Adriana's POV
Weeks had passed since that night since Hunter and I had been together and though I thought I knew every inch of this strange, new world I'd been thrown into, my body had started sending me confusing signals.
At first, it was just a vague tiredness that clung to me like a heavy fog. Then came the nausea. Not the kind you expect with a simple stomach bug, but a deep, unsettling queasiness that struck without warning, making me clutch the side of the bed or dash to the bathroom.
I told myself it was nothing just exhaustion from all the changes, from this new life I was forced to live. But Marta, one of the maids who had grown quietly protective of me, didn't buy it.
"You don't look well, Miss Adriana," Marta said, her voice soft but concerned as she adjusted my pillow one morning. "You should rest."
"I'm fine," I insisted, though my voice lacked conviction. I didn't want to admit I felt worse by the day.
Elena and Lena, the other two maids who worked in the house, often watched me from a distance. Elena, younger and sharp-eyed, had noticed the small tremors in my hands. Lena, always quieter, seemed worried whenever I refused food.
The tension in the house was thick, but what made it unbearable was Rayna.
Hunter was often away on business for the gang dealings, meetings, sometimes violent operations. When he was gone, Rayna made her presence felt. The female gang leader's hostility was as sharp as a knife.
One afternoon, Rayna barged into the sitting room where I was quietly reading. Marta was nearby, polishing the glassware.
"So, this is where Hunter spends his time?" Rayna said mockingly, arching an eyebrow. "Living in a dollhouse with his charity case."
I looked up, startled and uneasy. Marta's hands froze mid-polish.
"I don't know what you want, Rayna," I said carefully, trying not to show fear.
Rayna smiled coldly. "I want him to stop wasting time on you. You're nothing but a liability."
Before I could reply, Marta cleared her throat, stepping forward. "Please, Rayna, there's no need for disrespect."
Rayna's gaze flickered with annoyance but she didn't back down. "Watch yourself, maid. This isn't your place."
Hunter wasn't there, and Rayna knew it. She used every opportunity to undermine me, to make me feel small in the house that was supposed to be my refuge.
That night, as I lay in bed fighting the nausea again, I wondered how much longer I could keep this up. The sickness, the hostility, the weight of it all pressing down on me it was becoming too much.
And somewhere deep inside, I felt a quiet fear I couldn't name.
The following morning started no better than the last. I barely made it to the bathroom before throwing up. I sat on the cold tile floor for several minutes, forehead pressed against my knee, breathing heavily as my stomach finally settled.
A soft knock came at the door.
"Miss Adriana?" Lena's voice was gentle, almost shy. "Can I come in?"
I managed to whisper a yes.
She entered quietly, kneeling beside me with a damp cloth in her hand. "You're sick again," she said, not as a question, but a fact.
"I don't know what's wrong with me." My voice trembled. "I'm not eating much, but I still feel nauseous all the time. I'm always tired, I can't focus... Maybe it's stress?"
Lena dabbed my forehead. "Could be. You've been through a lot."
I nodded, though a small voice inside me whispered that this was more than stress. But I pushed it aside again. I had to.
That day, Hunter was gone again. Elena brought me a light breakfast, but I only managed a few bites. She sat across from me, watching closely.
"You're pale," she said. "And your eyes... they're tired. You should see a doctor."
"I'll be fine," I said automatically.
"Maybe you should talk to Hunter," Elena suggested gently.
"No," I said quickly. "It's not important. He has enough to worry about."
Later in the afternoon, I went to sit in the garden behind the house. The air was cooler there, and the soft rustle of leaves gave me a tiny sense of peace.
Until Rayna found me.
I heard the crunch of her boots on the gravel path, and my whole body tensed. I didn't turn around.
"Playing princess again?" she said behind me.
I looked up slowly. "What do you want?"
"I just find it funny that you think you're special," she sneered. "Do you really think Hunter cares about you? He gets bored. Trust me I know."
I clenched my jaw. "You don't know anything about us."
"I know him better than you ever will," she snapped. "You're a phase. A soft, naive little phase."
Before I could respond, she leaned in, her voice low and cutting. "I've seen women like you. They come and go. But Hunter and I, we've bled together. That's something you'll never understand."
I said nothing. I wouldn't give her the satisfaction of seeing me break.
When she finally walked away, I sat there frozen, my chest aching in a way I didn't understand. Was she right? Was I just temporary?
That night, when Hunter returned home, I stayed in my room. I couldn't face him. Not when I looked and felt like this. Not when every time I stood, the room tilted. Not when I couldn't tell if I was sick or scared.
But part of me wanted him to come check on me. To knock on my door. To notice something was wrong.
He didn't.
So I curled up in bed alone, the soft light of the moon bleeding through the curtains, and cried quietly into the pillow.
⸻
That night, the sound of the front doors opening echoed faintly through the house. I barely registered it at first, curled up under my blanket, hugging a pillow to my chest. But then came the familiar sound of Hunter's boots steady, heavy, confident.
He was home.
A strange mix of relief and dread filled me. I hadn't seen him in nearly a week. No texts. No calls. Nothing. Just silence. And now he was here. Of course he would come back now just when I looked like I'd been run over by life itself.
The hallway outside my room creaked. I heard soft murmuring, like someone whispering, then Lena's voice. I strained to listen.
"She's been sick since you left," she said quietly. "Throwing up. Barely eating. Dizzy. I tried to tell her to rest, but she just... pretends she's fine."
Silence followed. I could practically feel Hunter's reaction from behind the wall. Then, a knock.
I pulled the blanket tighter over my shoulder and pretended to be asleep.
He didn't wait for permission he never did. The door creaked open, and I heard his footsteps approach the bed.
I kept my eyes shut.
"Adriana."
I opened them slowly, pretending to be groggy. "You're back," I mumbled, voice hoarse.
He stood at the edge of the bed, arms crossed, eyes scanning me. There was something unreadable in his gaze.
"Why didn't you tell me you were sick?"
I sat up slowly, brushing hair from my face. "It's nothing," I said. "Just a stomach bug or something. I'm fine."
"You don't look fine."
"Thanks."
He didn't smile. "We're going to the hospital tomorrow."
"No," I said quickly. "It's really not necessary. I'm getting better."
His jaw tightened. "You've been sick for days. You haven't eaten properly. You look like you're about to collapse."
"Hunter, I said I'm fine."
He walked closer, kneeling beside the bed. His fingers brushed my cheek, and I flinched-not because I was scared, but because the softness caught me off guard.
"Don't lie to me," he said, voice low. "If something's wrong with you, I need to know."
His words made my heart twist, but I forced a shaky laugh. "What, are you worried about your investment?"
His jaw flexed, but his eyes didn't leave mine. "Don't do that."
I blinked. "Do what?"
"Act like I don't care."
For a moment, the air between us thickened. My chest tightened, but I couldn't tell if it was from the sickness or the way he was looking at me.
"You've been gone," I whispered.
"I had things to take care of."
"I didn't say anything," I replied, eyes darting away. "You don't owe me explanations."
He stood up, looking frustrated, like there were things he wanted to say but wouldn't. "Get some sleep. We'll talk tomorrow."
"I'm not going to the hospital," I muttered again, but he was already halfway to the door.
"I wasn't asking," he said over his shoulder.
And just like that, he was gone.
But his presence lingered in the room like smoke.
The next morning
I woke up groggy, my head pounding and my stomach flipping like it was trying to punish me for something I didn't do. Light filtered through the curtains, soft and golden, but it only made my headache worse.
I slowly sat up, legs dangling off the edge of the bed. For a second, everything tilted. I grabbed the edge of the nightstand to steady myself, breathing in and out until the wave passed.
I wasn't going to the hospital.
I wasn't dying. It was probably stress, or maybe whatever Lena kept calling a "long flu." Either way, I could deal with it.
After washing my face and changing into something casual a soft sweater and leggings I made my way to the kitchen, ignoring the ache in my lower back and the weird flutter in my stomach.
Lena was already there, along with the other two maids: Elena and Marta. They paused their conversation when I entered.
"Good morning, Miss Adriana," Elena greeted gently, offering a small smile.
I smiled faintly. "Morning."
"You look pale," Lena muttered, placing a glass of orange juice in front of me. "You barely ate yesterday."
"I'm fine," I replied, sipping the juice. "I just need to rest."
Marta gave Lena a look but didn't say anything. I could feel their concern, like it was stitched into the air around me.
And then-of course-Rayna walked in.
Dressed in her usual black leather pants and tight crop top, she looked like a walking threat. Her dark lipstick was perfectly applied, and her boots clacked loudly as she crossed the floor.
"Well, look who's up," she said with a smirk, eyes scanning me like I was some dying bird. "I thought you'd be dead by now. Or maybe you're just playing sick to get his attention?"
I stiffened, my grip tightening around the glass.
"Rayna," Eliza warned under her breath.
"Oh relax," Rayna scoffed, flipping her hair. "Just making conversation. I mean, it's obvious you're not cut out for this life. You've been what, here for a month? And already falling apart? Pathetic."
I stood up slowly. "I didn't come here to impress you."
She laughed bitterly. "No, you came here because you were sold. Let's not forget that, princess."
Something in my chest twisted. I wanted to scream, to slap her, to tell her how much I hated being reminded of that night how my life was traded like some debt in a backroom deal. But I didn't. I held my ground, even if my legs trembled beneath me.
"You can leave now," I said coldly.
Rayna raised a brow, amused. "Oh, really? Says who? You?" She stepped closer, arms crossed. "You think because he's sleeping with you, you matter? You don't know anything about Hunter. About us. He's not yours."
"Rayna-" Lena started.
"I never said he was," I replied, voice tight.
"You don't have to. I see the way you look at him. The way you blush when he's around." Her eyes narrowed. "But don't fool yourself. You're temporary. Just a distraction."
"Enough."
That voice didn't come from me.
We all turned at once.
Hunter stood in the doorway, arms crossed, jaw clenched. His eyes were fixed on Rayna like a blade about to be drawn.
Rayna flinched slightly but quickly masked it with a smirk. "Hunter, I was just-"
"I heard what you were just doing." His voice was cold, like steel. "Leave."
"But-"
"I said leave."
Rayna's eyes flicked to me, hate simmering under her pretty face. She turned and stalked out without another word.
The room fell into silence.
Hunter walked over slowly. "You okay?"
"I told you I was fine."
His eyes narrowed at my sarcasm. "You're not. I'm not blind."
I looked away, breathing shakily. "She's right, isn't she? I'm temporary. You don't even know why I'm here anymore."
Hunter stepped closer. "You think I would've let you stay this long if you were just temporary?"
I blinked. "You don't keep things you don't own."
He didn't say anything.
Instead, he reached out and gently took my wrist, turning it to look at my pulse. "You're shaking."
"It's cold," I lied.
"You're sick."
"I don't want to go to the hospital."
"I didn't ask if you wanted to. I said we're going."
There it was again his need for control. But this time, it didn't make me angry. It made me feel seen. Like someone was actually paying attention to the pieces I kept hiding.
I pulled my hand away. "You can't fix me."
He studied me for a long moment. "Maybe not. But I'm not letting you break on your own either."
And for the first time, I didn't argue.