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responds and my dad laughs.
    “Always have
to be difficult don’t you?”
    Dad walks
off, leaving the comment in his wake. Harry stands at my side and hangs his
hands out of his pockets. If I didn’t know better I’d say he’s nervous.
    “So, when did
you get back?” he asks.
    He wants a
reunion now does he? I don’t have the balls to tell
him this is hardly the place for a catch up.
    “Earlier this
week.”
    “So, Italy?”
he questions.
    I don’t hold
back my sigh, hoping he senses that I don’t want to talk about it.
    “I’m not
going back,” I say in a deadpan tone. “Sofia and I are over.”
    His eyes go
wide and he seems genuinely upset by the news.
    “I’m sorry to
hear that.”
    I offer him a
sad smile and he pats me on the back, a comforting gesture. His response is
sincere, which surprises me.
    When my
father comes back he hands Harry his drink and then excuses himself to greet more guests. I do a quick sweep of the room and that’s when I notice
her.
    My eyes are
drawn to her with such a magnetic pull that I can’t look away, and that’s when
I notice, every other man is staring at her too.

Chapter 8

 
 
    Leila

 
    I feel like I’ve done this a million times.
Getting ready for one of his parties is nothing new to me, but tonight it
feels…different.
    Callum will be here and that excites me. I
know I shouldn’t feel this way, but I do. I can’t wait to see him again, even
if he will have to see me like this.
    I look down at what I’m wearing. The outfit
Osborne picked especially for this evening.

 
    “Here is your outfit for tonight.” He placed
it on the bed. “It’s new and cost me a pretty penny, but I think you will look
fabulous in it.”
    I eyed the outfit and fought back the
impulse to scoff. It looked ridiculous.
    “You will curl your hair,” he instructed.
    “Yes.”
    “And you will wear pink lipstick, not red.”
    I nodded my head.
    “What do you say, Emmy?”
    That’s not my name.
    “Emmy?”
    “Yes.”
    “Good girl.” He ran his thumb along the bow
of my lip causing my whole body to shudder.
    “You can come upstairs at eight.” He
gestured toward the clock. “Oito. No sooner,” he warned.
    I steered my eyes to the floor.
    “What do you say, Emmy?”
    “Eight,” I repeated.
    And then he was gone.

 
    That was three hours ago and I’ve spent the
majority of that time getting ready. I’m just going through the motions really.
    I bronze my cheeks, accentuating my
cheekbones and then I apply bronzer to my chest and cleavage. As I look in the
mirror, I coat my lips with pink gloss. Pink not red, I hear in my head. Yes, master.
    I know it needs to be perfect. My hair, my makeup,
my outfit, they all need to look flawless otherwise I will face the
consequences later.
    The night of my first party I had been
defiant in getting dressed. He forced me into my skintight leather outfit and
applied my makeup himself. He didn’t do too badly at it either, but he had been
so angry with me. Once he deemed me ready for the party he bent me over his
knee and hit me with the palm of his hand over and over again as if I were a rampant child.
    When I thought my ass could take it no
more, my cheeks numb and stinging, he forced himself inside of me, ramming into
me again and again until I was bleeding. He fucked me to show me that he owned
me, but part of me thinks he liked it when I disobeyed him. He loved nothing
more than being able to punish me.
    Tears prick my eyes as I think of that
night.
    Ever since, I’ve been compliant in getting
ready for his parties and tonight is no exception.
    Tonight’s outfit—the one he bought
especially for the occasion—is a white halter top that is two sizes too small. As I glance in the mirror I notice my breasts are
spilling out of the sides. It came with a matching white thong that thankfully
covers my sex, but bares my full ass. White, thigh high fishnet stockings
complete the tasteless look.
    He handpicks every outfit