Saving Aurora

Chapter 3

Aurora

From the shadow of the doorway, a steely American voice growls, “Stand,” and the finality of the door banging shut is heard shortly after. The bearskin-inspired rug at the foot of the big metal bed frame makes me scramble off my knees and stand. The man, who is enormous, enters the poorly lit room. As he approaches, looming above me, my heart thuds in a tattoo of terror. I notice the sinfully attractive man right away because of his large lips, bright eyes, unkempt eyebrows, and shaggy jet-black hair. His body is precisely fitted by the custom-made dark gray suit, which is complemented by a blood-red tie and a swatch of fabric in his breast pocket of the same colour. He seems so indifferent and bored with the other millionaires and billionaires downstairs. He sat there staring coldly and uninterestedly as the other men were grabbing the other women, dragging them onto their laps, and demanding services. I observed him dismissing some of the more assertive women’s advances. Ignoring their existence, grasping the wrists of straying hands, and pushing them off his lap. I was captivated by the man.

For the past nineteen days and counting, I have been imprisoned in this mansion. I have never witnessed a man enter and not take advantage of what was provided—what they had paid for—in all that time. I now know that if a man asks to stay in the same room as the women, the women receive an additional extra.

The spacious communal parlor downstairs was where the party this man was with had been unwinding. My stomach knots whenever I walk into that area because of its dim lighting, somber hues, and lingering musty smell. Here, they drink pricey, premium alcohol and smoke cigars. The men began their evening with small-group business discussions over cocktails and hors-d’oeuvres, as is customary. I served them throughout their meeting, and a few days ago, one hot, overindulgent man angrily complained to the overseer about it. He believed that, in contrast to the other girls, I could be a corporate spy because I speak English. If only! Since then, I’ve been contentedly restricted to working in the kitchens and behind the bar for the early part of the evening.Once any backdoor corporate deals are made, the real entertainment begins,

And I am back serving drinks, food, and working hard to avoid being groped. I

Have tried my hardest to blend into the background. Even though I stand out

Dramatically from the other women, it’s surprisingly not too difficult. Despite my

Green eyes, wavy light-brown hair, and translucent Irish skin, along with my

Curves and five-foot-five-inch stature which sets me apart from the native

Population, most of the men ignore me. And I couldn’t be happier

I had the chance to look at this man while I was serving him, and I must admit that I thought he was handsome. I sensed an unseen tug toward him for an unidentified, crazy reason. I despise myself for it. I don’t want to be attracted to a man who would visit a brothel in Hong Kong with the GDP of a small country. Furthermore, it makes absolutely no sense for this man to require the house’s services. He could simply go to any pub or club and attract a willing woman, unlike some of his friends who obviously weren’t going to obtain a woman unless they paid for one.

During the several hours we were all downstairs, I found myself watching

Him closely and making a mental list of everything I learned. One discovery I

Made was that he likes his scotch with only one ice cube, not the three or four

That usually fill a glass. He also seemed to enjoy the mini crab cakes, if the

Amount of them he ate was any indication. Having stolen several of them myself, I would have too agree they were delicious. No matter the time of day or night, the chef at the residence can accommodate any client’s preferences thanks to its fantastic restaurant-style kitchen. Additionally, it appeared that the man was friendly solely with the short, overweight man who had gone with him. Although several of the gentlemen obviously sought to impress him, he largely ignored the other gentlemen, much like the girls. Throughout the evening, the man’s face had been a chilly mask of indifference. For a while, I wondered if he was married, but it didn’t stop any of his friends from having a good time.I saw that he was missing his wedding band when I gave him his drink. Since not all guys wear bands, this could indicate nothing, but if my spouse were like this man, he would be sporting a massive one to show everyone that he is in love. Is he gay? I’ve never been asked by a man before, and I never thought this man would be the one to knock on my door. It surprises me. He just said a kind "thank you" to me while I was serving him the whole time we were downstairs. He hardly gave me a glance. He asked me for a room, but why?To be honest with myself, I feel a great deal of relief. At least he isn’t overweight, elderly, or a repulsive mix of the two. And I reluctantly acknowledge that he has a sinfully alluring appearance. The idea of this man piercing me, kissing me, and touching me doesn’t make my stomach turn to acid or my skin crawl. I’m afraid, but if I close my eyes, I might be able to imagine that we met on a night out at a club and that this is entirely my own doing. Or perhaps not. The overseer instructed me to wait in this chamber kneeling as I had been taught and to follow his instructions at all times, failing which I would receive a heavier flogging.Because I have a strong sense of self-preservation, I have followed instructions to the letter—for the time being. I reason that the more I comply, the longer I will live and the more likely it is that I will figure out a way out. It would only become worse if you fought this man. When you are shattered and bruised, it is much more difficult to get away. I had to learn the lesson the hard way. It’s obvious from the way he looks at me what he wants. His eyes are glimmering with delight as he observes my bare physique. Definitely not gay. My treacherous body is reacting to the heat of his gaze. I had not noticed it downstairs, but as the man approaches and invades my personal space, his warm, spicy perfume floods my senses. I’m forced to stare up into his golden eyes as he reaches out and clenches his fists around my hair. “What’s your name?” He has a deep, authoritative voice. “Aurora,” I manage to reply, my voice trembling with fear. “What, Aurora?” The man gives my head a little shake, as though he’s trying to get the answer out. I exclaim, “Stone, Aurora Stone.” He releases his hold on my hair and steps back half a step. The man’s demeanor changes from one of indifference to a hard frown as his eyes are fixated on me.I’ve never before paid attention to a man’s eyebrows. His are expressive, full, and dark, conveying all of his feelings and thoughts. He is perplexed and upset at the moment. “Who are you?” I ask, trying to summon the guts I don’t actually have. He says calmly, “You can call me, Sir.” A fleeting smile crosses his face before disappearing, to be replaced by a furrowed scowl that I’m doing all in my power to avoid finding beautiful.