Page 8 of Sinful Palace

“See what I mean?” Myla said, turning to me.

“Yeah. It’s like we’re watching an old silent film.”

“A silent porno, you mean.”

I smiled. “Yeah.”

She leaned over the edge again, raising her brows. “It’s so ugly but so beautiful at the same time, isn’t it? All those bodies. All that sweat and hair and skin.”

I nodded. “It sort of reminds me of one of those Renaissance paintings with all the naked people sprawled everywhere.”

She laughed. “Me too,” she said. “Anyway, let’s eat. Unless you’d rather be alone?”

I shook my head. “No, it’s fine. Please stay.”

We sat on a long velvet lounge a few feet from the balustrade. As Myla stuck her fork in her salad, my eyes were drawn to the scars on her right arm. I knew it was rude to stare, but I couldn’t help it.

“It’s okay. You can look if you want,” she said, giving me a side-eyed glance.

My face flushed hot. “I’m so sorry. I wasn’t trying to—”

She waved her free hand, cutting me off. “It’s fine. These scars are part of the reason I’m here,” she said with a shrug.

My jaw dropped. Was she saying what I thought she was saying?

“Does that mean it’s true?” I asked in a low whisper.

She frowned. “Huh?”

I leaned closer. “The things people say about this place.”

Her forehead wrinkled with confusion. Then she laughed. “Oh! I get it. You’ve heard all the torture and trafficking rumors, huh?”

“Everyone has.”

She smiled and lifted a brow. “Just because I have an accent doesn’t mean I was trafficked to America by a bunch of hardened criminals. I moved here with my family when I was a teenager.”

My blush deepened. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be. Like you said, everyone’s heard the rumors, so I can’t blame you for wondering. But don’t worry. They’re not true at all.”

“Oh.” I looked away, feeling like a complete idiot.

“Trust me,” Myla went on. “Chuck Thorne doesn’t have much respect for women, and he’s kind of a sadist when it comes to his sexual preferences, but he’s not evil, and he doesn’t deal with traffickers. Every single girl in this place is here willingly. We’re all treated well, and we make bank.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I made two hundred grand last year before tax.”

“Wow.”

Myla shot me a curious look. “Why would you even think those rumors might be true? Isn’t Chuck your future father-in-law?” she asked. Before I could respond, she lifted one palm. “Sorry. I don’t live under a rock. I knew who you were as soon as I saw you earlier.”

I chose my next words carefully. “Let’s just say I have an interesting relationship with my future in-laws.”

She raised her brows. “Ah. Got it. I think most women know that struggle.”

“Yeah.” I flashed her a rueful smile. Then I dipped my brows in a curious expression. “So what did you mean when you said you’re here because of your scars?”

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