Devil's Embrace

2. Where am I?

A soft ray of sunlight streams through the curtains, warming my face and pulling me out of sleep. My body feels heavy, pressed against something soft and luxurious. I slowly open my eyes, blinking as I take in the room around me.

The sight is unlike anything I’ve ever seen—ornate furniture, gold accents, and high ceilings that seem to reach endlessly upward. The air smells faintly of lavender and something richer, like polished wood. It’s a room that screams wealth and power, its sheer elegance overwhelming. For a moment, I can’t move, staring at my surroundings in disbelief.

I squeeze my eyes shut. Maybe it’s just a dream. Maybe I’ll wake up in my own bed. But no matter how tightly I close them, sleep doesn’t return.

My mind spirals with questions: Is this real? Where am I? How did I get here? Am I even alive?

I sit up slowly, my fingers brushing over the soft, silken fabric of the bedspread. Every detail in the room is perfect, from the glimmer of antique vases to the intricate patterns carved into the furniture. I stand and begin to explore, wandering aimlessly as I run my hand over the smooth surfaces of the ornate dresser, the cool marble fireplace, and the edges of gilded picture frames housing portraits of people I don’t recognize.

The longer I’m here, the more unease creeps in. The opulence is overwhelming, almost suffocating. Who could live like this? And why am I here?

Suddenly, a sound jolts me—a faint but unmistakable echo of footsteps approaching the room. My heart leaps into my throat. Panic rushes through me, and I instinctively step back toward the bed, unsure of what to do or where to go. My breath catches as the footsteps grow louder, closer.

Before I can make a move, the door swings open with a soft swish. A man steps inside, holding a tray of food.

He’s striking, to say the least. Tall, with broad shoulders and a composed demeanor, his features are refined, almost too perfect to be real. His dark hair is neatly styled, and his piercing eyes scan the room briefly before landing on me. He exudes calm confidence, as though nothing in the world could rattle him.

“Here’s your breakfast,” he says, his voice smooth and polite. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

For a moment, I just stare at him, my mind too clouded with fear and confusion to respond. Finally, I manage to stammer, “Why am I here? Who brought me here? What is this place?”

The man’s expression doesn’t change. He places the tray on a nearby table and straightens, his hands clasped behind his back. “I’m afraid I can’t answer that,” he says evenly. “You’ll learn everything when the boss decides you should.”

“The boss?” I echo, but before I can ask more, he bows his head slightly and turns to leave.

The door clicks shut, and I’m left alone again. My eyes drift to the tray of food, its rich aroma wafting through the room. Fruits glisten under the soft light, pastries are golden and flaky, and the tea sits in a delicate porcelain pot, still steaming. It’s beautiful—almost too beautiful to touch.

But I don’t.

My stomach growls, a sharp reminder of my hunger, but fear keeps me frozen. What if it’s poisoned? I shake the thought away, but another one quickly takes its place. Why would they feed me so well if they planned to hurt me?

I hug my knees to my chest, staring at the untouched food. The truth is, I’ve never seen a breakfast like this. Most mornings, I barely had anything—maybe a biscuit if I was lucky. On bad days, I went without, ignoring the ache in my stomach as best as I could.

Who are these people? I wonder, my mind racing. Why am I here? What do they want from me?

The tray seems to taunt me, its richness a stark contrast to my simple life. I imagine biting into the soft pastries, tasting the sweetness of the fruit. My mouth waters despite myself, but I can’t shake the unease. Hunger gnaws at me, yet the fear of the unknown keeps me rooted in place.

Desperate for distraction, I stand and begin exploring the room again. The ornate furniture, gilded mirrors, and intricate carvings are mesmerizing, but they also feel foreign—like I don’t belong here. I trace my fingers over a vanity table lined with perfume bottles and jewelry boxes, each more exquisite than the last.

As I wander, I notice a large wardrobe against the wall. Curiosity pulls me toward it. I open the double doors, revealing rows of neatly hung dresses, blouses, and skirts in soft, feminine fabrics. Each piece looks brand new, tags still attached. Shoes are arranged on the bottom shelf, ranging from practical flats to elegant heels.

I reach out hesitantly, brushing my fingers against a pale pink dress. The fabric is silky under my touch, nothing like the rough, worn clothes I’m used to. It feels surreal, as if I’ve stepped into someone else’s life.

My stomach growls again, louder this time, and I wince. I glance back at the tray, debating whether I should risk eating. Could I really just take it? Would they let me starve if I refused?

Before I can decide, a soft knock echoes through the room. I freeze, my heart racing, and the door creaks open. A woman steps inside, holding a cleaning cloth and a warm smile.

She’s not what I expected. She’s middle-aged, with kind eyes and gentle features. Her brown hair is streaked with gray and tied into a loose bun. She looks at me, then at the untouched tray, and her smile fades slightly.

“Oh, dear,” she says, her voice warm and motherly. “You haven’t eaten a thing?”

I swallow hard, unsure of how to respond. “I—I wasn’t hungry,” I lie, but my stomach betrays me with another growl.

The woman chuckles softly, setting the cloth down on a side table. “I’ve heard that one before.” She walks over to the tray, her movements calm and unthreatening. “It’s not poisoned, you know.”

My cheeks flush, but I don’t deny it. She seems to sense my fear, her expression softening.

“Listen,” she begins, sitting on the edge of a chair. “I know this must be confusing for you. Being brought here, not knowing why. But I promise you, no one here wants to harm you.”

I hesitate, her kind tone easing some of my tension. “Then why won’t anyone tell me what’s going on?”

“That’s not for me to say,” she admits, her smile tinged with sympathy. “But I can tell you this—our boss doesn’t do things without reason. He asked us to prepare this meal for you himself, and let me tell you, that man barely takes the time to eat, let alone care about someone else’s breakfast.”

Her words surprise me. “He asked for this?”

She nods, gesturing toward the tray. “Every detail. Said you might need something comforting. I can tell you’re scared, but I promise, you’re safe here.”

I look at the food again, the pang in my stomach stronger now. “Why would he go to that trouble? He doesn’t even know me.”

The maid’s expression softens further, and she shrugs. “That’s something only he can answer. But if you ask me, you must be someone special for him to go to such lengths.”

The idea feels absurd, yet her sincerity is hard to ignore. She stands, smoothing her apron. “Now, I’ll leave you to it. Eat what you can. You’ll feel better with a little food in your belly.”

She moves toward the door but pauses before leaving. “Oh, and if you need anything, just ring the bell by the bed. I’ll be back to check on you later.”

The door closes softly behind her, and I’m alone again.

I glance at the tray, her words lingering in my mind. Tentatively, I reach for a pastry, breaking off a small piece. The buttery texture melts in my mouth, and a soft sigh escapes me. For the first time, I allow myself a small moment of indulgence, even as my questions remain unanswered.

Who is this mysterious boss? And why has he gone out of his way for me?

The answers feel just out of reach, but for now, I focus on the simple comfort of the food before me.