CHAPTER 132: SAFER? OR A NEW CAGE?

Chapter 130: Safer? Or a New Cage?

Ethan’s lips curled into the faintest smirk as his thought brushed across Lirael’s mind.

Well... what I said isn’t exactly wrong, is it? She will indeed sleep with me.

Lirael’s brow twitched, her reply sharp with irritation.

—Tsk. Shameless bastard. At least make it sound nice. The way you talk, it sounds like she’s being led to the gallows. Look at her—she’s on the verge of crying.

Ethan’s mental chuckle carried a wicked edge.

Then isn’t it time for the big sister to swoop in for the rescue? Go on... console her. Hehe.

"Bastard," Lirael muttered under her breath.

She stepped forward, her expression softening as she knelt slightly to meet Sylvie’s tear-brimmed eyes. Her voice was gentle, protective. "Don’t worry. I won’t let anything bad happen to you. I promise."

Sylvie blinked at her, uncertain, then shifted her gaze toward Ethan. When she saw he made no move to object—his relaxed expression betraying no anger at Lirael’s intrusion—she finally gave a tiny nod.

"My name is Lirael," she continued, brushing a tear from Sylvie’s cheek. "You can call me big sister, okay?"

Sylvie hesitated, her lips parting before she gave the smallest hum. "Mmm..."

Ethan, watching them with faint amusement, broke the moment. "Alright, enough with the dramatics. Let’s eat. That place looks decent."

He guided them into a well-kept inn, the smell of roasted meats and fresh bread spilling into the street. The wooden tables gleamed under lantern light, polished smooth by countless travelers. Ethan didn’t bother asking Sylvie what she wanted—he already knew the answer. She’d say whatever Master gives is fine. So he ordered a proper meal, enough for all three.

"Sit," Ethan commanded, gesturing at the table.

Sylvie froze, hands twisting in front of her apron. Her eyes darted to the floor. "N-no... how can a slave eat at the same table as Master? I-I’ll sit on the floor..."

Ethan sighed, his voice deceptively calm. "I don’t mind. Sit."

"But... it’s inappropriate," she whispered, trembling.

His eyes narrowed, his tone suddenly edged with authority. "A servant needs to follow her master’s will. Or are you refusing me, Sylvie?"

Her breath hitched, the words striking her like a lash. She quickly shook her head. "N-no, Master... I obey." With stiff, reluctant movements, she lowered herself onto the chair.

Even seated, her body was taut with unease, hands wringing in her lap, her eyes glued to the floor as though waiting for punishment to strike.

Lirael reached across, gently taking one of her cold, trembling hands into her own. "Relax," she whispered with a small smile. "He won’t eat you."

Sylvie risked a glance up, first at Lirael’s warm eyes, then at Ethan across the table. The faint smirk tugging at his lips made her flinch again, but when he said nothing, only leaned back with a knowing gleam in his gaze, she allowed herself to breathe—just a little.

The three sat together, the plates soon filling the space with the aroma of herbs and sizzling meat, but beneath the warm air of the inn, the tension clung like a shadow, coiling around Sylvie’s heart.

The table was laid with roasted meats, steaming bread, and bowls of seasoned vegetables. The fragrance filled the air, warm and savory. Sylvie stared at it, wide-eyed, her lips parting slightly as her stomach growled against her will.

Never in her life had so much food—real food—been placed before her. She wanted to dig in, to taste the flavors that made her mouth water. Yet her trembling hands stayed in her lap. If I offend him... if I move without permission...

Across the table, Ethan leaned his chin against his hand, watching her with open amusement. He remembered countless stories he’d read back in his old world: the noble protagonist buying a slave, treating her kindly, earning her endless gratitude. Now he had the chance to play it out himself—except his way would always carry a sharper edge.

"Don’t wait for permission," he said smoothly. "Eat. As much as you want. If it’s not enough, I’ll order more."

Sylvie’s eyes shot up at him, dumbfounded. Eat... as much as I want? The thought alone felt unreal. She caught herself staring too long and panicked. "F-forgive me, Master!" she blurted, bowing her head.

Ethan chuckled under his breath, enjoying her fluster. "Go ahead. Eat."

Hesitantly, she lifted her fork, her hand trembling so badly the tines clinked against the plate. She brought the first bite to her lips, and as the flavors hit her tongue—rich, savory, seasoned with herbs—her eyes widened. The warmth spread through her, and she forgot to breathe for a moment.

She ate carefully, timidly, never too fast, but still more than she ever had before. Each mouthful seemed like a stolen luxury, her gaze flicking up at Ethan every few seconds to make sure she wasn’t overstepping.

He didn’t push her. He let her eat at her pace, his smirk playing like a mask, silently gauging every nervous glance she threw his way.

When they finished, Ethan rose. "Come," he said simply. "We’re getting you new clothes."

The streets bustled as they moved toward a tailor’s shop. The faint scent of linen and dye hung in the air, bolts of cloth displayed through the window. Ethan stopped at the entrance, tilting his head toward Lirael. "You take her. Women’s business."

Lirael gave him a look, but didn’t argue. She guided Sylvie inside. The shop smelled faintly of lavender starch, with rows of neatly folded fabric and mannequins draped in fine dresses.

When the two returned, their arms were full of wrapped bundles. Sylvie’s steps were hesitant, her expression bewildered. "S-so many... for me?" she whispered, half to herself.

Lirael smiled faintly but didn’t answer, only shifting the weight of the bundles in her arms.

Ethan smirked as he saw them. He raised a hand lazily, and in an instant, all the bundles shimmered and vanished into nothing.

Sylvie gasped, spinning around frantically, her eyes darting to the street as if a thief had spirited them away. "M-Master! The clothes!"

"They’re in my storage space," Ethan said flatly.

Her jaw slackened. "S-storage...? Master has... storage space?"

"Yeah." He leaned down slightly, his tone low and deliberate. "And you’d do well not to speak about it. Not to anyone. Ever. Whatever you see with us—you keep it secret. Understood?"

Sylvie’s whole body stiffened. She nodded rapidly, bowing her head. "Y-yes, Master! I’ll never say a word!"

Ethan straightened, satisfied.

By now, the edge of fear that had followed Sylvie all morning had dulled—though it never left entirely. She had not been struck, nor starved, nor berated as harshly as she’d expected. Yet every unexpected turn—his sudden smirk, his piercing glance, the casual way he made things vanish—sent her heart racing.

Walking between them, her eyes lowered but her thoughts restless, she couldn’t decide whether she was safer than she had been before... or caught in a cage she couldn’t yet see.