004 - The putrid decay smell of burning flesh.
Arette awoke to a pounding headache, her groan echoing in the quiet room as she shifted on the comfortable bed.
With eyes squeezed shut, she reached up to her scalp, fingers lightly grasping at her hair in a futile attempt to ease the pain.
In the haze of awakening, she struggled to remember the events leading up to this moment, her mind clouded by confusion and disorientation.
The realization slowly dawned on her—the heartbreaking situation she found herself in.
Beside her, Dominic Ferrari sat, "Arette," He spoke her name in a soft, cautious tone, mindful of the delicate balance that hung in the air.
He knew all too well the potential for her to react with fear, to spiral into panic once more.
Arette's eyes snapped open at the sound of a voice both familiar and unsettlingly foreign.
Memories flooded back, and tears streamed down her cheeks as if unleashed by a floodgate.
Her lips trembled with fear as she stared at him, her gaze filled with sheer terror.
The image of burning flesh haunted her mind, replaying relentlessly, each moment stretching into an eternity of horror.
Many things troubled her, but none more than the knowledge that she had intentionally thrown sulfuric acid on another human being, witnessing his body dissolve before her eyes like plastic in a raging fire.
Yet, amidst the chaos of her thoughts, she recalled Dominic Ferrari's ominous warning, delivered when she had dared to challenge him with the threat of police involvement.
"It's adorable that you think I'll allow you to leave."
"You'll be with me forever, dead or alive."
"I'll ensure you never escape."
Dominic Ferrari observed Arette's escalating cries with confusion.
He hadn't uttered a word yet, but her tears seemed to intensify, grating on his nerves unexpectedly.
He didn't intend to harm her; he simply wanted her to cease her distress.
"Arette, you need to stop crying," he stated firmly, only to be met with continued silence and the aggravating sound of her sobs. Frustration bubbling within him, he resorted to a harsher tone.
"Arette... Shut the fuck up and quit irritating me while I'm asking politely."
His words had the desired effect as Arette abruptly silenced her cries, her hands pressed tightly against her mouth to stifle any further sounds.
Tremors of fear wracked her body as she met his glare, his voice echoing in her mind with chilling clarity.
"Good," Dominic muttered, his irritation palpable.
He took a deep breath, attempting to calm his nerves, though the effort proved futile as he stepped away from Arette, putting some distance between them.
"I had intended to show you to your room earlier, but never mind," he continued, his tone icy.
"The sight of you is getting on my nerves right now. Mrs. Wolfe will be the one to escort you."
With that, Dominic exited the room, leaving Arette alone with her thoughts.
Almost immediately, Mrs. Wolfe entered as if she had been waiting for Dominic to depart.
"Dear," Mrs. Wolfe began, approaching Arette with a gentle demeanour.
"Come, let's go to your room. You won't be staying in Chairman Ferrari's room any longer," she explained, encouraging Arette to rise from the bed and follow her.
Arette's legs trembled beneath her, weakened by the pain she had endured.
Moving felt like an uphill battle, her body protesting with each step.
However, Mrs. Wolfe wasted no time in offering her support, guiding Arette with a steadying arm around her shoulder.
As Mrs. Wolfe touched Arette's exposed arm, and she noticed the abnormal warmth radiating from her skin.
Instantly alert, she brought Arette to a halt and urged her to stand still, her experienced hands checking the temperature of Arette's forehead and neck.
The discovery of a fever confirmed her suspicions.
It came as no surprise, considering the extent of Arette's injuries from the previous night's beatings and the emotional strain she had endured.
Any ordinary person would have succumbed to illness under such circumstances.
Guiding Arette into the room specially curated for her, Mrs. Wolfe assisted her onto the bed with gentle care.
As she left, she offered Arette a single piece of advice: "Try to adjust to this place as quickly as possible, and I assure you, it's not as bad as it seems."
Arette could only watch silently as Mrs. Wolfe departed, her breaths shallow and laboured from the strain of her tears.
Her head throbbed with pain, her eyes swollen and reddened from crying, her hair tangled and unkempt.
Despite the elegance of the baby pink room that surrounded her, Arette's mind remained consumed by the haunting images of melting flesh.
She gazed at her bruised legs, a sickening aroma filling her senses—an mixture of nauseating sweetness, putrid decay, and the scent of leather being scorched over an open flame.
It was a sensory overload, almost tangible in its intensity, overwhelming her with its thick, rich presence.
It was all in her head, and she knew it.
Arette's stomach churned with disgust, causing a retch, unable to shake the haunting images from her mind.
Before she could dwell further, the door burst open, revealing Mrs. Wolfe was accompanied by four other girls dressed in matching white shirts, black trousers, and flat black Mary Jane shoes.
Two of them wheeled in stainless steel three-tiered trolleys laden with an assortment of food.
"They'll prepare a bath for you," Mrs. Wolfe announced, gesturing toward the two girls who held nothing.
They approached Arette with gentle care, their arms cradling her as if she were made of delicate glass, liable to shatter at the slightest pressure.
With their support, Arette was guided from the room to the luxurious bathroom.
One of the girls immediately set to work running the bath, while the other remained to assist Arette in undressing.
Arette's body was painted with bruises and cuts, and the maid undressing her couldn't help but feel pity but was also interested in knowing how it happened.
Arette had become a hot topic amongst the helpers.
With gentle hands, the maid began to undress Arette, their movements careful and precise. Fabric fell away, revealing the bruises that marked her skin.
Despite the pain she was feeling, Arette remained composed, her gaze fixed on the steaming water filling the bathtub.
She was too tired to do anything anyway. She had zero energy left.
As the maids worked, there was utter silence in the air except for quiet rustle of clothing being removed.
With practised efficiency, they adjusted the temperature of the water, ensuring it was just right for Arette.
Once Arette was fully undressed, the maids helped her step into the warm bath.
The scent of lavender filled the air, mingling with the steam rising from the water.
Arette sank into the depths of the tub, her body relaxing as the heat seeped into her tired muscles.
The maids worked in harmony, one pouring fragrant oils into the water while the other fetched a soft cloth to gently cleanse Arette's skin.
As Arette closed her eyes, allowing herself to surrender to the soothing warmth of the bath and trying to push the nauseating smell off her mind and concentrate on escaping and going to the police.
Dominic Ferrari was a killer.
Arette's thoughts turned dark as she contemplated Dominic's fate.
In her mind, he was a criminal deserving of a lifetime behind bars, and she was determined to ensure he faced justice.
Opening her eyes, she noticed the girls standing in perfect formation, their demeanour composed, and their gazes fixed on the wall.
Arette couldn't help but wonder if they too were victims, taken against their will.
The urge to ask tugged at her, but even the act of speaking felt like an insurmountable task, draining what little energy remained within her.
After a few moments, one of the maids exited the bathroom, while the other assisted Arette out of the water.
Tenderly, she was dried off with a soft towel, and the other maid returned with fresh clothes.
Despite the luxurious nightwear laid out before her, Arette found herself strangely indifferent to its extravagance.
Her thoughts were consumed not by the material possessions surrounding her but by a desire to get home safely.
An unsettling feeling of unease settled over her as she contemplated her situation.
What if Dominic Ferrari's apparent care for her well-being was merely a facade, a means to exploit her for profit? The idea of being sold into prostitution by him filled her with dread.
In that moment, Arette longed for the simplicity of home, Anything was preferable to being a victim in Dominic Ferrari's human trafficking business.
"I'll apply ointment for your bruises," one of the girls offered, retrieving a tube from a nearby drawer.
With gentle hands, she squeezed out the ointment and carefully applied it to each of Arette's bruised areas.
Once the task was completed, they helped Arette dress and then escorted her to another room, where two additional maids awaited her. Mrs. Wolfe was conspicuously absent.
The two maids who had assisted with the bath quietly exited the room without a backward glance, while the others, standing by the food trolley, offered Arette a warm smile, their demeanor a stark contrast to the quietness of the other two.
"We've prepared a selection of choices for Miss to eat, please choose what you'd like," one of the maids said, her voice carrying a practiced customer service tone, though Arette remained silent.
"It's important for Miss to eat so she can take her medicine and recover," the second maid urged gently, echoing the sentiment with a similar rehearsed tone, but still, Arette offered no response.
"Chairman Ferrari will be displeased if Miss doesn't eat," the first maid interjected, finally eliciting a reaction from Arette. Fear coursed through her at the mention of Dominic Ferrari's potential anger, prompting her to comply.
She couldn't risk angering him further, hoping that by appeasing him, she might avoid being sold to a prostitution organisation.
"I don't have an appetite. Just water, please," Arette's voice emerged weakly, surprising even herself with its lack of strength.
The toll of her earlier screams and tears had left her drained beyond measure.
"Would Miss prefer an orange juice instead?" the maid suggested gently, and Arette could only nod in response, tears continuing to stream down her cheeks.
Arette settled for the orange juice and took painkillers to alleviate her pain, desperate to find some relief from the pain.
With her mind clouded by migraine and body pain, the thought of planning an escape seemed impossible.
Yet, she vowed that as soon as she regained her strength, she would seize any opportunity to flee, even if it meant resorting to drastic measures.
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