Tiara's pov
The air around me felt stifling as I stood my ground, refusing to let my nerves show. My heart pounded in my chest, but I kept my face calm, my fists clenched tightly at my sides. I had no intention of staying here. Who did these people think they were?
"I'll not stay here. Why should I? Who are you?" I asked, my voice sharp but controlled.
The man seated before me—the so-called "Master"—leaned forward, a sly smile playing on his lips. His sharp, predatory eyes gleamed as they studied me from head to toe, like I was some rare find at an auction.
"Good question, little girl," he said, his tone slow and calculated, as if savoring the situation. "I've seen many girls walk in here, quivering in fear, submitting without so much as a word. But you," he paused, his smile widening, "you are a brave one. I like that. So, let me tell you the reason."
