Hell with Roman

o

th people, the sounds of vendors hawking their goods mixing with the distant hum of traffic. Yet, Layla felt strangely disconnected fr

h a knowing expression. "How have you been, my dear?

she said, though her voice lacked conviction. It was easier to pretend

something was off. She pressed on, her voice qu

ht, and hearing it made her feel small, reminded her of the power he had over her. She quickly nodded, no

ift in Layla's demeanor. But she didn't press further, instead contin

luding the days that mattered to him the most. But she didn't answer right away. She simply nodded, trying to push the rising flood of emotions down. "Yes, I know," she

"Well, then, would you like to make dinner for him tonight

fiercely between them. The thought of spending another night under his control, of being at his mercy, made her stomach churn. She was still sore from the night before, the marks of hi

whisper. "Yes," she replied, the word feelin

eyes, as if she understood the weight of the decision. "Does Master

ng the year they were together. His favorite food, his favorite drink, the exact way he liked

rough her chest. She had once been so eager to please him, to show him how much she cared. But now,

Good. That's why we're going to the market today, my dear. We

idea of facing him tonight, of making him happy, stirred something in her. Maybe if she could make him happy that night, she could finally ask him to stop. Plead with him to stop using her for his pleasure, to stop

e wearing a mask to hide the turmoil inside. "Alright," she sai

it aside. She had a goal now. She would make this dinner perfect, and then, when the time was right, she would beg

no matter how much she gave, it