Chapter Seven – Curiosity

The next morning, Eira began her first day of work.

Cass gave her a soft smile, handed her a bucket and a rag, and showed her where the linens were kept. Eira didn’t complain. She scrubbed and folded and fetched water with quiet diligence, thankful for the distraction.

She was returning a tray to the kitchen when she heard it—moans, deep and rhythmic, muffled by a half-closed door.

Her steps slowed.

It was Cass’s voice.

Not the playful one she used at breakfast. Not the kind, calming tone she’d used to ease Eira into the bath. No—this was something entirely different. It was broken, breathless. Almost pleading.

Eira froze outside the room, tray in hand, heart knocking against her ribs. The door was cracked just enough for her to glimpse flickering lamplight and shifting shadows.

She should have walked away.

But her hand pushed gently against the wood. Instead, she pushed the door slightly open.

Cass was on her back, legs wrapped tightly around a broad man’s waist. Her body arched beneath him, flushed and glistening with sweat, one arm thrown over her head while the other clawed into his shoulder. Her breasts bounced with every merciless thrust. The man’s back was corded with muscle, his hips snapping forward in a brutal rhythm that made the bed creak under them. His face was buried in her neck, teeth scraping her skin—not biting, just claiming, grounding himself in her.

Cass moaned, breathless and wild, her eyes fluttering shut. One of her legs shook as he hit something deep inside her, again and again. The sound of their bodies—skin on skin, wet and slick—mingled with the guttural grunts leaving his chest.

She whispered something Eira couldn’t hear. A plea? A curse?

Then his hand reached between their bodies and Cass cried out—sharp, high-pitched, beautiful. Her back arched like a bowstring pulled tight.

Eira’s breath caught. Her cheeks burned.

Her legs wouldn’t move. Her body didn’t listen.

Eira’s breath caught. She didn’t move.

For a long second, she just watched.

The man stilled.

He lifted his head.

His eyes met hers.

“Get out,” he growled. “Or get in.”

Eira dropped the tray and bolted.

Heat rushed to her face, shame burning behind her eyes as she fled down the hall.

But underneath the panic... curiosity simmered.

Later, when the house had quieted and Eira sat alone in the kitchen pretending to busy her hands, Cass appeared—her cheeks flushed, her hair a wild mess, a lazy smirk playing on her lips. She poured herself a glass of water and leaned against the counter, catching Eira’s stare.

“You have questions,” Cass said softly, not unkindly.

Eira swallowed. Her voice was barely above a whisper. “Does it always sound like that?”

Cass chuckled, deep and throaty. “Sometimes it’s softer. Sometimes it’s rougher. Depends on the day… and the partner.”

Eira’s face turned crimson. “Does it hurt?”

Cass tilted her head, considering. “The first time? Maybe. But with the right person... it stops hurting real quick.”

Eira hesitated. “He was... inside you?”

Cass nodded, then crossed the room and sat beside her. “It’s not just about the mechanics, Eira. It’s about power. Surrender. Sometimes even need. What you saw—he needed to fuck the pain out of his system. I needed to let him.”

Eira’s breath hitched. “I didn’t mean to watch.”

Cass gave her a small smile. “You needed to see. It’s better than hearing stories.”

They sat in silence a moment longer before Cass nudged her gently. “When you're ready to understand more, come find me. But don't rush it. Curiosity’s good. Fear’s normal. Just don’t let either own you.”

Eira took Cass’s words to heart.

The days that followed settled into a quiet rhythm. Eira rose with the sun, helped in the kitchens, scrubbed the floors, tended to linens, and sometimes lit the hearths in the upper rooms. She never complained. Her hands grew rougher, her back ached more, but each coin she tucked away felt like a small victory.

She didn’t spend a cent.

She was saving—methodically, obsessively. She kept her earnings hidden beneath a loose floorboard under her bed. A little more each week, until the fabric pouch grew heavier.

She had a plan.

She would leave again—not out of fear, but to move farther. To disappear properly.

The brothel had been a sanctuary, a pause in the storm.

But she needed distance from her past, from the name Eira once meant.

She needed to become someone else entirely.

In the weeks that followed, Eira and Cass became fast friends. Their conversations stretched into the late hours, woven with laughter, whispered truths, and small comforts that filled the cracks between survival and healing. Cass never pried. She simply offered Eira space to become herself—whoever that might be.

Eira worked with quiet determination, taking on any chore offered. She swept the floors, tended to the fires, carried water until her arms ached, and learned to mend sheets and patch curtains. Each coin she earned was tucked into a small cloth pouch hidden beneath her mattress.

She didn’t spend a single one.

She was saving—every copper, every silver. Because she had a plan: to leave. To disappear entirely. This place had given her safety, but it wasn’t her destination. She needed space, distance—freedom in more than just name.

One night, after one of their many late-night talks, Eira sat cross-legged beside Cass on her narrow bed, picking at the last crumbs of a sweet bun.

She was quiet. Too quiet.

Cass tilted her head. “Something on your mind, dove?”

Eira hesitated, then asked in a whisper, “How much would it pay… if I lost it? My virginity.”

Cass blinked. Her face softened, but there was something heavy in her eyes.

“To the right man?” she said carefully. “More than you’d think. Some would pay a fortune just to ruin something untouched.”

Eira’s throat worked. She looked down at her hands. “Enough to start over somewhere far?”

Cass didn’t answer right away. But her silence said enough.

And Eira began to wonder what she was really willing to trade to become someone new.