The Womanizer's Mute Wife

“There’s nothing wrong with breaking her legs to keep her. Or chaining her to the bed. She’s mine.”

She was looking for freedom. He gave her obsession—wrapped in tenderness.

Genesis Caldwell thought escaping her abusive home meant salvation—but her arranged marriage to billionaire Kieran Blackwood might be its own kind of prison.

He’s possessive, controlling, dangerous. Yet in his own broken way… he’s gentle with her.

To Kieran, Genesis isn’t just a wife. She’s everything.

And he’ll protect what’s his. Even if it means destroying everything else.

The Cage I Call Home

GENESIS

“Wake up, you little freak.” That was my morning greeting before a bucket of freezing water drenched me, soaking my thin bedding and making me shiver uncontrollably.

“What do you think you’re doing, sleeping this late? Do you think you’re royalty while we serve you?” Mark, my stepbrother, sneered, his voice dripping with disdain. Before I could fully wipe the water off my face, he kicked my bed, sending me tumbling to the floor with a painful thud. My jaw slammed against the wooden boards, sending a jolt of pain through my skull.

But I knew better than to stay down. If I valued my life, I had to get up, quickly. Without a second thought, I pushed myself off the ground, ignoring the ache in my jaw as I stood upright.

My shoulders instinctively hunched as I faced them, bracing myself for whatever came next. Mark was bad enough, but Jimmy, the older of my stepbrothers, was far worse. His cruelty wasn’t just physical, it was insidious, calculated.

Jimmy stepped forward, and I stiffened, my stomach knotting with dread. He reached out, tucking a strand of my wet hair behind my ear, his fingers lingering far too long. My skin crawled at his touch, but I forced myself to stand still. Tears stung the back of my eyes, but I didn’t dare let them fall.

“Mother wants to see you,” Jimmy said, his tone deceptively soft. He didn’t pull his hand away, his fingers brushing against my cheek in a way that made my heart race with panic.

“And don’t keep her waiting,” he added, his voice dropping an octave, a warning I knew not to ignore.

I flinched back, slipping out of his reach as quickly as I could. The tears escaped despite my efforts, but I wiped them away furiously before descending the stairs. Monica couldn’t see them, not her.

When I entered the kitchen, I froze in the doorway. Monica, my stepmother, sat on a stool, a glass of something amber in her hand. Even from across the room, I could smell the alcohol. Her sharp eyes were fixed on a stack of papers in front of her, but the moment she noticed me, she sneered.

“What are you standing there for like a useless statue? Get over here,” she snapped.

Startled, I nodded and stepped forward, keeping my eyes on the ground.

“Pathetic,” she muttered as her gaze swept over me. “You look like something the cat dragged in. Your father must’ve been blind to leave someone like you in my care.”

My head snapped up at her words. My father hadn’t left me with her because he didn’t want me. He was taken away from me.

But Monica wasn’t finished. She rose from her stool, circling me like a predator sizing up its prey. “You’re nothing but a burden. A filthy, good-for-nothing little freak. If I had my way, you’d be out on the streets where you belong.”

Her words cut deep, but I bit my lip and stayed silent. Any response would only make things worse. Not that I could even speak.

“You’ll scrub this kitchen from top to bottom,” she ordered, shoving me toward the sink. “And when you’re done, you’ll serve dinner tonight. Try not to embarrass me, though I doubt you’re capable of anything else.”

Her hand shot out suddenly, pushing me hard enough that I stumbled into the counter. The pain in my ribs flared, but I caught myself before I fell.

Monica’s cruel laughter rang in my ears as she returned to her papers. “Get to work. You’re lucky to even be under this roof.”

I turned away, gripping the edge of the counter tightly as the tears threatened to fall again. But I wouldn't cry, not where she could see them. Not where any of them could see them.

It will be over soon. Just a year, I just need to get it and I'll leave.

****

I found myself in my room at the end of a long day, every inch of my body aching as if I had been repeatedly slammed against a wall. The pain was relentless, and I had no medicine to ease it. Asking Monica for help would only lead to her typical response.

“I provide you with food, clothes, and a roof over your head, yet it’s still not enough for you. You want money for your filthy ailments? Just stay away so you don’t pass anything on to me,” she would say without fail, making it clear that there was no point in asking.

Yet, amidst the discomfort, I felt a small sense of relief, I had managed to eat. Dinner was a bit different today. The usual shouting echoed around the house, but I was allowed to eat in my room instead of the dining area. Honestly, I doubted I could have kept any food down if I had to sit with them.

Once my meal settled, I pulled out a book I had borrowed from the library without my stepmother’s consent and began to read silently. Some of the larger words tripped me up, but I was determined to make sense of it.

As I immersed myself in the pages, I didn’t notice when he entered my room. I was so focused on reading that I didn’t feel the shift in the atmosphere until I sensed his presence. I looked up to see Jimmy leaning against the door, a smirk playing on his lips, his gaze filled with a familiar hunger.

In a panic, I tossed the book aside and shook my head as he approached. Just then, the doorbell rang, but it didn’t deter him. I stood up and tried to signal that I needed to answer the door.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he said, his hand snaking around my waist. Tears I had been holding back spilled down my cheeks as he pushed me onto the bed. I attempted to escape, but he yanked me back by my hair, and I felt some strands tear away from the force.

He chuckled as he ripped the delicate fabric from my shirt, revealing my breast to him. “Looks like someone’s in a Feisty mood today,” he remarked, his hand starting to glide toward my core. But just as things were about to escalate, a furious shout echoed from downstairs.

“GENESIS,” Monica yelled suddenly, her voice filled with rage, causing Jimmy to leap off me as if I were on fire. My body trembled, not just from what almost transpired, but from the anticipation of what awaited me downstairs.

A hangover and a husband -to- be

KIER

“Welcome back, fam! You know what it is, live and loud from my favorite spot in the city,” I tilted my phone, the live stream capturing the pulsing lights and packed dance floor of the club. The chat exploded with messages, half drooling over me, half trying to get noticed.

I leaned back against the VIP booth. My tailored black shirt clung perfectly to my chest, the top few buttons undone to show just enough skin for effect. I raked a hand through my tousled hair, pretending not to notice the camera lingering on my face.

“In case you forgot, you’re tuned into the Kier Blackwood channel, where you watch me live a life you’ll never afford. But hey, at least you can pretend.”

I scanned the chat, smirking at the flood of comments. ‘Kier, you’re a god!’ ‘Notice me, please!’ ‘What’s tonight’s drink of choice?’

I swirled the champagne in my glass, holding it up to the camera. “Champagne, because why settle for anything less? And before you ask, no, it’s not the cheap stuff. But you probably can’t tell the difference.”

“And you all have been asking for the secret of my glow,” I teased, lowering my voice for dramatic effect. “It’s all about good lighting… and good company.” My gaze shifted to the two sexy models seated beside me, laughing and clinking their glasses.

The chat flooded with more emojis, some hailing me as a king, others calling me a jerk, but I just chuckled. “Oh, and for those of you asking if I’ll ever settle down? Hate to break it to you, but love’s just a marketing ploy. I’m here for the good stuff: money, power, and a damn good time.”

I took hold of one of the models, pulling her close as I pressed my lips against hers, kissing her as if it were our last moment on Earth. She settled onto my lap while I flashed a cheeky grin at the camera and winked at my followers. After ending the live stream, I tossed my phone aside and turned my full attention to the stunning girl in front of me, along with the others beside us.

I celebrated as if the night would never end, completely unaware of how I found my way back home.

****

The alarm was ringing like crazy in my throbbing head. I opened my eyes and grabbed the alarm, why the hell was there an alarm on my nightstand? I didn’t know, but it had to go.

“Shut it!” I screamed, throwing the alarm at the wall, watching it shatter to pieces. I smiled as the silence filled the room, ready to spread out comfortably on the bed, when I felt someone beside me.

Thinking it was one of the girls, I wrapped my hand around the torso, but the body I touched was clothed. That was the number one red flag, no woman on my bed should ever be clothed. And the biggest red flag was the hard muscles I was feeling.

“I do not like being groped, Mr. Blackwood,” a very male voice said, and my eyes snapped open to see my driver slash bodyguard on my bed.

“What the fuck, Damon?” I yelled. In my haste to get away from him, I fell hard onto the floor.

“Shit!!!,” I muttered.

“Mr. Blackwood, I sent your guests away because…..” He was about to explain, but I cut him off.

“I didn’t tell you to do that! Who gave you the right?” I shot back, but then I was caught short by the one person I did not expect to see this morning.

“I sent him, so get yourself together and meet me downstairs,” my father, the great Donald Blackwood, said, without waiting for anyone. He moved away and shut the door behind him.

“What the hell? It’s too early for this. It’s barely morning,” I gritted out, raking my hand through my hair.

“It’s twelve in the afternoon, young master…” Damon started, but I shot him a glare.

“Shut up, and get out. And I’ll say this once: don’t ever be on my bed if you weren’t part of my fuck list,” I snapped. He grimaced and walked out, shutting the door behind him.

I sighed, rubbing my face. “What does that man want this morning?”

“What?” I spat out the juice I’d just sipped as my father spoke the most dreaded words I’d heard in a long while.

“Do I have to repeat myself? I said you are getting married to Genesis Caldwell tomorrow,” he repeated, and I gaped at him. He was definitely tripping. He had to be joking, right?

“Dad, you’re tripping. There’s no way I’m getting married to some random woman I don’t know tomorrow. Where is all this coming from?”

My father’s face was set in a frown, his gray eyes hard and cold as he looked at me with disgust. “It’s coming from your disgusting behavior that I can no longer tolerate. You’ll do as I’ve said, or else you’ll be stripped of all your privileges, your money, the company, this very expensive penthouse, everything.”

What the hell was going on? Was this a nightmare? If it was, I needed to wake up, now.

“Dad, you can’t do that,” I said, standing up and pacing. It felt like the whole world was crumbling under my feet.

“Oh yes, I can. So tomorrow, if you don’t show up at court, every one of your assets will be frozen.”

“Fuck!”

“I’m tired of your behavior. I can’t take it any longer. It’s time you man up. You’re almost thirty, and all you do is party like some party animal,” he said, dropping another bombshell. “If you want to inherit the company and everything else, you’ll marry this young woman and give me an heir.”

“An heir?” I gasped, my stomach turning. I never wanted kids or to settle down, and now this was happening to me in one day?

I approached the counter and gazed at the image of the young woman. To my astonishment, she seemed oddly familiar, though I couldn't quite place why.

“Dad, this girl is just a teenager! Isn’t that illegal? Am I really expected to marry a teenager?”

“No, I just don’t have a recent photo of her, but you should recognize her,” he replied, and I stood frozen, fixated on the picture. “That’s Genesis Caldwell. You were close friends when you were little, though she was just a toddler back then.”

I shook my head in disbelief, yet there was something about her that tugged at my memory. She was stunning, but people change as they grow older. Would she even appeal to me now?

“I don’t remember her, Dad. Can’t you think this over? Please, I promise I’ll do better. Don’t put me in this situation,” I pleaded, but he simply shook his head, rising from his chair and brushing off his suit. He cast one last glance my way, and I realized my destiny was set. I was to marry someone I barely knew, yet she felt like a ghost from my past.

As my father reached the door, he hesitated, turning back to me with a knowing grin.

“Tomorrow, Kier. You’ll remember her. And believe me, she won’t be easy to forget this time.”

The door clicked shut, and his words lingered in the air, heavier than any hangover I had ever experienced.

Till Debt Do Us Part

GENESIS

I stood in the court, in disbelief. I was marrying someone I didn’t know, a man who clearly didn’t want to marry me. I knew it for sure. First, he was late to the court wedding. Second, his eyes never looked at me with warmth. His gaze wasn’t full of hate, but it wasn’t tender either. It was more like he was inspecting me, sizing me up, with no real interest. There was no hunger in his eyes like there was with Jimmy. Instead, when he looked at me, it felt like disappointment, as if I wasn’t what he had expected.

Well, we were both in the same boat. This wasn’t what I had expected either. When Monica had called me downstairs last night, I thought I was in trouble. I thought I had done something horribly wrong. But no, instead, she told me I was getting married. Then came the yelling, the slaps, and the broken objects flying through the air.

“How dare he? How dare he think he can just waltz back into your life?” Monica screamed at me, throwing things as she went on. Who was this “he”? I didn’t know.

And now, here I was, the very next day, lawfully wedding a man I barely knew. A giant of a man, taller than my stepbrothers. When he came near me, it felt like I might throw up, though I hadn’t eaten a thing. He seemed like he could crush me with just one hand.

Then the ceremony was over, the words spoken, but nothing had changed. My new life had started, but I couldn’t feel anything. There was no happiness, no relief, only this hollow emptiness gnawing at me. I couldn't move, frozen in place in fear.

While Monica stood off to the side, her face twisted in anger. She looked at me like I was the cause of all her frustrations. Jimmy and Mark, my two stepbrothers, flanked her, their expressions equally sour.

I could feel their eyes on me, burning with judgment, especially Monica’s. She had always looked at me like I was something to be controlled, something to be molded. And now… now I was married, bound to a man I didn’t know, a man who barely spared me a glance. It was all too much.

My heart pounded in my chest, each beat too loud in the suffocating silence. The familiar tightness in my throat felt like a vice, squeezing the breath from me, and I wondered if I'd collapse from the weight of everything that had happened so fast.

Kier’s father, Donald, stood near the back of the room. His face was hard to read at first, but then I noticed it: the slight guilt in his eyes as he looked at me. His gaze softened for a brief moment, almost imperceptible, and then he offered me a small, almost apologetic smile.

I froze. His face brought back memories of my father, his old friend. It had been years since I last saw him, since my father’s death. He had always been kind to me back then, a warm, comforting presence whenever my father had business to attend to. But now, seeing him here, watching me in silence as I stood with his son, it felt like time had warped everything. I didn’t know how to feel. Was he smiling because he was happy for the marriage? Or was it a sad smile, one of regret for the situation I had been thrown into?

Kier didn’t look at me again. He stood beside me, and when the ceremony was over, he turned his back and started walking toward the exit.

I followed him like a shadow, unsure of where I was supposed to go, unsure of what was expected of me. My steps were slow, tentative, but there was nowhere else to go. I had no choice but to follow him.

We reached the parking lot, and I saw the black car parked nearby, his car, I assumed. He didn’t speak, didn’t acknowledge me as I got closer. His hand reached for the door handle without a second glance, and he opened it for me. The coldness of his gesture made me pause. But there was no alternative. No one was going to tell me what to do now.

I climbed into the passenger seat, trying not to tremble. As the door clicked shut, the reality of my situation settled in. I was alone with a man I barely knew, and the future seemed as empty as the silence that stretched between us.

As we drove, the tension in the air was palpable, my body stiff, my hands trembling in my lap. I could see the way his hand clenched and unclenched on the steering wheel, his jaw tight. The silence between us felt heavy, suffocating, like the air had thickened with all the unspoken things we both felt.

Then, to my shock, he raised one of his hands off the steering wheel. My instincts kicked in, and I hunched over, shielding myself with my hand, expecting a blow.

“Yo, what the hell, I'm not going to touch you,” he said, his voice firm but edged with disbelief. I didn’t lower my guard, keeping my eyes squeezed shut. My heart raced in my chest, my breaths coming out in ragged bursts. But I peered out from under my arm, and that’s when I noticed that he had parked the car, which only made my heart rate spike further.

“Breathe. I'm not going to hurt you, so relax,” he added, his voice softer now, though his narrowed eyes still regarded me with an unreadable expression.

I slowly lowered my hand from my head, still tense, my body coiled with fear. But I unfolded myself from my defensive crouch, trying to regain some composure.

“Good,” he muttered, glancing out the window. But he didn’t start the car right away. Instead, he sighed, his fingers tapping on the wheel in frustration.

“I don’t know if this whole marriage is as much of a surprise to you as it is to me,” he started, his gaze briefly flicking to me. I remained silent, unsure of where this was going. I was still too caught in the shock of everything.

“But I need you to know that it’s not going to last. We’re just going to try and give my father his heir, and then we’ll go our separate ways,” he said, his brows raised slightly as if to gauge my reaction. I nodded quickly, eager to agree with anything that would make this nightmare end sooner.

So that meant he wanted out as soon as possible. That was good. It was really good. I just needed to stay with him for a year, then I’d get my inheritance from Monica when I turned twenty-four, and I’d find my way.

“So you understand this is not a real marriage, I don't know you, you are not even my…..” he continued, but then his words faltered, and he stopped himself with a sigh.

“Shit, getting this heir is going to be harder than I thought,” he muttered to himself. His frustration was palpable, and I could feel my cheeks flame with embarrassment. My eyes dropped to my body, I was thin, really thin, and malnourished looking. My hair was long but dull, nothing like the beautiful women I imagined he was used to.

If I were him, I thought bitterly, I wouldn’t want me either.

To make it easier for him, I figured I could always ask him to turn off the lights anytime he wanted to do what he had to do. Maybe that would make it easier for both of us.

The Room She Won’t Leave

KIER

Three days later

Family Estate mansion

"Y... young master," Richard, the butler, called out just as I was about to leave for the company.

I froze, my hand on the door handle of my car. I had bigger things to worry about than whatever insignificant problem he was about to bring up.

Not only had I been forced into a marriage with some random woman, but now I had to step into my father's company and learn how to "take charge" of a business I was already well-versed in. I went to business school for this, for God’s sake. I didn’t need to be babysat.

I turned and gave him a sharp look. "What is it?"

Richard fidgeted, rubbing a hand over his forehead, looking like he'd just run a marathon. "It's about your wife," he stammered.

My jaw tightened. My wife? The woman I was married to for a few days now, and still didn’t even know? Why would Richard come to me with this?

I exhaled sharply. "What about her?"

He hesitated, then spoke in a near whisper. "She hasn't... she hasn't left her room since she arrived. Me and the others are concerned, young master."

I blinked, still processing his words. I couldn't help but feel a wave of annoyance. What do you want me to do about it, Richard?

"So?" I said, trying to mask my annoyance. "She locked herself in a room. It's her choice. Is she eating?"

"Well, yes... but she barely touches the food. We leave it there every day, and she picks at it, but she doesn't speak, doesn't react at all."

I ran a hand through my hair, my patience thinning. "She can't speak, Richard. So that’s not a problem. And as long as she’s eating, I see no issue."

I pulled the car door open. "It’s not my problem if she wants to lock herself away. I’ve got more important things to handle."

Richard looked as if he might say more, but I was already sliding into my car, slamming the door shut. I could see him standing there, lost in thought, still probably trying to figure out what to do with his “new lady of the house.” I didn’t care. This whole marriage was a joke to me, and I wasn’t about to play the doting husband.

The drive to the company was a short one, but it felt like it dragged on forever. My mind churned over the list of things I had to do. Meetings, reports, some inane introductions, mostly just ceremonial fluff, nothing that actually required much thought. My father would probably rattle on about his expectations and how I should “step up” and “take control.”

I hated how everything felt like a performance, every moment a calculated step in a show no one bothered to ask me to audition for.

When I arrived, employees were lined up, standing in neat rows, as though they were greeting royalty. I barely glanced at them as I walked past, not caring for their rehearsed smiles. My father stood in the lobby, his arms crossed, a stern look on his face.

"Good, you're on time," he remarked, glancing at his watch like I hadn’t just spent twenty minutes fighting through traffic.

"Right," I muttered under my breath as I followed him to the boardroom, barely acknowledging the people we passed. He went into his usual spiel about the day’s agenda, department heads, managers, assistants, introductions to a sea of names I’d forget the second I shook their hands. The only thing that stuck in my mind was the nagging thought of my wife, locked away in her room.

Why was she doing this? Was it out of spite? Did she really hate me that much? Or was it simply her way of dealing with being thrust into a situation she didn’t ask for? I’d have no idea, considering we’d barely spoken since the wedding.

I should be the one upset, shouldn’t I? After all, I didn’t sign up for any of this. The whole marriage was forced on me. And yet, she was the one hiding in her room like a child throwing a tantrum. Not that it mattered, though. I had my own problems to focus on. Still, a small part of me couldn’t help but wonder why she was acting this way.

“Pay attention, Kier,” my father snapped, his voice cutting through my thoughts like a blade. I looked up to find him glaring at me, clearly annoyed. "This is important."

I straightened in my chair, plastering on a polite smile. "Of course, Father," I said, though my mind still lingered on the situation at home.

The hours dragged on. By the time the day was over, I was mentally exhausted. As I walked out of the building and got into my car, my mind wandered back to the estate. Would she still be in her room? Probably. Would I even care? Probably not.

But when I arrived back at the mansion and saw Richard standing near the front door, his worried expression still plastered on his face, something shifted inside me. He had that same look he’d had when I left that morning, the one that said something wasn’t right. And as his eyes flicked toward the stairs, I found myself asking, before I could stop myself, “Still hasn’t come out?”

Richard shook his head slowly, his expression clouded with worry.

I sighed, my shoulders heavy with the weight of an obligation I never asked for. “Fine, I’ll go check on her.”

I climbed the stairs slowly, each step echoing in the silence of the house. The hallway seemed longer now, darker somehow. When I reached her door, I hesitated. What was I supposed to say? How was I supposed to handle this? Was this even my problem?

I knocked softly at first. “It’s Kier. Open up.”

Silence.

I knocked harder, feeling my impatience rise. “I don’t know what your problem is, but this is my house too. If you’re going to lock yourself away, at least eat properly.”

Still nothing.

Frustrated, I grabbed the doorknob and turned. It clicked open with ease.

I stepped inside, the faint smell hitting me immediately. It was faint at first, but as I entered, it became stronger, foul and pungent. My nose wrinkled. What was that?

I flicked on the light, and the sight that greeted me made my stomach drop.

What the hell?

The First Command

Genesis

Three days.

Three long, suffocating days since I was brought to this cold, lifeless mansion. It felt like I’d been dropped into another world, a world too quiet, too clean, too alien. No Monica. No Mark. No Jimmy. No yelling, no beatings, no… anything.

I should have felt relief, but the silence only kept me on edge.

When I first arrived, I thought it would be like my old home. Rules to follow. Voices barking orders. But this house was nothing like that. The people here, like the butler, Richard, brought me food every day. I barely touched it. The plates were piled high with things I didn’t recognize. Meat glistening with strange sauces. Bread that smells sweet. It was too much. Too strange.

I wasn’t allowed to eat like this before, so how could I now?

My stomach twisted in hunger, but I couldn’t bring myself to take more than a few bites. What if they were testing me? What if eating too much would bring punishment?

The bathroom was another thing. It was bigger than my old room back at Monica’s. Bright tiles, polished mirrors, and strange, shiny devices I didn’t understand. The toilet was so white it almost sparkled. I hadn’t touched it. How could I? Monica’s voice still echoed in my mind, sharp and cruel: “Filthy things like you don’t deserve good things.”

So, I stayed away. I hadn’t bathed in three days. I hadn’t changed. The room reeked of sweat and urine, but no one said anything. Their silence felt like confirmation, I wasn’t allowed.

I slept on the floor, wrapped in the bedspread I’d soiled. It was safer that way. Safer than ruining the large, immaculate bed. I kept waiting for someone to come in and scream at me, to hit me for the mess. But no one did. The quiet suffocated me.

I just wanted to know the rules. If someone, anyone, would just tell me what I was supposed to do, I could obey.

As I lay there, curled up on the soiled bedspread, tears slipped down my cheeks. My stomach growled again, but I ignored it. I shut my eyes, willing sleep to come.

Then the door creaked open.

My body tensed.

The light clicked on, flooding the room. I squeezed my eyes shut, tighter, trying to block it out. Maybe if I stayed still, they’d leave.

But the voice that followed froze me in place. Deep. Sharp. Angry.

“What the fuck.”

It was him. My husband.

I didn't dare move. My heart raced, pounding so hard it felt like it might crack my ribs. His voice low and full of disbelief, sent a shiver through me.

I braced myself for what was coming, threats, pain. That was what followed words like that.

I cracked my eyes open, just a little. He was standing in the doorway, his tall, broad figure silhouetted by the bright light. His eyes were scanning the room, wide and sharp, taking in everything. The soiled sheets, the untouched bed, the untouched food, still seating on the tray. The mess that was me curled against the wall.

I wanted to shrink, to disappear into the floor. My chest tightened as shame clawed at me, but I didn't move. moving made it worse.

His footsteps broke the silence as he walked further in, slow and deliberate. I flinched as his shoes creaked against the floor, squeezing my eyes shut again. I could hear his breathing, shallow and uneven.

“What…” His voice broke off, and I heard him exhale sharply, like he was trying to calm himself. “What the hell is going on here?”

The question wasn’t directed at me, but it still felt like a knife to the chest. My mouth opened, a reflex, though I knew no words would come. I couldn’t answer even if I tried.

I heard him move closer, the faint shuffle of fabric as he knelt down. I felt the warmth of his presence next to me.

“Hey,” he said, quieter now, his voice softer. “Look at me.”

I couldn't.

“Genesis,” he said my name, like it was a command. His tone was different from before, less sharp but still firm. I didn't know what he wanted, What he was going to do.

Slowly I turned my head, my face hot with embarrassment, my eyes darting to his shoes instead of his face.

For a long moment, he said nothing.

Then, his voice came again, even quieter, almost like he was talking to himself. “What the hell happened to you?”

That made my stomach twist even more. Was he angry? Of course he was but why was he not hitting me, or was he disgusted? I didn't know how to read his tone.

He raised his hand up, and I flinched again, bracing myself. But there was no blow, no yelling, instead he rubbed his hand over his face and then glanced at the door.

“Richard,” his voice boomed and I jumped at the sound of it.

I scrambled up to my feet. My heart is hammering in fear. What had I done again? Was he calling someone else to join him in punishing me?

Moments later, Richards appeared at the door, his face pale. “Y…yes young master,”

“Get this room cleaned up now,” he said sharply.“And find her some clothes, something comfortable. And food. Fresh food.”

Richard’s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, clearly unsure how to respond.

“Now!” Kier barked, his voice leaving no room for argument.

Richard scrambled off, and Kier turned back to me. I quickly looked down, staring at my hands, willing myself to become invisible.

“Come with me,” he said as he stood up from his crouch. Tears slipped down my cheeks. This was it. I braced myself. I could endure it. I had done so for years.

I nodded, keeping my gaze low, and followed him. He led me to the bathroom door, pushed it open, and stepped aside. “Step in,” he instructed.

Without hesitation, I obeyed. Compliance was safer; I had learned that the hard way. I shuffled into the large, gleaming bathroom, my dirty feet leaving faint smudges on the pristine floor.

“Take a shower,” he said firmly.

I hesitated, confused by the command. Was this a trick? But his voice gave no room for argument. Slowly, I began to undress, peeling off the soiled dress and undergarments. I placed them carefully on the counter, avoiding eye contact. My eyes dropped to my feet, waiting for his next instruction.

“When you’re done taking off your clothes—” his voice faltered mid-sentence. I glanced up through my lashes to find him staring at me, his eyes wide before he quickly averted his gaze, looking anywhere but at me.

“When the hell did you undress so fast?” he muttered, his tone more startled than anything else. His reaction stung, and I couldn’t stop the fresh tears that burned down my cheeks. The scars covering my body must have horrified him.

He sighed heavily, his hand brushing over his face. When he looked back at me, his eyes stayed fixed on mine, avoiding the rest of me. “Step into the shower stall,” he said softly.

I nodded and turned, stepping toward the glass enclosure. But then I felt him move closer, his presence radiating behind me.

“What are those on your back?” he asked, his voice low and tense.

I froze, shrinking away from him, retreating into the stall as if he had burned me. His gaze followed, filled with something I couldn’t identify, horror? Pity? Anger?

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath. He exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples. Then, his tone shifted, softer but still firm. “Take your bath. Use whatever you need, the soaps, the lotions. They’re yours.”

I blinked at him, unsure how to respond. Mine? They couldn’t be mine. That had to be a trap.

My eyes darted to the unfamiliar fixtures and buttons. How was I supposed to use this? At Monica's, there had been a bucket and a cold tap, nothing like this.

I hesitated, not wanting to admit my ignorance. Panic bubbled as I randomly pressed one of the buttons, hoping for the best. Instead, a blast of steaming water erupted, hitting me squarely. I flinched and stumbled back with a silent scream, my body jerking out of the stall.

I collided with his chest, trembling uncontrollably. His arms wrapped around me instinctively, steadying me.

“What happened?” he asked, his voice sharp with concern.

The question threw me. He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t yelling. His hands stayed gentle as he guided me back toward the stall.