Chapter 32

THIRTY-TWO

I stood there,trembling with what I had just witnessed. Bradley leaned in and planted a delicate kiss against the young woman's cheek. He turned back toward me, though his gaze remained on the ground.

"Bradley…" My voice crackled as I flicked my eyes between both of them. No response. He pushed past me and walked into the hallway. I followed him and the door slid shut behind us.

"Bradley, please talk to me. That girl is your sister?" I couldn't believe what was happening.

"Bradley!" I raised my voice as he pressed his forehead against the wall and planted both hands by his face.

"Yeah," he said desolately.

"Bradley, we have to get her out. What the hell? Is she here because she was an addict? What did you mean you tried everything but can't help her? What is going to happen to her now?" I asked rapidly as my heart rate spiked and my entire body went into the state of panic.

Sighing, he turned to face me. "She's someone's favorite girl."

Jerking back, I titled my head and eyed him. "What does that even mean? I thought I was supposed to become the favorite girl?" I felt stupid for even asking such a ridiculous question when I didn't even know what the title meant.

"Demi, you've always been the favorite girl. Their favorite girl. But my sister is someone else's."

Running my hands through my hair, my breathing became erratic. "I don't understand…"

"Demi, my sister has been chosen. She'll be leaving here in a week. Come on… we have a wedding to plan." He waved me toward the exit as if he didn't just say the most outrageous statement.

"What do you mean, I've always been the favorite girl? And who's wedding do we have to plan?" I had to break into a light jog just to catch up to him.

"Demi, just stop. Please. I cannot handle any questions when my entire life is crashing down in front of me, and I have no way to piece anything back together." He rubbed his hands across his face as we exited.

"Let's get your sister out of here?—"

"Fuck, Demi! You just don't get it. There is no way out of here. This is hell, and we're all going to burn. The sooner you accept it, the better off you'll be and the less you'll scorch. But if you play your cards right, you won't even burn… you'll get to live happily ever after." He paused and suddenly, his facial expression shifted to annoyance. "Oh, I forgot to ask… how was your first kiss?" He rolled his eyes.

What? How did he know Conrad had kissed me? How did he know that was my very first kiss?

Embarrassment pooled inside of me as we continued to walk in silence.

I didn't recognize the path we were taking, and I looked at the framed images as we walked down the narrow hallways. Each one was black-and-white, with couples on their wedding day. Slowing my pace, I studied them carefully. The men were all significantly older, while the women were frail and young…

I wish they were in color. I couldn't tell what their hair or eyes looked like. I couldn't tell for sure, but I could swear the women looked just like the caged girls. The caged girls with hair and wedding gowns on.

"Demi, come on," Bradley said blankly. Opening the two doors, we walked in together, but we weren't alone. Surrounding an oversized round table, Dr. and Mrs. Ivory sat there with an older man I had never seen before, Becca, and Conrad. Three identical binders were laid neatly in front of the man.

"It's nice of you both to finally join us," Dr. Ivory said with annoyance as Bradley nodded toward one of the empty chairs for me to sit.

Sinking down, I looked around the table, catching Conrad's eyes. He winked at me, causing my cheeks to immediately grow warm, and beside me, Bradley grunted with irritation.

"Now that everyone is here, we are so very pleased to introduce our next client, Dr. Mason Davenport. As many of you know, his brother, Dr. Liam Davenport was once a client of ours as well. His selection, Oakley, was one of our best products—the perfect and most compliant blonde you could find. Dr. Davenport is here to select the make, model, and year of his purchase," Dr. Ivory boasted proudly.

Wait… the Ivory family sold cars? No wonder they were abnormally wealthy. I leaned closer to the table, wanting to see the details of the folders. I didn't even have a driver's license, so car buying seemed so foreign to me. "Demi, as a valuable member of our family, we'd love for you to flip through one of the folders as well. Perhaps you can help Dr. Davenport here decide on some of the finer details. Plus, you're the closest to our merchandise these days." Dr. Ivory smiled at me in a way that made me realize the purchase wasn't a car.

With shaking hands, I tugged the folder open and immediately choked on the air around me. I wanted to throw up. I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry.

But just as soon as I was going to react, I felt a hand grip my thigh. Glancing down, I saw Bradley's hand squeeze my leg under the table, and when I made eye contact with him, he gave me a pleading look that clearly said, ‘Conceal every emotion in your body or you'll be dead.'

"Definitely want a 2005 model. The younger ones are the best…" Dr. Davenport licked his bottom lips and grinned at me.

"Well, we only have one 2005 model and she's in pristine condition." Mrs. Ivory clapped happily. "Demi, open the folder to page five," she added.

My fingers felt numb as I turned the page and begged myself to not start hysterically crying. Page five had an image of one of the girls—Bradley's sister.

My heart broke as I glanced at him. His eyes were fastened on the image of his sister standing on a platform wearing nothing but a beige bra and matching panties.

Shoving the folder toward Dr. Davenport, I slid my hand into Bradley's shaking hand under the table.

Gripping it tightly, he squeezed my hand back.

"She's definitely a favorite girl," Dr. Ivory quipped. "Her bones are flawless. No signs of deterioration. Completely submissive after intensive white-therapy, and as you can see here," he pointed to another page in a separate binder, "she's a confirmed virgin."

Dr. Davenport let out a sound of excitement that left me disgusted, and Bradley dropped his head lower.

"Now, this is my wife's expertise. You can select from the various hair styles shown on page thirty. We'll secure it onto your item, and we have a one hundred percent guarantee that their hair will grow back in, which we will style to your liking, free of charge. She'll be brand-new, just for you."

"I can't believe after five years on your waitlist… it's finally my turn. I've been waiting for her. I can't wait to…" He and Ian Ivory exchanged a nauseating look with a wicked laugh.

"Well, you do remember the wedding night must take place in the holy room. This is our way of coping with letting one of our beautiful birds fly free." Ian cleared his throat.

"Of course. I've heard nothing but incredible things about your wedding ceremonies and… memorable wedding nights." Dr. Davenport continued to flip through the pages.

Squinting, I could see one of the pages. Images of green eyes were lined up from light to dark.

"I think she'd look better with the forest-green shade, don't you think?" Dr. Davenport looked at Mrs. Ivory, who was scribbling notes down excitedly in a pink leather journal.

"Absolutely! She's got the perfect porcelain face and that shade will truly pop." The rest of the conversation began to blur, and all I could hear were the hairstyles Becca happily explained, preferences on wedding gowns, and music choices.

"Now, my favorite part." Dr. Ivory lifted a cream-colored binder that stood out against the white ones.

"Bridal lingerie." He licked his index finger and began flipping through the pages. "Here. Mmm… this is my absolute favorite." He shuddered and turned the binder toward Dr. Davenport.

"Oh, now that is simply delectable. Yes, I want my product in that."

"Now, now, Mason. Don't forget once she's designed for you, she's no longer your product but rather your beautiful blushing bride."

"What do you think, Bradley?" Dr. Ivory asked. "Bradley?" This time, anger laced his tone.

"Yes, sir?" Bradley looked at him with defeated eyes.

"Do you think product number five will look good in this for the wedding night?" He sneered, and I swore it took every ounce of willpower not to jump across the table and gauge his fucking green eyes out. "Look at it, Bradley. Look at the outfit and tell us exactly your thoughts." Dr. Ivory knew what he was doing. He was torturing that innocent young woman's brother.

The binder slid over toward us, and I looked at the image.

A black lace outfit, combined with a dog collar-looking choker and leash was on the page, and the page beside it contained a white lace outfit with the same dog collar and leash. Suddenly it all started to piece together. The ‘white-therapy' had to be some distorted way to make these women submissive? But how?

This wasn't some kind of rehabilitation; this was molding women to be subservient wives for these disturbed men.

"Bradley, answer me!" Dr. Ivory roared and I flung back into my seat.

"It's a great selection, sir." Bradley sounded like he was obstructing on his own voice.

"You'll have a front row seat to the holy room celebration," Dr. Ivory added before laughing and slapping Dr. Davenport's back.

I looked over at Conrad, who was sitting there like a statue, completely unphased by what was happening. How could he allow this to happen? He didn't live here full-time, but this was his home he flocked to for holidays and summer breaks from medical school. Granted, he'd been here for as long as I had. Was he really in school?

"Okay, everyone, we have a wedding to prepare for. Tomorrow will be here before we know it."

"Tomorrow?" I spat out loudly.

Everyone turned toward me, including Conrad.

"Dr. Davenport leaves for California in two days, and he needs his wife to be with him." Mrs. Ivory's jaw ticked as she looked at me.

"Okay." I nodded and avoided her gaze. That meant Bradley's sister would be leaving here. What was his plan? Would he try to escape? Would he try to save her?

But then I recalled what he had said to her. He said he tried everything.

There was no way out of here. We all had a one-way ticket to hell, and I was starting to realize that the ones who would eventually leave were just going into a different side of it.