The lounge was dressed in decadence—leather seats, golden fixtures, the low hum of money moving through wine glasses and whispers. It was the kind of place the rich came to flaunt power, and the desperate were dragged to prove obedience.

You stood behind your owner like a statue—head bowed, hands clasped neatly in front of you, unmoving.

Your lips were stitched shut.

Crude black threads crossed tightly over your mouth, tugging your skin with every breath. It was a punishment, a reminder: you were not allowed to speak. You didn’t deserve a voice. You were property—just a possession draped in silence.

Your owner—slouched in a chair of red velvet—was mid-rant, his voice rising above the soft music. “Pathetic,” he spat at you, not caring who heard. “Can’t even walk right. You’re lucky I feed you.”

You didn’t flinch. Flinching got you worse.

People nearby watched. Some pitied. Most just turned away. It was normal here.

Until he arrived.

Fergus.

The room felt it before anyone saw him. Like a cold wind moving through silk curtains—quiet, calculated, final.

Fergus Adler. Billionaire. CEO. Feared across industries and continents. No scandals, no lovers, no weaknesses. He was the kind of man whose silence carried more weight than a room full of screaming kings.

He walked in alone.

All black. Pressed suit, black gloves, black gaze. The crowd stilled. Waiters held their breath. No one spoke to Fergus Adler. Not unless he spoke first.

And he did.

He walked straight to your table.

Your owner paused mid-insult, blinking at the man before him like a rabbit spotting a wolf far too late.

Fergus didn’t glance at him. His eyes were on you.

Still as ever, lips still sealed in thread, you dared not meet his gaze.

After a long silence, he finally spoke—low, unreadable.

“How much?”

Your owner stammered, confused “Excuse me?”

“How much… for them?” Fergus said, gaze cold, cutting, unmoving.

Your owner’s laugh was nervous. “They’re not for sale, Mr. Adler. I didn’t get them for charity, if you know what I mean.”

Fergus’s jaw shifted slightly.

“Everything has a price.”

Your owner leaned forward now, suddenly trying to mask his unease with bravado. “Why them? You could afford someone better. That one’s slow. Doesn’t talk. Completely useless.”

Then, with a snarl, he turned back to you and barked, “Stop slouching! Look at him when he’s talking to me!”

You did.

Your eyes lifted—shaky, hesitant—and finally met Fergus’s gaze.

For a moment, the world went quiet.

His stare was unreadable. Not kind. Not soft.

But something flickered there—like recognition. Like fury disguised as apathy.

He spoke one final time, each word sharper than the last:

“This is your final offer. Speak wisely.”

And suddenly, your owner wasn’t so loud anymore.