Douglas wasn’t a stupid man. He’d see very clearly that the contract was impeccably solid. Damien hadn’t made his billions by making mistakes.
He watched in disgust as the man signed on the bottom line.
∞∞∞
Sierra slumped down on her bed, proud she’d managed to walk from the room without shedding a tear. She didn’t understand what had just happened.
As she looked around her room, the realization of her leaving slowly started sinking in. Some of her fear lifted. It was her way out. She was going away – with her father’s blessings, which meant he wouldn’t be chasing after her.
She didn’t understand why he wanted her to go with Mr. Whitfield, and she was terrified of what their deal was really all about, but still… it was freedom.
She wouldn’t have to stay in the empty mansion, fearing her father’s next drunken rage. She may even be able to spend some time with Bree, get away, live a real life. Maybe this was the beginning of her true liberation.
With fear and uncertainty still coursing through her at her job expectations, as well as excitement to be leaving, Sierra stood and pulled out two suitcases. She started packing clothes, and certain items that actually meant something to her.
She picked up her picture album, the only one she had. She took a moment to open the cover, looking at the picture of her sitting on her mom’s lap, their arms wrapped tightly around each other. Each time she looked at the photo she always wondered how differently her life would’ve turned out had her mother lived.
Would her mom have left her father, taken her daughters away so they could live normal lives? Would she and Sandy get along? Sierra somehow doubted it. If Douglas wouldn’t let her leave, she couldn’t see him allowing his wife to leave him. He was all about keeping up appearances, and that’s exactly what he did, no matter the cost.
She flipped the pages and looked at a picture of her and Bree. She’d go see her soon even if only for a weekend. She shut the cover and carefully placed the album in her bag, then quickly gathered the rest of her belongings she wanted to take.
Sierra’s expensive pieces of jewelry were of no interest to her. Douglas had purchased them for high class functions he forced her to attend. He didn’t buy them as a reminder of his love for her, but because he had an image to maintain, and he certainly couldn’t have his daughter show up to a fundraiser looking anything less than what their family image was. He’d worked hard to create such a facade.
She had few items, considering she was twenty-five years old. Her father didn’t buy her gifts, and she wasn’t much of a shopper. She had her clothes, her few sentimental keepsakes from her college days, and that was it. She didn’t really consider anything else in the room hers.
With what she hoped was a final look at her bedroom, Sierra flicked the switch and bathed her prison in darkness before shutting the door. She pushed down both the fright and elation as she asked one of the servants to help her carry her bags down the stairs.
Chapter Six
Sierra stood next to the stretch limo, unsure of how she should say goodbye to her father. She had to bottle the excitement she was feeling at escaping him. He’d probably strangle her on the spot, if he knew the extent of her elation. She was unsettled about Mr. Whitfield’s expectations, though and couldn’t keep a bit of that from showing through her otherwise stony expression.
Still, she couldn’t push away the thought that she was finally getting away from her father. She hoped and prayed she’d never have to step foot inside his house again.
“I’d like to speak to my daughter alone for a moment,” Douglas said as the three of them stood beside the sleek car.
“Make it quick. I have a stop to make before the jet takes off,” Damien said as he glanced at his watch. Sierra was blown away with how the man spoke to her dad. She’d never heard anyone act so disrespectful to Douglas Monroe. People normally did everything they could to impress him, practically bowing at his feet.
What surprised her even more was the fact that her father was allowing the insubordination. She almost wanted to hug Damien, she was so happy to see her father taken down a peg.
Before she could feel too smug, her father was gripping her arm tightly as he led her away from the limo. She didn’t even cringe as pain shot from where his fingers dug in. The pressure was nothing compared to some of the past abuse he’d inflicted on her.
When they were far enough away that he felt confident in not being overheard, he stopped and turned his back to the limo. He obviously didn’t want Damien to see the menace on his face.
“I don’t know how long Damien will put up with you being his personal escort, but you’d better keep your damn mouth shut about what happens in this house. He’s paying a lot more money than your worth for the privilege of your company. Do not disappoint me, or your life won’t be worth living. Do you understand me?” he snarled, emphasizing Damien’s name like it was a swear word.
Sierra felt bile rise in her throat. She knew her father was evil, how could she not? But, without saying the words, he was telling her she was nothing more than a slave to be traded. She knew he felt nothing but disdain for her, but she’d thought somewhere, maybe deep down inside, that he cared the tiniest bit.
She’d been wrong.
With brief words, he’d explained what was expected of her. She feared there wasn’t a job at all. Maybe Damien had just bought her as his mistress. Could she go through with it if that was the case?
The reality was that she probably could. What made the entire matter worse was that she’d rather be this stranger’s sex-toy than her father’s whipping post. There weren’t words to describe the misery coursing through her in that moment.
Only the angst of defying her father kept her standing before him with no expression. She knew better than to show weakness, or release the tears that so desperately wanted to fall. The cost was too great at showing him any emotion.
“I understand, Father. I won’t disappoint you,” she reluctantly responded. She knew she’d been taking too long to reply, because she saw the twinge in his jaw, her alert that he was losing control.
“Good. Don’t forget it. Now, give me a hug to keep up the Monroe image,” he commanded, his body stiff as if having to touch her disgusted him.
Obediently, she moved forward, keeping a few inches from touching him, as she carefully wrapped her arms around his shoulders and gave him an awkward hug. He lifted one hand and patted her back, before pushing her away.