He watched her in clear astonishment as the soft wind played with the ends of her dress. The sun touched her skin gently, making her glow.
She looked stunning. Her hair was tied back neatly, her dress simple but graceful. There was something calm and strong about her, something that made his gaze locked on her.
Was she the same girl he had ensured to break completely? She wasn't any where near breaking.
Their eyes locked. She felt his deep stare, the confusion in it, the disbelief. It almost gave her a strange sense of power.
Edward blinked. There was something about her gaze. Hatred exuded through her eyes. He could feel it, it grazed him fiercly.
He could sense an air of pride radiating around her. There was no fear, no panic.
She stared for a second, then turned her back and walked away, like he wasn't anything important.
Something snapped inside him.
He opened the car door and stepped out slowly, eyes still locked on the direction she'd taken. His chest tightened. His mind was a mess. Why did she still look good? Why wasn't she crushed? Why did she still have that glow?
Anger rushed through him like fire. She was supposed to be weak, broken, dull. Not this. Not beautiful.
Several thoughts crashed into each other inside his head. For a brief moment, a dark temptation crept in. Ehat if I rebond with her? Take her back? Make her mine again? But the thought disgusted him just as quickly. He clenched his fists. No. He wouldn't give her that power.
The embarrassments she had given him in time past were glued in his mind. He wouldn't forgive her, would never take her back. Impossible!
He turned sharply and walked inside the house, his steps heavy, his heart pounding. Inside his room, he dropped onto the chair and stared at the floor.
The image of her wouldn't leave his head. The way she glowed. The way she walked away indifferently. The way she didn't even flinch when their eyes met.
He slammed his hand against the table. He couldn't allow this. If she thought she could rise again, walk with her head high, she was wrong.
From now on, he would make her regret it. He would humiliate her at every point. He would crush that pride, wipe that glow off her face.
He would make sure she never forgot who she was. An omega. A lowly omega. His servant for five years.
It was evening, yet the storm in Edward's chest hadn't quieted since morning. Despite the bruises of servitude he inflicted daily, she still looked radiant.
He left his bedroom and walked into the sitting room, then called for a servant.
The moment the servant walked in, he pointed to the sofa. "Pick up that bag," he commanded, and the servant quickly obeyed.
"Follow me," he said, walking out of the sitting room. The servant hurried behind him, clutching the bag tightly.
He took a sudden turn, walking down a narrow corridor until he stopped in front of a door.
"Knock!" he spat, his voice filled with anger.
The servant knocked quickly on the door, but before she could even step back, Edward swung it open, slamming it hard against the wall. Lucille, who had already stood up to answer, jumped in surprise. Her eyes narrowed in anger when she saw him.
"Give it to her!" he barked at the servant, who rushed to hand Lucille the bag.
Lucille stared at the bag, confusion written across her face. She looked up at Edward, waiting for him to say something more.
"Open it!" he growled.
Reluctantly, Lucille opened the bag and pulled out the content. Dresses.
"This is what you'll wear from now on," he said coldly.
Lucille stared at him, a small laugh bubbling up inside her, though she held it back. He had punished her, but it seemed like he couldn't find peace. It was almost ironic.
"Noted," she muttered, tossing the dresses back into the bag. She walked to the bed and dropped it on top.
"Starting from now," he added, expecting her to react.
Lucille turned slowly, her eyes meeting his with quiet defiance. "I'm not stupid. I know," she said, then turned her back on him, indifferently.
Edward stood still, waiting. He wanted her to complain. He wanted her to ask why she should wear the dresses, to show some sign of pain. To see her eyes glisten with tears. Anything to prove that she felt what he wanted her to feel. But Lucille didn't give him that. She was calm, her face free of emotion.
His hands balled into fists at his sides, his jaw clenched tightly.
"Any more instructions? Or do you want to watch me change? Are you that eager to see me naked?" Lucille asked calmly, not bothering to look at him.
The servant coughed awkwardly, glancing at Edward, whose face had darkened.
"What's there to see?" he muttered, turning and walking away, the maid rushing to follow him.
Once the door was closed, Lucille took the dress from the bag and unfolded it. She couldn't hold back a laugh, collapsing onto the bed, she laughed hysterically. Edward was really something. What was this ridiculous thing? She looked at the dress again and laughed harder, tears spilling down her cheeks.
It was the first time she'd laughed in Edward's house, and yet, it was because of him, the very person who was supposed to make her cry.
She slipped into the dress slowly, then looked at herself in the mirror. It was absurd. She fell onto the bed, rolling with laughter. She looked like a joke in this dress.
The fabric swallowed her small frame. The sleeves were large and puffy. The neckline was high, almost like a turtleneck, but not quite. The stiff material had no design or shape, and a large, awkward Peter Pan collar sat at the top. There was no waistline to give it any form, just an oversized, shapeless mess.
She stared at her reflection, a clown staring back at her. Was this what he wanted? To make her feel ugly? She thought back to his expression earlier that day. Was she really so beautiful that he had to strip her of that?
But no matter what Edward tried, she promised herself she would never break. Every time he tried to crush her, she would rise again, stronger than before.
Lucille pulled out a tiny belt from her bag and wrapped it around her waist, creating a waistline and giving the dress some shape. She tied her hair into a bun, securing it with old, sparkling clips she'd saved. Carefully, she attached a pair of cheap, shiny earrings to her ears.
When she glanced at herself in the mirror, a radiant figure stared back. Poise. Grace. She nodded to herself, satisfied, before walking out with her head held high, her posture perfect, her steps silent.
On her way to the east wing, she passed one of the guards. A man who was always cold and expressionless. But today, his gaze stayed on her, softening, lingering. There was admiration in his eyes, even astonishment.
Edward, standing on the balcony, saw her too. Not just her, but the way the guard looked at her. As a man, he understood the meaning behind that gaze.
His chest tightened. His clenched fists trembled. Even as Lucille disappeared around the corner, the guard's eyes followed her, lips slightly parted, an expression that meant longing.
Edward punched the air in frustration. Even in that awful dress, she glowed. To the point that a man, his guard, admired her.
His heart clenched. A wave of rage surged in his stomach. What angered him more was the way she walked with such pride, as though the pain she'd endured didn't touch her.
Maybe he should ban accessories, he thought bitterly. But that was childish.
Still, he couldn't stop wondering. Why hadn't she worn accessories at university? Why had her hair always fallen loose on her shoulders back then? Why wasn't it neatly styled? Why was she suddenly doing all this now?
To make him want her? Impossible!
No. He would break her. If the dress didn't work, he'd come up with another plan.