The door clicked softly behind Stephen, leaving Raya standing alone in the cavernous, dimly lit bedroom. The soft hum of the central air and the ticking of the ornate clock on the wall were the only sounds in the stillness. Her hands hung at her sides, heavy as lead. Her legs, aching from the long day and from being tied up for hours, nearly buckled beneath her.
She took slow steps into the room, her eyes scanning the expensive furniture and the luxurious décor. Everything screamed wealth—from the silk drapes to the marble-topped vanity—and yet she felt colder than ever. She didn't belong here. This wasn't her world. Not even close.
Collapsing onto the edge of the bed, Raya buried her face in her palms. Her chest heaved as she tried to steady her breathing. She wasn't going to cry. She'd promised herself that a long time ago. Crying never helped anything.
But the image of her father, crying out in pain, flashed through her mind again. The sound of his scream echoed in her ears.
