[~Song Recommendation: Surrender by Birdy~]
Layla's hands tightened around the papers, her heartbeat accelerating as she fought to steady herself. The words before her felt surreal, and she had to read the first few lines again and again, as though doing so could somehow change what she was seeing.
The letter read…
"Miss Layla, please be advised that there have been changes made to your role. You are no longer here to serve any Conner, nor are you to fulfill the duties of a maid in this household. Instead, you are now required to serve Mr. Specter in the capacity specified in the attached contract. Kindly review this document thoroughly."
Layla's heart sank as she saw the position she was being assigned: Slave. The world around her tilted, and she collapsed to the floor, her eyes already heavy with tears.
"Why is this happening, God? I was supposed to be serving Alfred Conner as his maid, but now…" Her words trailed off as her sobs filled the air, the paper still gripped tightly in her hands. Where's Mom? she thought desperately, as tears streamed down her face, splashing onto the letter. The wetness brought her attention back to it.
She continued reading, each rule adding weight to her despair.
"Rule No. 1: Tending to your Master's needs must be your top priority. Failure to comply may result in punishment at his discretion."
Punishment at his discretion? What is he going to do to me? The thought made her stomach churn.
"Rule No. 2: You are forbidden from saying 'no' or defying your Master's orders."
"Rule No. 3: While you are free to wear clothes of your choosing, your Master has the right to demand you change at his whim."
"Rule No. 4: You are not permitted to leave the property under any circumstances."
"Rule No. 5: You will have a doctor assigned to monitor your health. You may share anything regarding your condition with her."
"Rule No. 6: You are required to maintain your appearance. A cosmetologist will be provided to assist in enhancing your beauty."
Layla glanced at her reflection in the window, taking in the woman she barely recognized. As a maid, she had never concerned herself with appearances, and the idea of a personal beautician felt absurd.
"Rule No. 7: You are not allowed to use a phone. Dynamic jammers have been installed throughout the property to ensure this." Layla's breath caught in her throat. She pulled out her phone and, heart racing, dialed David Park's number. She stared at the screen, only to see it fail for the seventh time.
Her mind spun. Wait… If I'm not getting paid, what am I supposed to do? She frantically flipped through the pages, but no mention of compensation appeared.
"Oh, God… what if I'm not getting paid?" she whispered in horror, the words barely audible over her tears. She reached the final page and skipped over the rest of the rules, her vision blurry from crying.
It read, "I, Layla Mclan, hereby agree to the terms and conditions outlined in this contract. I accept the consequences and punishment should I breach any of these rules in my role as a slave." At the bottom was a blank space with the instruction, "Sign here."
"There's no point in fighting it," Layla thought bitterly, wiping away her tears. They could force me to sign anyway. She sighed, the weight of her helplessness pressing on her chest. With a trembling hand, she signed the contract, the pen cold against her fingers.
Just then, a knock on the door shattered her thoughts. Layla's heart skipped a beat, and her skin paled as she wondered what was to come next. She glanced at the open window, the fleeting thought of escape almost making her believe it was possible, but she quickly dismissed it. She gathered the last of her courage and slowly approached the door.
"Wh-Who's there?" Her voice was barely a whisper.
When she opened the door, a woman with gray hair and a warm smile stood before her, holding a tray of food. Layla felt an unexpected sense of trust and welcomed her inside. The woman's presence was soothing, and Layla took the tray from her hands, sensing the comfort it brought.
Seeing Layla's condition, the woman—who introduced herself as Rubina—expressed genuine concern. Though Rubina couldn't help Layla escape directly, she did offer a piece of advice that gave her a flicker of hope.
"By the way, my name's Rubina, though some call me Nana for reasons I can't quite explain. I'm the headmaid here, though I like to think of myself more as a caretaker for the others. You can call me whatever feels right." She chuckled, lightening the atmosphere. "What about you? Your name?"
"I'm Layla," she replied softly, feeling a bit of comfort for the first time in a long while. "Layla Mclan. Thank you, Nana, for everything." As Rubina left the room, Layla offered a small bow, grateful for the kindness. Her years of service as a maid had taught her not to waste food, and she felt a sense of gratitude for the small gestures of care.
That night, as Layla settled into her lavish new room—luxurious in ways she'd never imagined—her thoughts returned to Rubina's words. You're the first person Master Michael has enslaved… Was that supposed to be a compliment, or was it just another sign of her misfortune?
"I need to know if I'll be getting paid," she whispered to herself. "If not, I'll have no choice but to run." But as she thought about the heavily guarded compound, the armed security, and the feeling of being trapped, dread crept in.
She felt the familiar ache in her throat and clutched the blanket tightly, trying to suppress the rising panic. But it was no use. The tears came again, flowing freely as her body trembled under the weight of it all.
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Hours later, Layla was deep in sleep, the exhaustion of her crying and the comfort of the bed lulling her into a fragile rest. A sudden, insistent ring of her phone broke the silence. She groggily reached for it, and when she saw the caller ID, a cold chill ran down her spine.