damn uniform. If you've got a problem with it, take it up with whoever's in charge of this place's wardrobe. There's so much money tossed around by the clients, isn't there? Use some for better uniforms."

"You somehow make it look even worse on the body," Derina replies indifferently. She reaches for my hair, yanking the strands back into a severe bun. "Can't have you looking like some wild creature."

I wince as she pulls, my scalp stinging. "I can do my own hair, thanks."

"Clearly not," Derina scoffs. She produces a small makeup kit from one of her many pockets, brandishing a brush like a weapon. "Now hold still. We need to make you look somewhat presentable."

"I don't need—" I start, but she's already dusting powder across my face, the fine particles tickling my nose and making me want to sneeze. I try to turn away, but Derina's grip on my chin is strong.

"Hush," Derina commands, her voice dripping with disdain. "Your opinion doesn't matter here. You're just a prop, remember? A pretty little human doll for the customers to play with. Nothing more, nothing less."

Her words sting more than the brush scratching my skin, each syllable a barb that digs deep into my pride. After all I've been through, her words still manage to get under my skin.

I clench my fists so tight my nails bite into my palms, fighting back the urge to lash out. The anger bubbles up inside me, hot and fierce, but I force it down. I can't afford to lose control, not here, not now. But gods, how I long to wipe that smug look off her face.

Derina continues her assault, dabbing red dust on my cheeks and lining my eyes with black powder. "There," she says, stepping back to admire her handiwork. "At least now you look like you're worth something."

I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. The face staring back is barely recognizable, painted and primped in a way that makes my skin crawl. It's not me. It's the mask they want me to wear.

"Perfect," Derina declares, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "Now you're ready to earn your keep."

I've had enough. My patience, worn thin by endless abuse and degradation, snaps like a frayed rope. I grab Derina's arm, my fingers digging into her flesh with a strength I didn't know I possessed.

"What is this?" I snarl, my voice simmering with barely contained rage. "I thought I was here to scrub floors, not play dress-up for your amusement."

Derina's eyes widen, shock replacing her usual smug expression. She tries to jerk her arm away, but I hold fast, my fingers digging into her flesh with a strength born of desperation and fury. The fear that flashes across her face only fuels my resolve.

"Let go of me, you insolent little?—"

"No," I cut her off, tightening my grip. A small, dark part of me relishes her wince of pain. "I'm done being your punching bag. I'm done with the mind games and the abuse. What's the real meaning of this? Where are you taking me? Why are you putting some fucking make-up on me?"

"I..." Derina grits her teeth, her face contorting with a mixture of pain and rage. Her free hand claws at mine, but I don't budge. "I don't have to tell anything to you, little bitch! You're nothing but a slave, and you'll do as you're told!"

Her words hit me like a slap, but I refuse to back down. I've been pushed too far, and now, I'm pushing back.

"You need to tell me," I hiss, digging my nails into her skin in a way that makes her yelp. "Otherwise, I'm not leaving this fucking bathroom. Then we'll both be in a world of trouble."

"F-Fine!" Derina exclaims, jerking her arm away and stumbling backwards slightly. She huffs out a breath, her eyes darting around nervously. "I… Master Sylas wants to see you."

My eyes narrow at her sudden change in demeanor. The fear in her voice is palpable, and it sends a chill down my spine. Something's not right. "Why do you seem scared?" I press, taking a step closer to her. My heart begins to race, anticipating her answer.

"He was... upset," she manages to get out, her voice barely above a whisper. She wrings her hands together, unable to meet my gaze. "That's when he asked to see you immediately. And now you've kept him waiting!" Her words come out in a rush, tinged with panic.

I feel my stomach drop. Sylas upset is never a good thing, and now I've made it worse by delaying. I clench my fists, trying to steady my nerves. "How upset?" I ask, dreading the answer.

"How the fuck am I supposed to quantify that?" Derina snaps, letting out an exasperated sigh.

I feel the blood drain from my face as Derina's words sink in. Master Sylas wants to see me. Immediately. My mind races, piecing together the implications. The sleazy old dark elf from last night, his soul now trapped in a crystal. Did someone find his body? Did Calix not dispose of it as promised?

"What exactly did Master Sylas say?" I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.

Derina's eyes dart around again, as if expecting him to burst out of the walls. "He didn't say much. Just that he needed to speak with you urgently. I wasn't going to question him further."

My stomach churns. "Did he mention why?"

"No!" Derina snaps, her fear making her irritable. "But I've never seen him this angry. Whatever you've done, you're in for it now."

I take a deep breath, steeling myself. "Fine. Where is he?"

"In his private study," Derina replies brusquely. "Can you hurry up? We've wasted so much time. I don't intend of getting punished for your stupidity."

"Alright." I hold a hand up, just as she reaches out for my arm. "I can walk by myself. No need to touch me."

I follow Derina through the winding corridors, my heart pounding against my ribs. Each step feels heavier than the last, like I'm walking to my own execution. The confidence I felt earlier starts to crumble, replaced by a gnawing doubt that claws at my insides.

"What if Calix lied?" I mutter under my breath, barely audible.

Derina glances back, her eyes narrowing. "What was that?"

"Nothing," I reply quickly, forcing a neutral expression.

As we approach Sylas's study, my mind races. Was I a fool to trust a demon? The very thought makes my stomach hurt. I replay our interactions in my head, searching for any sign that Calix might have deceived me. His smirk, his casual demeanor, his sudden disappearances—were they all part of some elaborate trick?

Was I a just helpless pawn all along?