EMMA

"Put this on."

Catching the clothes Ethan tossed my way, I stared down at the pale cream silk shirt that wouldn't cover much of my skin, as well as a black skirt that was two sizes too small for my body. "What are these for?"

He glanced at me from across the costume room he'd led me to from the bedroom. "It's your outfit for today. You're not on stage and you're not in the cages. It's only appropriate you dress the part of an assistant rather than a slave." Returning his attention to a closet he was digging through, he added, "You are a reflection of me today and I can't have you wearing a basic t-shirt."

My jaw went slack, confusion caressing my thoughts and forcing a softness to my words. "You're serious about this? It's not just some ploy you've staged to torture me?"

Snatching a box from the closet, he turned to face me, a smirk pulling at his lips. "Did you just admit spending an entire day with me isn't torture on its own? If I'm not mistaken, I think you're beginning to like me."

He tossed the box in my direction. I had to drop the clothes to catch it. "You're mistaken."

Grinning, he teased, "If you say so. Get dressed."

Opening the box, I pulled out a pair of red leather stiletto heels. Holding one up, I looked at Ethan in question. "What are these?"

"Your ruby slippers." Leaning against a far wall, he crossed his arms over his chest, one foot moving so that he could hook the ankle of his right leg over the left. Even when casual, he was challenging.

We stared at each other for what felt like hours. Finally I asked the question tumbling about in my head. "Are you going to turn around so I can get dressed?"

His eyebrow arched. "Modesty, Emma? You can't be serious after everything we've been through."

Huffing out a breath, I couldn't deny he was right. If any person had seen every intimate part of me, it was this man. He'd been the one to inspect me when I first arrived - the one who had so callously complained that I was used property.

Ruby slippers. He was such a charming ass. Never forgetting anything because he'd stored it away for the precise moment when that kernel of memory would become useful.

Dropping the shoe in the box and the box to the floor, I snatched the clothes from where they'd fallen, tossed them on a chair at my side and slipped the t-shirt from my body. It hadn't been my intent to peer up at Ethan at that moment, but still I found my eyes sliding his direction, my mind identifying and taking note of the way he watched me. There was heat behind his steel gaze, I was almost sure of it, but one could never truly tell with Ethan. He had a way of making you believe you saw something that was never actually there.

While the shirt he'd given me left little to the imagination, the skirt was like a vice squeezing my legs together. It was so damn tight, I wondered how I would manage walking, especially on four inch heels. I sat down to strap the shoes to my feet, hoping they wouldn't fit. Unfortunately, they did...perfectly.

By the time I looked up, Ethan was standing in front of me, a hand extended to assist me from my seat. I would have thought him a gentleman if I didn't know better. Accepting it, only because I wasn't sure I wouldn't topple over as soon as I was on my feet, I ignored the spark that shot across our skin. This place was slowly stripping my mind from me, leaving me stumbling through the insanity that was Ethan Cole.

"You look lovely." His compliment was delivered on a deceitful tongue.

I didn't bother thanking him. Believing anything the man had to say would be purposefully giving up my sanity. Nothing was real in this place. But holding on to that knowledge was becoming harder and harder with each passing day. It made me wonder how many of the women trapped here had already been pulled into madness by the strong undertow of Ethan's deceit, by the pulse of inhumanity that promised them this life had become their new reality.

Fighting against the pull, I was still discovering how to escape, still mapping all the different hallways and doors that could lead to a breach in their airtight security.

Perhaps Ethan's new form of torture would be the very thing that gets me out of here. But I would have to earn his trust, which meant I would have to wear another false mask he would undoubtedly see through.

"Let's get this over with," I finally muttered, my legs trapped together and my feet aching in the heels.

There was dark humor in his voice, "Don't sound so excited."

Ethan led me out of the room and down several hallways before I recognized where we were. Mentally mapping each step, each turn, I followed along, my expression tightened the closer we got to a door that wasn't familiar from one side, but would be from another.

Opening it, Ethan stepped out first, leaving me to close it again. My forward motion stopped the instant I heard the sobbing coming from the women. Memory crept into my head - emotion drowning me as I was returned to the day I had been one of those women standing in a single file line. Today, there were only three; a blonde, a brunette and a redhead.

"I'd like all of you to remove your clothes, stand side by side, and you can drop the histrionics. They won't do you an ounce of good in this place."

Businesslike and astute, Ethan's tone had lost the trace of humor I normally heard when he was speaking to me. The memory of that particular tone traced a finger up my spine. It was so cold, like a slap of winter's worst cruelty against your naked cheeks.

Glancing over his shoulder at me, he winked. My stomach dropped into my feet. How was it so easy for him to speak to these women without any hint of humanity, but then turn and be playful with me? Somehow, it only made me more confused. My heart wanted to like him while my mind screamed that he was a vile, heartless beast.

Stepping up to the stand in front of the blond woman, he cast a glance at me again where I stood frozen by the doorway. He angled his head to indicate for me to move to his side. I did so on legs that had lost circulation beneath a vice-like skirt, and ankles that weren't balanced enough for tall heels. Managing not to break my neck, I took my place and scanned my eyes over the women, pity a pulsing beat in my heart. They looked back at me silently begging for the help I couldn't give them.

Ethan's eyes were focused on the blonde. "Open your mouth."

She did so after several failed attempts. Snatching her chin between his thumb and fingers, he turned her head this way and that, searching for what, I wasn't sure. Were the women required to have good teeth? Did it really matter when all the camera would catch them doing is scream?

Releasing her, he said, "Feet apart, hands to your side."

She struggled to take the position, her body trembling as he examined her. I knew what was coming next, the worst invasion of all.

"Turn around and bend over. Legs kept apart."

The woman did as she was told, her will already broken by whatever had been done to her before she was brought to the studio. I knew she hadn't been raped, or Ethan would have made mention of it. But that was only one degrading act among many. Who knew what other horrors she'd already lived and seen?

"Straighten up. Do you have any health conditions I should be aware of?"

Shaking her head, the women's eyes darted between Ethan and me. I didn't dare meet them, couldn't allow her to find any small hope that, like me, she wouldn't be a beaten slave.

"Go stand in front of the door to the left."

We moved on to the redhead in the center to go through the same routine. Like the blonde, she passed Ethan's scrutiny and was directed to the left door. Approaching the brunette woman, I noticed instantly how young she looked, the terror in her wide eyes clawing at my heart.

Ethan must have noticed as well. "How old are you?" he asked before leading her through the motions. The charm in his tone softened her eyes. I pitied her for that softness. She had no idea she was facing a jackal.

"I - I'm eighteen. Well, today I am."

"What's your name?" he asked, breaking from the script I remembered from the day I was brought in here.

"J - Joanna."

Tears wept from her eyes. I hadn't even considered how the women felt during birthdays and other holidays in here. The thought hadn't had time to cross my mind, but then again, with the way the days blended together I wasn't sure any person could keep track long enough to know those special days had come and gone.

"Happy Birthday, Joanna," Ethan crooned, his malice wrapped in soft velvet. Subtly elbowing me, his eyes met mine with the demand that I say something as well. My eyes narrowed as the words became trapped in my throat. He merely cocked an amused brow.

Knowing Melanie's life was on the line helped to loosen my tongue. "Happy Birthday," I said curtly, not meaning a word of it.

By this task, he was making me part of this place and I resented him for it. The first ribbon of anger weaved through me, not enough to set my body on edge, but enough to be a whisper against my thoughts.

"I'll need you to open your mouth for me -"

As Ethan went through the motions of the examination, I spaced out, unable to endure the psychic pain pouring off the poor young girl that had only now become a legal adult. I wasn't sure where she was snatched from or how, but I knew intimately the humiliation she felt in this moment.

Once Ethan instructed her to stand again, I forced myself to pay attention. "Do you have any health conditions I should be aware of?"

Her eyes flicked to mine, embarrassment a color across her skin. "Mental or physical?" she asked softly.

Ethan and I both snapped our gazes to her. "Either," Ethan finally answered.

She shrugged her shoulders. "I have anger management problems," she said, refusing to meet either of our eyes while admitting it.

I didn't need to look at Ethan to know his mouth had pulled into a wide smile. "How unfortunate." Based on the tone of his voice, he hadn't meant it. "You'll have to stand in front of the right door."

The girl moved to do as she was told while I bit down on the inside of my cheek to keep silent. She didn't deserve the right door. There wasn't a single woman who hadn't been driven to mental issues inside this place. She didn't deserve death for it.

After the women were in place, Ethan called out to the guards, "Take them inside." He shot me a curious glance before opening the center door for us to walk through. As soon as it was closed, I couldn't stay quiet any longer.

"Why did you send that girl to the right door? She was barely an adult. She doesn't deserve that!"

Twisting slowly to stare at me, Ethan's jaw ticked. "I can't be sure, but was that a complaint?" He cocked that brow of his I now wanted to rip from his handsome face. "I could have sworn we had an agreement that complaints weren't allowed."

The ribbon of anger in me was now pulled taut across my body, like a violin string that could be plucked. I knew the color of it highlighted my cheeks, the force of it radiating from my eyes in daggers aimed straight at the heart of Ethan.

Ignoring the subtle warning, I argued, "She's just a kid."

"She's eighteen."

"That's too young," I argued at his back.

He rounded on me, our faces suddenly too damn close. "She's prey, Emma. She always has been. And regardless of her age, she's now a part of this place, for better or for worse. We are not a hotel, despite your demands. We do not bring in women to protect them and keep them safe in their cages. They are fodder for the predators. Hopeless souls that will eventually be destroyed. Would you have preferred the girl have gone through the left door and been subjected to years of abuse rather than suffering the hour it will take to dispose of her? Each one of you has a time limit of twenty-four years old. That poor child, given her age, would have endured six years of this abuse rather than one or two. Is that what you want for her?"

His words froze me in place, but not because of the girl. "What do you mean twenty-four years?" I asked softly.

"I mean that when a woman reaches that age, she's sent to studio B for her final performance. It's happened to every woman who came before you, will happen to every woman who is here now, and to every woman that comes after you. It's a rule set in place by the studio heads and there's nothing you or I can do about it. So, I apologize for finding a reason to give that a girl a quick death, but five years is too long for her to endure this abuse even by my standards."

He turned around and walked away, leaving me standing in place. The ribbon of anger inside me expanded into a thick cord, small threads of rage, indignation, and fury tugging into place until it grew thicker and heavier.

I stood stunned, not only by the acrid emotion spinning and building inside me to a point of dizzy chaos, but at what Ethan had admitted during his explanation. My brows drew together in response to the whisper of truth that dragged the tips of its ghostly fingers across my thoughts, the tiny window that was opened so that I could peek beyond the shadows of Ethan's professional mask, the small kernel of doubt that had lodged between my teeth until I wanted to pick at it incessantly.

Knowing the girl was younger than what I assumed was normal, understanding that her suffering would endure far longer than the rest of us, Ethan had gone against routine, against established rules, and had chosen a fate for the girl that would be kinder somehow.

I couldn't wrap my brain around it, couldn't grasp it in my palm without it becoming liquid and sliding through my fingers, but still, it was there and I struggled within myself not to look at Ethan differently, to wonder...

No. There wasn't even a touch of humanity inside him. There couldn't be if he was willing to direct these films day after day without so much as blinking an eye at their cruelty. He wasn't allowed to hint at a heart he didn't have. I wouldn't let him plant a seed inside me that would grow into doubt about what I already knew about him.

Not him. Not the Director. Not the man who existed in Hell just so that he could ensure it was as perfectly horrifying as it should be.

"No," I called out, forgetting about the agreement and all the threats that had forced me to accept it. "You can't do that. You can't pretend that you're doing something decent for these women by choosing how long they suffer. You can't pretend that you have potential inside you to care. You won't trick me into thinking you have even the slightest sliver of a soul."

Stopping again, his soft voice was full of ice. "Do you honestly believe the rules don't apply to you?"

I didn't answer because I wasn't sure how to respond. He'd taken the subject and flipped it without bothering to explain what he meant. Standing dangerously still, Ethan didn't so much as glance back at me while waiting for my response.

Weak as a mouse, I finally said, "I don't know what you mean."

Pivoting on his heel slowly, Ethan's gaze met mine, a sheet of ice crackling down my body at the malice coloring his eyes.

Creeping forward on casual feet, he smiled that lazy, dangerous grin. "I have already warned you what will happen if you refuse to cooperate. And yet, here you are, still arguing, still making comments that are above your place. I'm not one to repeat myself, Emma. One more word out of that rebellious little mouth of yours and I'll not only throw your friend to the wolves, I'll tie you to a chair, sit you in that room, and make you watch the entire thing."

We were nose to nose by the time he finished the threat.

"As for what I choose to do in this studio with the women who are dropped off at my door, that is none of your damn business."

His arm struck out, his fingers twisting in my hair as he pulled me closer. Tears welled in my eyes, the pain pushing them out as strands broke away from my scalp. Ethan's lips were pressed to my ear, his breath a warm blanket against my chilled skin. "And regardless of all that, who are you to accuse a person of pretending to be someone they are not? All I see when I look at you is a scared little actress wearing a pretty costume and saying practiced lines while desperately hiding who she really is."

Whimpering at the fire burning across my scalp, I let the tears spill down my face. Ethan didn't care, his deep voice pure menace. "Now apologize before you piss me off."

"I - I'm sorry."

He released me, the sudden movement knocking me off balance and dropping me to the floor. Ethan stalked off without another word, fully expecting for me to follow him.

Pushing to my feet, I did what was expected of me.

We were in his office before he spoke again, his hand snatching a stack of papers from the desk. "We'll be going to studio B in a half hour. In the interim, I need to go over the script. I suggest you sit down for a while. Quietly."

Warning given and received, I slunk to the couch, sitting at the farthest end to have as much distance between us as possible. Tears were seeping from my eyes, but not from pain or fear. That cord of anger inside me was now a full rope, one stretched so tightly that the smallest threads were snapping.

The knuckles of my hands were white from how hard I clasped them, my inner cheek chewed raw. But I knew better than to push him again. At that moment, he was drowning me in his contempt, pouring it over my head while holding my mouth open to swallow it.

I wasn't scared, though.

It's impossible to smother a woman with cold contempt when she is already fully consumed by her own.

For a half hour I stared at a wall, at my feet, my hands, anything besides the man pacing the length of his desk as he flipped through pages. Counting down the minutes, I fought to keep my face averted, battled against my own traitorous eyes trying to sneak over for a quick peek. But I wouldn't allow it. I refused to give him even a little ground by turning to him first. I hated him. Wanted nothing to do with him and it shouldn't have been so hard to keep from looking in his direction.

But it was. And I hated myself for that, too.

"Our thirty minutes are up, Emma," he stated without even a drop of affection in his voice. Solid impenetrable rock, Ethan was a smooth marble surface that sent you sliding if you dared to scale his defensive walls.

I turned to him.

Our eyes met.

"They're waiting for us in Studio B."