Elena's POV

The clang of the dog food can and the maid's Italian still rang in my ears.

"I'm not a dog, even if I was sold to him." Pet or not, I was still human.

But the more I repeated it, the hollower it sounded.

I pushed the can aside and sat on the floor, knees drawn tight to my chest. The air in this so-called room was damp enough to glue my hair to my skin.

The maid grabbed a fistful of my gold-brown hair, yanking my head back.

"What? Still daydreaming about being Mr. Marlowe's escort?" she sneered, opening another can with a sharp crack before tossing...