Page 155 of Auctioned

His mouth tells me, “Yes.”

His eyes say,No.

Unfortunate, really.

31

OPHELIA

“Be a good girl and wait here for me. Chained to the kitchen island. And no, don’t even try picking the lock. You don’t want to upset me.”

James has been saying the same thing every morning for the last week, before he leaves for work.

Except today, he didn’t say that when it was just the two of us. When I was half naked.

His staff was back, and I was dressed in a pair of charcoal-gray leggings and a black T-shirt that he had chosen for me.

He shackled me to the kitchen island, regardless.

As his property—his girlfriend, I insisted, yet he ignored me—he had the right to lead me down the stairs. Snap the metal shackle on my ankle in front of the entire staff.

And I let him.

Hours later, I still haven’t tried to pick the lock. I’m still here.

So is everyone else. Everyone but James.

“Clara, the bedrooms are clean. Poppy went over the bathrooms,” Maisie whispers. Her blue eyes are fixed on the older woman, avoiding me as if her life depended on it. “What’s next?”

“Well,” Clara starts, returning Maisie’s gaze while she wipes the kitchen island. Same as she’s done for the last ten minutes.

No detail has been overlooked.

Everything’s been taken care of.

Everything. But. Me.

It’s not just the two of them.

Throughout the entire day, no one’s said a word to me. The sun is already setting in the sky, so I know it’s late, and yet they keep pretending I don’t exist.

As perhisorders. They would never go against him.

My screams didn’t stop anyone from going about their business. They’ve been turning their back on me. Slipping out of my grip whenever I launched for their chignons that were twisted low on their napes.

It didn’t escape me that they pinned their hair into a twist using hair elastics.

Not a single bobby pin in sight.

Again, as per his orders.

“Hair elastics?” I spun toward James this morning, hands on my hips.

“Part of the new dress code.” The bastard shrugged, gorgeous in his dark blue suit and perfect hair. His knuckles brushed my jaw, and my traitorous face leaned into him. “They won’t talk to you, either. I wouldn’t bother if I were you.”

“Why?” I growled, despite finding comfort in his touch. Then whispered, “It’s humiliating.”

“That’s a problem because?”

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