Claire: The Forced Virgin Of The Billionaire

“Thank you”, I told her before strolling over into the en-suite as I watched her get to work on dusting and cleaning my….

‘I meant the room I was currently being kept hostage in!’ I firmly told myself, suddenly stopping in my tracks as I let out a surprised yelp.

Of course, his bathroom was bigger than my whole family’s house. Everything nowadays seemed to be bigger than my family’s house, I thought, sighing to myself.

I took what could be referred to as the longest shower in the history of mankind. When the sweet aroma of the rose-scented bath invaded my nostrils, I let out a tired sigh. The bath had been quite relaxing but the stress never left me. The tension wasn’t leaving my already tense mind….. Being a hostage could do that to you I guess.

I stepped out of the shower as I wrapped myself in a towel, tucking its end under my shoulder. I frowned when I noticed that the cleaning lady had already left but hadn’t forgotten to lay out my clothes neatly folded on the covers of the bed. A white, strapless tank top with black, denim shorts to match were laid out in front of me. My nose scrunched up in disgust at the red lingerie.

Not giving it another thought, I quickly got dressed, the irrational fear of someone walking in on me naked lingered at the back of my mind, making me dress up even faster.

Drying my hair, I ran a comb through it, only to frown at myself in the mirror. Eh! It’ll do, I thought, my wild, untamable hair bothering me a bit too much.

That is when my gaze fell on the little, yellow note stuck to the side of the mirror.

‘Come down when you’re done’, it read in jet black letters.

My heart sped a little when I realized that the door was open. I tried to suppress my urge to escape, knowing that I would only get caught.

Out of the room, I walked down the stairs, looking around with utmost caution, trying to memorize every little detail of this humongous place.

“Oh good, you’re here”, Rosita chirped once I took a seat beside the kitchen counter. I watched her with minuscule amusement as her little form shuffled around in the kitchen, rummaging around in one of the cupboards.

“I’m gonna guess we’re here for the your-employer-wants-me-to-be-fed part”, I joke, making her laugh as she pulled out a bowl and some cereal packets onto the counter.

My gaze automatically flits to the main door.

“It’s locked”, I hear Rosita blankly tell me, her expression grim but not threatening.

Pulling down my shorts a bit, I look at her red-faced, feeling like punching myself in the face for the slip-up.

“I hope you know that you can’t possibly escape. This penthouse is patrolled twenty-four-seven by men who were once in the military”, she tells me, pouring some milk into the bowl overflowing with some kind of cereal.

I’m surprised when I notice just a sliver of a British accent on her tongue. I probably hadn’t noticed it because of her thick French accent. Her British-French accent actually sounded quite pleasant.

“I wasn’t planning on escaping”, I sheepishly say, honestly perturbed by how observant this chick was. Azriel sure had a smart staff.

“Uh-huh”, she absentmindedly said before again asking,” Is cereal and milk good for you?”

I nod in response, making her slide the bowl over to me. It is then when I realized how hungry I’d been when my stomach rumbled in starvation. Quickly digging in, I’m surprised that the soggy dish did not really taste like crap like I’d expected it to.

“So tell me, Rosita”, I start, gulping down the soggy cereal, “What was it that compelled you into working for a man like Azriel?” Her eyes widen when she takes in my question but she quickly regains her composure. She frowns as she wipes the counter with a cloth, making me lift up my bowl.

“I’m not sure what you mean by ‘a man like Azriel’”, she says, trying to avoid answering me.

“I’m sure you know exactly what I mean but I’ll tell you anyway”, I blatantly state, making her raise her eyebrows at me as her eyes scrutinize me.

“How did you come to be employed by a merciless murderer such as Mr. Clarke?” I deadpan, making her brows shoot up at my bluntness.

Sighing, her shoulders slacken as she put the bowl once I was finished in the dishwasher. I patiently waited for her to clean up.Text content © NôvelDrama.Org.

Taking a seat beside me, she gives me an endearing but kind look as she turns to face me, “His father found me on the streets, dressed in rags, begging for money. He took pity on me and took me under his wing. When Azriel was born, he employed me to take care of him since his mother died whilst giving birth to him”, she tells me, her eyes crinkling up into a reminiscing frown.

I stay quiet, processing this information. My conclusion was the same as before.

The more I got to know about him, the more mysterious he got. I couldn’t help but feel sorry for him for losing his mother as soon as he came into this world.

But the image of him ordering Ross to kill Dennis….. Dennis’s dead body laying on the ground in a pool of b***d with his bloody insides splattered across made it difficult for me to have any sympathy for him.