o

led in her heart. She shifted slightly, wincing at the ache in her lower back. Her behind was still sore from the previous night-his handprints, like a burning reminder of what she ha

that could numb the pain enough for her to get through the day. She grabbed the bottle with shaky hands, uncapped it, and took one of the pills, swallowing it dry. Her throat felt tight, as though it wasn't just the pill that w

someone's plaything, someone's puppet. But her family, her father, had been drowning in debt, and there was no other way. She had no choice. She had to pay the price f

ef, and she wiped her eyes quickly, trying to co

ayla answered the call,

ice was calm, casual, as if the event

er voice. "I'm fine," she lied, her thr

in. "Good. Now listen to me, Layla. Don't repeat what happened yesterday. I

her voice betraying her. She wanted to say something, to arg

just slightly. "Would you like me to brin

e realizing he couldn't see her. "No, I'm fine,"

voice as cold as ever. "Alright. I'll see

treaming down her face once again. She pulled her knees up to her chest, sobbing quietly into her hands. It didn't matter how many time

, though it couldn't cleanse the emptiness she felt inside. When she stepped out, she dressed quickly in somethi

felt hollow. Layla wandered into the kitchen, hoping to find something to distract her. Madame Paula, the head servant, was the

reeted her, her voice warm but laced

smile, nodding. "Yes,

Would you like to accompany me to the market today?

ffer. She smiled and nodded. She needed