The name you used outside of this house is no longer,” Pia told me with a simple smile, as if what she was saying wasn’t heartbreakingly painful. “You will receive a new name when you are sold to your new owner. Until then, you will be nameless. You are not deserving of a name until you’ve been properly trained.”

“Sold? What the hell are you on about?”

“Exactly what I say. You will be trained and then sold.”

“Do you hear yourself speaking?” I asked, raising my eyebrows. “Seriously, do you even hear yourself? This is ridiculous. I’m not and never will be anyone’s property.”

She gave me a beatific smile as if nothing in the world was wrong at all.

“Like I said, the sooner you accept what’s happened, the better off you will be,” she explained simply. “Girls who do not comply with the rules don’t have the best time at the Mansion.”

“What do you mean?” I eyed her suspiciously, my expression wary.

“Well, you noticed the maid earlier…” A sweet smile lit up her face. She was so ridiculously beautiful it was throwing me off, and I wanted to hate her for it. For thriving in this sick environment when I already felt every bone in my body fighting what they were trying to make me do. “She can’t speak.”

“Is she not allowed to?” I asked, my expression doubtful. Was that the worst she could offer in terms of punishment? Being told to shut up wouldn’t stop me. I would spend the rest of my time there fighting for a way out. “I don’t see how that made her break.”

“She cannot speak,” Pia said, her eyes now sharply turning to mine. “Her tongue has been cut out and her vocal chords severed. She was a prospect here until one of the men went too rough on her. Once she’d been scarred, she couldn’t find a buyer. It was too late to let her go, so she joined the rest of the maids. None of them have tongues. But… I guess it’s a fate better than death, right?”

She laughed melodically. She spoke of this as if it was the most natural thing in the world. As if it was perfectly normal to maim women and make them serve their sick needs. I want to throw up on the spot. She was just as disgusting as the man who had taken me, and I hated her even more than I did him. I promised myself she’d be one of the first people I’d turn in once I got out of that hellhole.

“And you think that’s normal?” I snarled at her. “You’re willing to go along with this madness… and for what?”

“To belong,” she answered, her eyes angry as she looked at me. “To belong to someone, to be a part of something greater than me, to serve a purpose.”

“Of course,” I laughed bitterly. “Because that’s all a woman is worth in your world. Belonging to someone who is better than you. Well, I don’t know about you, but I live in the 21st century, and I don’t believe in men owning women like slaves. So, I’d appreciate it if you just left me alone.”

“Not just yet.” Once again, her pleasant smile was back, and so was the urge to slap it off her face. “We have some work to do. Why don’t you come sit here at the vanity table so I can get a good look at you.”

I glared at her, every fiber in my body wanting to defy her.

“And what if I don’t?” I asked, my head held up proudly. “Will you cut my tongue out, too?”

“Don’t be silly,” she laughed easily. “Not for a while, no. You will go back to the bad cell, though.”

God, I hated her.

I made myself get up and sit on the white chair in front of the vanity table. Light from outside filled the room, and I realized I hadn’t even looked at the view outside. Pia approached me with her perfectly measured, pretty steps in those sky-high heels. She lowered herself to look at my face. She was even more beautiful up close, and I hated her for that, too.

“You have beautiful features,” she said softly. “The kind that will look pretty, even when you age.”

“How lucky for me,” I said sarcastically. This whole ordeal was turning me into a bitter little bitch. Fortunately, it seemed Pia hadn’t been sent to punish me. I still wasn’t sure what her purpose was.

“Indeed it is,” she replied with a smile. “You will be used, even when you are older, not cast aside like some other girls. You should be pleased.”

She pinched my cheeks, hard, and I cried out, which made her giggle.

“You need some color in your cheeks,” she said. “You’re so very pale. Like a ghost. Hopefully, you’ll be able to earn the privilege of going outside with the other girls soon.”

“Hopefully,” I repeated, fighting the urge to roll my eyes. This whole examination was ridiculous. If she was trying to make me feel better about my shitty situation, she was failing miserably.

“We are going to get to work now,” Pia continued, clapping her hands together. “We have a lot of work to do.”

She pulled out something that looked like a pager and typed in a message. It beeped a second later and she gave me a bright smile.

“Time for your makeover,” she said happily.

“Makeover?” I raised my eyebrows at her. “I don’t want a makeover.”

“It’s not up for debate.” Her tone was cheerful but firm. “You will love the results, trust me.”

“What are you going to do to me?” I felt violated. I didn’t want her touching me. The fact that someone had dressed me up while I was sleeping was disturbing enough, and it didn’t feel like it had been her, either, which meant another person had seen me naked, and I hated the thought of it. “I don’t want you touching me.”

“It will be a team of experts, not me,” she replied simply. “And they’ll make sure you look your very best. You’ll be pleased, you’ll see.”

She opened my door with her card, and three people filed into the room, chattering excitedly. There was a man and two women, and they started prodding and poking me without saying a single word to my face, just talking to one another about the ‘work that would have to be done’.

One of them, a tall, lanky man in a trendy leather jacket and with a diamond earring, gasped dramatically when he saw my hair.

“But this is awful,” he told Pia. “You didn’t tell me it was this bad.”

“She wore her hair up a lot on the outside,” she giggled apologetically. “She used to be a dancer.”

“We’ll try to fix it,” he said with an exasperated sigh. “Whatever I do, she won’t be able to wear it up for a while.”

“She won’t,” Pia assured him. “I’ll make sure of it.”

“You won’t,” I snapped, jumping to my feet.

They all shut up and looked at me, almost fearfully.

“I am a dancer, I didn’t use to be one,” I told them in a low voice. “And if I want to wear my hair up, I will. In fact, I have to when I’m dancing. So, whatever the hell you think you’re going to do… You have to ask my permission first.”

“Feisty,” one of the women muttered to the guy, and they rolled their eyes in unison.

“They always are,” Pia said, her gaze firmly set on me. “It will be beaten out of her if need be. Now, sit the fuck down and let them work.”

“I won’t,” I snarled at her. “No way.”

She approached me with fast steps and slapped me so hard I fell back on my ass. My cheek hurt, my body blazing with adrenaline as she stood above me.

“Don’t make me call the men,” she told me darkly. “Don’t make me put you in the bad cell.”

I bit back the tears. I would be damned if I’d let her see me cry.

Instead, I picked myself up and sat in front of the vanity mirror. Without saying a word to me, Pia’s team went back to chattering and working on me, and I stewed in my anger, my eyes fixed on my reflection in the mirror as they worked. She may have won the battle, but she would never win the war.

I watched them working. The man seemed to be a hairstylist, and every time he picked a strand of my hair, he sighed dramatically. One of the women, a short redhead, seemed to be his assistant. She put a plastic sheet over the floor and over me, and then the man started cutting my hair.

I told myself not to cry. I’d been growing my hair since I was a little girl, and it reached all the way down to my butt. I loved my hair. Seeing it drop to the ground in long blonde tendrils made me want to sob. It was the only remnant of the girl I’d been, and now they were taking it away from me. I hated it.

The other girl consulted with Pia and took my measurements for clothes. There were some I’d noticed earlier in the closet, but they were mostly leggings and plain tanktops. Now, they were talking about different clothes. Dresses and skirts and blouses, heels and jewelry and lingerie. Things I’d never had before, brands I could have only dreamed of. Whoever was in charge of my new prison was most definitely well off.

They acted as if I wasn’t ever there. Everything they did, they discussed with one another, never asking for my opinion. I quickly learned I didn’t get a say in what was happening to me. The only thing I could do was stare at my reflection in the mirror and watch my face and my body transform.

After they cut my hair, they told me how I was supposed to apply makeup every day. The seamstress reappeared with countless swathes of fabric and clothes, all in my size. They fit perfectly, and they made me try them all on. I paraded around in slinky, tight dresses, too-short skirts, and trousers so tight they dug into my skin. Everything I would own from then on would be sexy in some way. Meant to enhance my features and make the good ones stand out while the ones they deemed undesirable were carefully hidden. The hairstylist gasped when he saw the state of my toes, and I fought the urge to roll my eyes at him.

Of course my toes looked weird. I was a ballerina, they were supposed to look that way. But instead of letting them be, they soaked my feet and manicured my toes to perfection, even though I knew the traces of the polish would disappear when I danced again.

I missed dancing with my whole heart. But since I’d been in that place, I couldn’t have done it. It was like they’d torn it away from me, and I wasn’t sure whether I’d ever be able to dance in their presence. My life was split forever into before and after. Now, the only goal I had was to get away from this madness and dance again, because it was what I lived for.

Time was passing, and my stomach was rumbling impatiently as I waited for them to finish. My nails were repainted, long fake tips added to them and I was sprayed with cloyingly sweet perfume that I hated. Finally, they decided I was done.

“I bet she can’t wait to see what we’ve done!” The hairstylist clapped his hands together, once again choosing not to address me. I hated him even more for that. Slowly, he turned the chair I was sitting on until I was facing the mirror. And what I saw, my own reflection, took my breath away.

I looked like a different person.

My hair was cut to just below my boobs, now with highlights that brought out the freckles on my nose. My makeup was minimal but pretty, and they’d stuck a jeweled headband in my hair. I was wearing a dress, something in white with a black bow around the neck. I looked beautiful. But I wasn’t beautiful. It wasn’t me. I hated it.

I turned my eyes away, fighting back the tears. They must have noticed, because they fled the room, murmuring something about how ungrateful I was.

The only person who stayed behind was Pia.

She raised my chin up so I was forced to look into her beautiful, expressive eyes.

And for once, I saw something else there – pain hidden behind layer upon layer of lies, deceit and the love she felt for someone I didn’t know.

“It gets better,” she whispered, leaving a fleeting kiss against my cheek.

And then she was gone too, and there was just me and the girl I didn’t recognize in the mirror.