“She’s mine, Yvette. Stop tormenting her.”
Mine.The word should frighten me, but it doesn’t. It feels safe. Protective. Like he won’t let anyone, even this awful woman that he seems to like so well, hurt me.
“She could be a fun plaything,” Yvette says with a tight smile. “We could both play with her, Alexandre. Imagine what she would do with a little—urgingfrom me.” She nods towards my trembling half-naked body. “She wants it already.”
“No.” Alexandre’s voice is sharp as a knife, cutting through the air. “She’s not yours to play with, Yvette. She’s mine.” His gaze whips towards me, and I shudder at the look in his eyes.
“Go to your room, Anastasia.”
I don’t make him ask twice. I hear him starting to speak to Yvette in French, quick and angry, but I don’t bother even trying to parse it out. I grab my dress in my fist, clutching the fabric over my breasts, and despite the pain in my feet, I flee.
I don’t stop until I’m in my room, just as he said, the door securely closed behind me.
And then I sink to the floor, my heart pounding as I start to cry.