Breaking Free from Servitude

The pencil stilled between my fingers as my phone vibrated against the desk. I recognized the number immediately—Sullivan never used my ringtone, always letting it buzz until I answered. My stomach clenched as I set down my sketchbook and flipped it open.

"Eden." His voice was clipped, businesslike. "I need you to deliver something."

I glanced at my watch—3:42 PM. My small home studio was bathed in afternoon light, the kind that made my jewelry designs sparkle on paper. For a moment, I pretended I had somewhere important to be.

"Now?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.

"Yes, now." Sullivan didn't bother hiding his impatience. "There's a package on our bed. Take it to Valery at the Belmont Hotel."

The familiar shame burned through me as I stood, my feet heavy. "What kind of package?"

"Don't play dumb, Eden. You know exactly what it is." His voice dropped lower. "After everything I've done for you, this is the least you can do."

The reminder of his sacrifice—my grandmother's kidney—hung between us like a chain. I swallowed hard and ended the call without responding.

Before leaving, I carefully gathered my sketches and slid them beneath a loose floorboard under my desk. Sullivan had never shown interest in my designs, but I couldn't risk him discovering this small piece of myself I'd managed to keep separate from our marriage.

The package on our bed—our bed, though he rarely slept there anymore—was wrapped in black tissue paper. Through it, I could make out the shapes of lace and silk. Intimate apparel. Toys. My cheeks burned as I tucked it into my bag.

The drive to the Belmont Hotel took twenty minutes, each minute stretching like an hour. I parked in the underground garage and rode the elevator to the penthouse suite, my reflection in the polished doors showing a woman I barely recognized—hollow-eyed, shoulders curved inward.

Valery opened the door wearing nothing but a silk robe, her dark hair cascading over her shoulders. Her hand rested protectively over the pronounced swell of her belly.

"You're here," she said, her lips curving into a smile that never reached her eyes. "Sullivan said you'd be stopping by."

I stepped inside, clutching my bag like a shield. "Where would you like this?"

"On the bed is fine." She gestured toward the massive king-sized bed where they'd undoubtedly spent countless nights together.

As I placed the bag on the pristine white duvet, Valery sauntered to the window, her robe parting slightly to reveal more of her pregnant silhouette.

"Sullivan has excellent taste," she remarked, pulling out a delicate lace negligee. "Though I suppose he'd have to, given how... lacking his wife's figure is."

I kept my eyes fixed on the floor, counting the patterns in the carpet to distract myself from her words.

"It must be difficult," Valery continued, slipping the negligee over her head, "knowing your husband prefers someone who can actually give him children."

My throat tightened. Five years of marriage, and despite our efforts early on, I'd never conceived.

"Sullivan tells me everything," she said, adjusting the straps. "How you try so hard to please him, but never quite measure up."

I finally looked up, meeting her triumphant gaze. "Is there anything else you need?"

"Just enjoy the show, Eden. I want you to see what a real woman looks like in these." She twirled slowly, the lace catching the light. "Sullivan says I'm everything he's ever wanted. Passionate. Fertile. Willing."

Two days later, Sullivan cornered me in our kitchen as I prepared dinner.

"Valery's sick," he announced, loosening his tie. "Morning sickness. She can't make the dinner with Franklin Barnes tomorrow night."

I set down my knife carefully. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"You'll go instead."

The knife trembled slightly in my hand. "Sullivan, Franklin Barnes has a reputation—"

"I don't care about his reputation." Sullivan's eyes hardened. "This is important for the company. He's our best chance at saving the quarter."

"I'm not comfortable serving drinks to a man who—"

"This is the first of three favors, Eden." His voice turned ice-cold. "Remember our agreement? The debt you owe me for your grandmother?"

The knife stilled in my hand as memories of my grandmother flooded back—her smile, her gentle hands, the way she'd held mine as she thanked Sullivan for saving her life.

"Of course I remember," I whispered.

"Good." He straightened his tie, already moving toward the door. "You'll wear something appropriate. Franklin likes beautiful women serving him."

As the door closed behind him, I pressed my palm against the cool counter, steadying myself. Three favors. This was just the beginning.