Chapter 3
Rosa's POV
A sharp knock woke me the next morning.
I was still lying on the thin mat, sore from the hard floor and barely able to feel my legs. Before I could even answer, the door opened, and a woman walked in—tall, sharp-featured, and clearly not one for kindness.
"I'm Martha," she said curtly. "Head maid of this household."
She looked around the room like it disgusted her. Then her eyes landed on me.
"Get up. Put on the uniform," she said, throwing a bundle of black and white fabric at me. "You work in the Alpha's quarters now. No slacking. No questions."
I hesitated, but her tone left no room for argument.
I dressed quickly, the uniform stiff and tight in all the wrong places. I followed her through the massive halls until we got to a room with large wooden doors. She nodded toward it.
"Go in. Ask the Alpha what he wants for breakfast. Then go to the kitchen and bring it to him yourself."
I swallowed hard and stepped in.
He was sitting at a large desk in the center of the room. Books, maps, and documents surrounded him. He didn't look up.
"Good morning, Alpha…" My voice trembled.
"What do you want?" he asked without looking at me.
"I—uh… I came to ask what you would like for breakfast."
He paused for a moment. Then said, "Boiled eggs. Two. Toast. No butter. Tea. No sugar."
I bowed slightly and rushed to the kitchen.
I tried to make it perfect. I boiled the eggs, toasted the bread, and made the tea just as he asked. When I walked back in and placed the tray on the table, he finally looked up at me.
Then took a bite.
And spat it out immediately.
"This is too salty."
He stood and grabbed the plate—then threw it across the room. The plate hit the wall and shattered, the food splattering all over the floor.
"Clean up the mess," he said flatly. "And prepare it again."
He didn't raise his voice. Didn't glare. He just said it like it was a fact. Like he didn't care whether I cried, bled, or broke.
I cleaned the mess with trembling hands.
Then I went back.
Again.
And again.
And again.
He kept rejecting everything. Too salty. Too soft. Too hard. Not warm enough. The tea was bitter. The toast was cold.
I lost count after the fifteenth time. My fingers were blistered. My knees were weak. My eyes were burning from holding back tears.
But he didn't stop.
Didn't care.
Finally, on what must've been the twenty-third attempt, he took a bite and said nothing. He simply went back to his writing, like I didn't exist.
I stood there, unsure if I was dismissed.
Then, without even looking at me, he spoke.
"I spent five million yuan to buy you."
I froze.
"And yet you waste my time, my food, and my patience." He finally looked at me, eyes cold and empty. "If you're going to survive here, I suggest you learn quickly."
Then he looked away again like I wasn't worth more than the dirt under his boots.
I lowered my head and left the room slowly, trying not to cry.
This wasn't just slavery.
This was torment.
Bryant's POV
I returned from the northern border before dawn. I had gone to inspect the new plots quietly—no guards, no noise. Just me and the cold wind of the mountain edges.
It was business. Always is.
But something—or rather, someone—pulled my attention the moment I stepped back into the estate.
She was moving hurriedly through the hallway, nearly tripping over her feet as she balanced a tray. Her maid uniform was crumpled, face flushed with panic.
That slave girl.
Rosa.
I don't know what it is about her, but she stands out. Too young, too soft, too… breakable. Not my type of woman, that's for sure. I prefer strong, silent, and obedient. She was none of that.
Yet, I found myself watching her.
From the shadows.
Back and forth she went like a lost pup trying to survive in a lion's den. And I must say, her cooking skills were—unforgivable.
Salt in tea.
Undercooked eggs.
Bread that was either burnt or dripping in oil.
It was a disgrace.
I didn't raise a hand. Didn't need to. Words hurt more when spoken cold.
The first time she served me, I threw the plate away. The second, I spat it out in her face. By the fifth, I didn't bother tasting it before tossing it into the trash.
She flinched every time, yet kept coming back.
Exactly what I wanted.
Obedience under pressure. Submission through pain.
The last time she brought the tray, I let it sit. Took a bite just for formality. It wasn't good—but it was edible. I didn't say anything.
She stood there, shaking. Waiting for my approval like a lost dog hoping for a crumb.
I looked at her—really looked. Eyes red. Fingers blistered. My knees are dirty from kneeling too long.
Then I spoke.
"I spent five million yuan on you. Do you know what that means?"
She blinked, lips trembling.
"It means your blood, your sweat, your entire being now belongs to me. And if you continue wasting my food, my time, and my air… I won't hesitate to throw you back to the slave market. Or worse."
She looked like she wanted to speak. I raised a finger, and she lowered her eyes.
"Get out of my sight."
She turned and left, not even daring to bow.
I could still smell the salt on the tray she left behind.
It wasn't just in the food.
She had cried into it.
Pathetic.
And yet, as the door shut behind her, I found myself thinking…
Why can't I stop noticing her?