His command

Arella's Pov

I could hardly believe what I was hearing, and as I gazed at the man before me, I silently pleaded for him to retract his command. Yet, he kept staring at me with an angry gaze.

"What are you waiting for? Are you deaf?" he barked, his tone far from friendly.

I didn't dare to talk; it felt as though my tongue was tied down.

"W—what do you mean, sir?" I stuttered out the question.

"You really don't want to see my bad side, woman! I can be incredibly harsh and ruthless!" he roared, sending a shiver of fear through me that nearly made me lose control.

I stared at the handsome devil in front of me, and I felt like a little lamb awaiting its fate.

"Answer me, little girl! Or I will ask someone to bundle you up!" He threatened with a low menacing voice.

That snapped me out of my thoughts; Driven by an unknown force, I found myself on my knees, clinging to his legs.

"Please, master! Have mercy on me! I am the only child of my late parents, and my grandma needs me around. Please forgive me, and have mercy on me! I am still a virgin!" I begged desperately, and to my surprise, he burst into sinister laughter.

"I know what's wrong with you!" he declared, extending his hands. Mistaking this for a gesture of aid, I reached for them.

But instead of helping me up, he shoved me onto the bed—a bed I hadn't noticed until I found myself lying on it.

"There are four rules that you must follow! Rule number one: never speak of your family to me; I couldn't care less. If you wish to return to them, you'll have to repay my money! Rule number two: You belong to me now, so forget any other man's name. Utter one, and you'll lose your tongue."

"Rule number three: never look me directly in the eyes, unless you wish to be struck blind," he continued, his voice a cold, merciless whip.

"And rule number four: don't even entertain the thought of escape. If I catch you, that will be the end of you," he thundered. His words struck me with such force that my blood ran cold.

Before I could respond, he hurled the olive oil bottle in my direction.

"Now, strip naked!" he commanded, his voice seething with anger.

A part of me yearned to resist, but the potential consequences overwhelmed me, so I acquiesced.

I carefully stood up, and I removed my dress. I paused and looked at me.

He wasn't even giving me a comforting look, instead, he was staring at me with an intense look.

I removed my singlet; but still, he didn't look satisfied, prompting me to angrily discard my pants.

Time seemed to stand still as I stood before my master, bereft of clothing.

"Good, this is good," he murmured, fixating on my ample breasts and wide hips.

He met my eyes, a smile flickering across his face, only to be replaced by a frown as something caught his attention.

I trembled in silence, unsure of what had provoked his scrutiny.

"What happened to you here!?" he bellowed, his voice rough as gravel.

Too frightened to speak, I quivered, unable to discern the focus of his concern. My words were a jumbled mess, reflecting my confusion and fear.

He growled in frustration, gripping my arms and twisting my hands.

It was then I noticed his gaze fixed on my arms and realized he had spotted the scar—a memento from my aunt on my eighteenth birthday.

"It's just a random cut," I stammered, my voice tinged with fear.

He shook his head, clearly displeased. "I know what to do. Lay on the bed!" he ordered. I instinctively covered myself with my hands.

"Remove your hands from my property!" he demanded through clenched teeth, a stark reminder that my body was no longer my own. Complying, I laid myself bare on the bed.

He scanned my body with his eyes, and he was so focused that one would think he was doing something valuable.

He put his hand on my belly and lightly pushed it. I kept quiet and felt dirty for no particular reason.

His eyes passed through every nook and corner of my body, and it sent shivers through my spine.

I closed my eyes, and tears started falling down my neck.

At first, the man didn't seem concerned, but a few minutes later, he frowned and gave me a threatening glare.

"Stop crying now!" He ordered, and I kept quiet immediately.

"Pathetic humans," he sighed, shaking his head in apparent disgust as he continued his inspection. I felt utterly exposed and wished to vanish.

"So pathetic," he muttered, clicking his tongue in disapproval. Confusion swirled within me—had I erred in some way, or was he simply unsatisfied?

The thought of facing repercussions for disappointing a man who had spent a fortune was unbearable. I watched him, silent and vigilant, as his anger seemed to mount. Would he unleash his fury upon me? The question haunted me as I lay in fearful anticipation.

Then, with a sudden movement, he produced a sharp kitchen knife from his pocket and parted my legs. My mind reeled in shock as he brought the blade closer—first to my legs, then my thighs, and finally, as a chilling realization hit me, toward my most intimate area.