Wrong woman

I came downstairs wearing a thin bikini blouse I’d found buried deep in the closet. My feet still throbbed from yesterday’s burns, each step a reminder of my failed escape.

Master whistled when he saw me, pointing at the floor beside his left leg without a word. I lowered myself to the tile, trying to ignore the humiliation burning through me. He began passing food down to me as if I were a dog, placing morsels directly into my mouth.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his fingers lingering on my lips.

I glanced around at the staff. None of them blinked an eye at the spectacle. Had they seen worse? The thought made my stomach clench even as I accepted another bite from Master’s fingers.

The gun from mere minutes ago was nowhere to be seen, but I couldn’t forget what had happened.

After the meal, Master tugged at my hair gently. “There’s a ceremony tonight—a business function. You’ll accompany me.”

After being filled by the maids, I stood in his dressing room where he removed my handcuffs and the leather choker, replacing them with a delicate silver bracelet and matching necklace. Each bore his initials—E.C.—in gleaming script.

The limousine waited outside, sleek and black. I slid across the leather seat, keeping my eyes down as Master settled beside me. The privacy partition rose, sealing us off from the driver.

“I have a task for you tonight, pet.” He said casually.

From his breast pocket, he withdrew a small crystal vial filled with clear liquid. My breath caught as he placed it in my palm, closing my fingers around it.

“Mr. Thomas,” he said. “Financial advisor to the CEO of R Group. I need you to add this to his drink tonight.”

“Why?” The question slipped out before I could stop myself.

Master’s mouth twitched, almost amused. “He’s blocking a partnership I want. Keeps pushing his in-laws’ company instead.” He straightened his already perfect cuffs.

I stared at the poison, my heart thundering against my ribs. “That’s... not a reason to kill someone.”

His hand shot out, wrapping around my throat, not squeezing but holding me in place. His index finger lifted to point directly between my eyes.

“If you fail to do this,” he whispered, "that would be a reason to kill you.” His grip tightened slightly. “Or have you forgotten you killed someone?”

“It was an accident!” The words came out strangled.

“Would the police believe that?” His face was inches from mine, his breath warm against my skin. “It’s either you or Mr. Thomas. Choose.”

The vial trembled in my hand. I nodded solemnly, knowing I had no choice.

“Good pet,” he murmured, releasing my throat to stroke my cheek.

---

The ballroom glittered with golden chandeliers and smelled of wealth. Women wearing designer gowns, men in immaculate suits. Master moved through them like he owned the space, his hand firm at the small of my back.

We were seated at a table with three others, including Mr. Thomas—balding, with shrewd eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses. My fingers kept straying to my purse where the vial lay hidden. Each time Master caught the movement, his eyes darkened in warning.

When the speeches began, the lighting dimmed, and champagne flowed. I drank too quickly, glass after glass, trying to numb the screaming inside my head.

Master’s fingers dug into my thigh under the table. “You need to get your head on straight,” he hissed in my ear, snatching my latest glass away.

“I don’t know how—” My voice sounded pathetic even to my own ears.

Without warning, he gripped my arm and shoved me away from him. I stumbled, landing against Mr. Thomas’s shoulder with an awkward thud.

“I’m so sorry,” I stammered, steadying myself against his arm.

“No problem at all,” he replied, trying to gently extricate himself from my grip.

I clung tighter, smiling what I hoped looked genuine rather than terrified. “I feel so out of place here,” I confessed, batting my lashes. “Could you tell me what’s happening? I’m sure a smart man like you understands all of this.”

He laughed in a patronizing tone. “It’s just business talk, my dear. Nothing to trouble your pretty head with.” But he began explaining anyway, clearly enjoying the sound of his own voice.

I shifted my chair closer, nodding at appropriate intervals while my hand slipped into my purse. The vial was slick between my fingers. Mr. Thomas’s glass sat just inches away. My heart hammered so loudly I was certain everyone could hear it.

Just as I was about to pour the poison, the dimmed lighting suddenly brightened, signaling the end of speeches. I blinked rapidly, fisting the vial in my palm as everyone stood for applause.

Master’s lips brushed my ear. “Go with him,” he instructed before melting into the crowd, leaving me alone with Mr. Thomas.

When Mr. Thomas prepared to leave, I placed my hand on his arm. “The person I came with has totally abandoned me,” I laughed, the sound brittle even to my own ears. “You won’t abandon me too, would you?’

His eyes narrowed slightly. “Won’t Mr. Chamberlain mind? The man has quite the temper, I’ve heard.”

I shrugged. “If he wants me, he can come get me.”

That seemed to amuse him. We circled the room, me standing quietly beside him as he greeted associates. My palms were slick with sweat, the vial burning a hole in my consciousness.

Finally, we paused by an empty table. Mr. Thomas collected a fresh champagne from a passing waiter, then set it down to adjust his cufflinks. This was my chance. With trembling fingers, I uncapped the vial and tipped its contents into his drink, the liquid disappearing without a trace.

I watched, breath held, as he reached for the glass. But before it touched his lips, a middle-aged woman with a heavily jeweled neck swooped down on us, her daughterntrailing behind.

“Thomas! There you are!” She exclaimed then spoke rapidly about some inconvenience with her stocks, her voice shrill.

To my horror, she reached for Mr. Thomas’s glass, lifting it from his hand. Before I could react, she had drained half its contents.

I froze, watching her throat work as she swallowed. My vision dimmed, the room suddenly too hot, too close.

“You’re the best financial advisor around," she gushed, oblivious to what she’d done. “These startup companies are absolutely poisoning the current market.”

I stared at her, waiting for something—anything—to happen. For endless minutes, they talked markets and products while I stood there, a silent scream building inside me.

Then she belched loudly, her hand flying to her mouth in embarrassment. “Oh my! Excuse me,” she laughed, but the sound faded as she began massaging her chest. “I don’t feel so good, suddenly.’

Her daughter set down her own champagne, concerned. “Mother? Are you alright?”

“Just... a bit dizzy.” The woman’s face had gone ashen. Her daughter took her arm, leading her toward the exit.

Mr. Thomas shook his head, turning back to me. “I m afraid I have to leave you as well. Duty calls.”

“No worries,” I replied, my smile so tight it hurt. “I learned a lot from you.”

The moment he walked away, I grabbed the woman’s abandoned champagne glass and fled to the nearest bathroom. Inside a stall, I rinsed the poison bottle and the glass, hands shaking so badly I nearly dropped them both.

I hid the evidence in my purse, splashed cold water on my face, and tried to breathe through the panic.

When I emerged, Master was waiting, his expression thunderous. He seized my arm, dragging me back into the bathroom. After checking that we were alone, he slammed me against the wall.

“Stupid, stupid girl,” he growled, his face inches from mine. “I ought to throw you away. Why can’t you do anything right?”

I hung my head, tears threatening. I’d failed him and an innocent woman might die. The weight of it crushed me.

A commotion sounded outside. Master released me, and we both moved toward the door. In the hallway, people were rushing toward the grand staircase, voices raised in alarm.

We followed the crowd to find a terrible scene: the woman who had drunk the poison lay crumpled at the bottom of the marble stairs, her limbs at unnatural angles. Her daughter knelt beside her, screaming for help.

“She ust fell,” someone was saying. “She said she felt dizzy and then she just pitched forward.”

The room spun around me, bile rising in my throat. Someone was calling 911. Someone else was checking for a pulse.

Master steered me away, his arm solid around my waist. “Not here,” he murmured. “Keep walking.”

We left as the ambulance sirens wailed in the distance. In the car, shock turned to horror. The tears came without warning, my chest heaving with sobs I couldn't control.

“I killed her,” I gasped between breaths. “She wasn’t supposed to—she just took his glass—I didn’t—”

Master pulled me into his arms, his hand cradling my head against his chest. “Shh, pet. Nothing will happen to you,” he whispered, his voice unusually gentle. “It was a mistake. It wasn’t your fault.”

His heartbeat was steady under my ear, his cologne wrapping around me. I clung to him, desperate for any comfort, even from the man who had ordered the murder in the first place.

At the mansion, he carried me to my room. When he set me down on the bed, panic seized me again.

“Don’t leave me alone," I begged, clutching his sleeve. “Please, I can’t be alone.”

He studied me for a long moment, then nodded once. “Move over.”

He removed his jacket and shoes, loosened his tie, and stretched out beside me. I curled against him, my tears soaking his expensive shirt. His arm wrapped around me, holding me close.

“You’re safe, pet,” he murmured, his fingers stroking through my hair. “You belong to me. I protect what’s mine.”

The words should have terrified me. Instead, they soothed something broken inside me. His initials pressed against my skin from the bracelet and necklace he’s placed on me. Branded. Safe.

I closed my eyes and surrendered to the comfort of my Master.

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