Fifteen Days Left

Lydia's POV

My exhausted eyes burned fiercely after enduring yet another depressing morning of crying in the shower. I rubbed my raw face with a damp towel, dragging in a shaky breath. I slowly slipped into my old, faded blue dress, smoothing the worn fabric over my thighs. Standing before the hazy bathroom mirror, I carefully and meticulously styled my hair. I pulled the dark strands forward, pinning them in place to ensure they perfectly hid the violent, dark hickeys painting the sensitive skin of my neck.

I absolutely hate working for him. My chest tightens just thinking about the arrangement. I am drowning deep in a suffocating bog of debt and fear. I am trapped. If I stop giving him what he wants, if I refuse to spread my legs and take his hard cock inside my vagina, he will ruthlessly destroy both me and my father in seconds. Lucian Castello does not take no for an answer. I mentally count the days to keep my sanity. Only fifteen days left. Fifteen more days of this absolute nightmare. Fifteen more days of letting him use my mouth and my holes like personal property, and then I will finally be completely free from him and his dark world.

Walking downstairs, the reality of my life slapped me in the face again. The crumbling, peeling walls of our depressing house served as a stark, visual reminder of the massive mountain of debt crushing my shoulders. The floorboards creaked under my cheap shoes. I walked into the cramped kitchen and pulled the freezer door open. A rush of cold air hit my face, but the shelves sat completely empty. It was a stark testament to our poverty. I let out a long sigh and closed the door. I had no groceries. I had nothing to eat.

Suddenly, the front door rattled. Dad walked in from a morning stroll, wearing his worn-out brown coat. He paused when he saw me standing in the kitchen. Reaching into his pocket, he casually handed me a cheap sandwich wrapped in silver foil.

"Lydia, how is it going? Are you doing okay?" he asked. His voice hung heavy in the quiet room, carrying a pathetic, lingering sadness that clawed at my chest.

I stared at the foil package in my hands. The crinkling sound seemed deafening. I felt a surge of bitter resentment mixed with crushing guilt.

"Dad, I am fine," I cut in sharply. My voice trailed off as I swallowed hard, suppressing the sharp anger bubbling in my throat. "Everything will be fine within a few days. I am getting late. I should leave."

I physically could not bring myself to meet his cowardly gaze. I kept my eyes fixed on the scuffed linoleum floor. He has absolutely no idea what degrading, horrific acts I am doing in the dark to pay off his careless loan. He does not know that I let a ruthless mafia criminal shove his cock down my throat and pump his semen into my screaming vagina just to keep us alive. The deep, suffocating shame makes me feel physically sick to my stomach. I grabbed my purse and walked out the door before he could ask another question.

Unable to afford even a simple cab fare, I pulled my thin coat tighter around my shoulders. I walked for half an hour in the biting, unforgiving cold wind. The chill pierced right through my old dress, freezing the skin on my arms and legs. My cheap shoes offered no protection against the freezing pavement. The gray clouds overhead threatened snow, casting a gloomy shadow over the bustling city streets. Cars sped past me, splashing dirty water onto the sidewalk, but I just kept my head down and marched forward. Finally, I reached his towering, intimidating office building. The massive glass and steel structure loomed over the street like a pristine fortress, a monument to the dirty money he hoarded.

I pushed through the revolving glass doors and bypassed the ground floor security. I rode the sleek elevator up to the second floor. When the metal doors slid open, the atmosphere on the floor was relaxed and normal. Employees chatted softly over their morning coffees. Keyboards clacked in a steady, unbothered rhythm.

Then, the air suddenly shifted. It grew instantly tense and heavy, as if the oxygen had been sucked straight out of the room. A pin-drop silence completely fell over the bustling floor. The casual chatter died in an instant.

Standing frozen in the middle of the hallway like a deer caught in headlights, I stopped breathing. My heart hammered against my ribs. I kept my head bowed down submissively. My fearful eyes fixed firmly on the polished marble floor. Soon, his familiar, expensive leather shoes stepped into my line of sight, approaching with deliberate, predatory steps.

*Anything but not his eyes, Lydia. Not his eyes,* I mentally warned myself. I was terrified of his gaze. I knew the dark, empty void hiding behind his sharp features.

He walked right past me. His powerful, arrogant strides did not falter for a single second. He did not spare me a single, fleeting glance. He acted exactly as if I were a complete and utter stranger. He walked past me as if he hadn't been ruthlessly fucking the life out of me just the entire night before. As if he hadn't pinned my wrists to his silk sheets, driving his thick cock relentlessly into my wet vagina until I sobbed from the raw friction.

His dark, addictive masculine scent drifted through the air and teased my senses. The heavy aroma of expensive cologne and dark tobacco washed over me. It was a terrifying, visceral reminder of every physical violation I endure in the dark of his bedroom. My body shivered, betraying my hatred with a sick throb of recognition.

Once his tall, imposing figure disappeared into his private cabin at the end of the hall, the heavy silence broke. The female employees immediately began their usual, oblivious murmuring.

"God, he is so handsome," one of the receptionists swooned, leaning against a filing cabinet and fanning herself with a folder.

"I would have quit this hellhole months ago if I didn't get to see him walk in every day," another woman whispered loudly.

"Look at those shoulders. He is such a daddy material," a blonde accountant chimed in with dreamy eyes. "He makes me wet just standing there. He must be very good in bed with that commanding energy."

I internally scoffed. My stomach twisted into a painful knot. I gripped the strap of my purse so hard my knuckles turned white. *Oh, if you only knew the monster he truly is.* He does not make love. He dominates. He conquers holes and leaves bruises. He treats flesh like disposable trash.

Their giggles faded when they finally noticed me standing rigid in the hallway. The blonde nudged her friend. They quietly started whispering about me, their eyes sweeping over my cheap dress.

"Who is she?"

"That is his personal accountant," the receptionist whispered back, eyeing me suspiciously. "She spends all day locked in his cabin with him and Mr. Vargas."

I could feel their judging stares burning holes into my back. I quickly walked away, rushing toward the heavy wooden door at the end of the corridor. I pressed the small doorbell on the wall. A soft green light blinked, signaling the door was unlocked. I slipped inside and let the heavy door click shut behind me to escape their suffocating gossip.

The private cabin was massive and intimidating. The floor-to-ceiling windows offered a sweeping view of the city, but the room felt like a high-end cage. He was seated in his large leather executive chair behind a massive mahogany desk. His dark eyes were glued to a glowing laptop screen. Mr. Vargas stood nearby, holding a stack of pristine folders.

"Good morning," I mumbled weakly, keeping my eyes glued to the floor.

I quickly walked over and took my usual designated spot on the black leather sofa in the corner. As always, Lucian treated me like I was completely invisible. He didn't even shift his gaze from his screen. He acknowledged my existence solely for sex. In the daylight, I was just a ghost who processed his numbers.

I set my purse down and picked up the heavy stacks of documents resting on the glass coffee table. This was my cage. I did not get a standard cubicle outside with the gossiping girls or the regular corporate drones. My job here is highly confidential and incredibly dangerous. I spend my days meticulously laundering his endless supply of illegal, black mafia money. I shift massive numbers across ledgers, alter balance sheets, and create fake shell companies to hide his bloody cash from the sharp radar of the government tax department.

I stared at the staggering figures printed on the crisp white paper. Millions of dollars flowing through illicit channels every single week. My father's massive debt is mere pennies to a powerful, untouchable man like him. Lucian could wipe out our debt with the careless stroke of a pen and never even notice the missing money in his offshore bank accounts. Yet, he sickingly plays with our fragile lives just to entertain his own dark desires. He forces me to sell my body to clear a debt he doesn't even care about. He forces me to take his thick cock deep inside my vagina and swallow his semen, just because he enjoys breaking me.

"I'll take your permission now, chief," Mr. Vargas said respectfully, snapping me out of my dark thoughts.

Vargas stood up straight, adjusting his suit jacket. Lucian gave a sharp, dismissive nod without speaking. Vargas turned to leave. As he walked past my sofa, he paused. He looked down at me with his usual, inexplicable, fatherly concern.

"See you around, Lydia," Vargas said softly. He glanced at my pale face. "Did you have breakfast?"

I looked up at his lined, weathered face. He asks me this everyday. Sometimes he even brings me food. It confuses my exhausted brain.

"Yes, Mr. Vargas. Thank you," I replied quietly, keeping my voice steady. I lied easily, the taste of the foil-wrapped sandwich back home forgotten.

He nodded warmly, a small, polite smile touching his lips, and walked out of the tense room. The heavy door clicked shut behind him, leaving me completely alone with the devil.

I kept my head down, staring blankly at the numbers on the page, but my mind wandered. I watched the empty space where Vargas had just been standing. I genuinely wondered if I should hate him for dragging me into this hell or be deeply grateful to him for keeping me alive. Vargas is a very close right-hand man to Lucian Castello—a dangerous, cold-blooded criminal who rules the underground. Yet, Vargas was the one who initially offered me this job when my father's life was on the line.

I shifted uncomfortably on the leather sofa, the soreness between my thighs a sharp reminder of my reality. Even sitting here right now, I still wonder if I made the right decision by listening to him.