chapter 3

He slowly walked toward her, each step exuding an aggressive presence that made Rose's heart race.

"You are beautiful."

Bill's voice was low and hoarse, with a barely noticeable softness.

He reached out and gently stroked Rose's wet hair, his touch as careful as if handling a precious piece of porcelain.

Rose's body trembled.

She wanted to avoid his touch, but she couldn't resist.

She closed her eyes, tears falling silently, making ripples on the warm water.

Bill's fingers traced her cheek, moving to her delicate collarbone.

He gently caressed it, feeling the smoothness of her skin. His breath grew heavier, and his eyes burned with desire.

"Please, don't..." Rose's voice trembled, barely a whisper.

She was afraid of Bill, afraid of his touch, and afraid of the emotions stirring deep inside her.

Bill ignored Rose's resistance.

He pulled her into his arms and kissed her passionately, his kiss fierce and dominating, filled with possessive hunger.

In comparison, Rose's struggle was weak, like an egg hitting a stone.

Bill's kiss grew deeper and more fervent.

She felt sick, her stomach churning, and the mix of shame and anger made it hard to breathe.

Suddenly, Bill stopped. He shoved Rose away, as if she were nothing more than a captive, a toy to be played with.

But why couldn't he control himself?

He ran his hand through his hair, filled with confusion and inner conflict.

The steam from the hot spring blurred his vision, just as it blurred his inner turmoil.

Rose curled up in the hot spring, clutching herself tightly.

Her body trembled from crying.

She felt a deep chill, and even the warm water couldn't chase away the cold inside her.

She felt like a tainted object, having lost all her dignity and value.

She didn't know what to do or what the future held; she only knew she could never return to how things were.

Bill's figure appeared blurred in the mist, standing motionless like a statue.

He slowly turned around and looked at Rose, curled up in the hot spring.

A strange tenderness welled up in his chest.

He wanted to approach her, to comfort her, but he didn't know how to begin.

He reached out a hand but stopped halfway.

He was afraid—afraid of hurting her again, and of getting caught in the gentle trap she had set for him.

The steam from the hot springs made his vision blurry, and he really didn't like feeling out of control and weak.

The sound of the water was very clear in the quiet, and Bill closed his eyes, feeling restless inside.

In the hot springs, Rose finally stopped crying; she needed to get away.

Bill looked at her strong face, feeling mixed emotions growing inside him.

He wanted to be close to her, but he was also drawn to her determination.

She was so beautiful that bringing her back to the tribe would make other men jealous and competitive.

Also, it was clear she had never been with a man before.

Before going back to the tribe, he needed to make her his woman.

Bill's voice resonated with a primal intensity, each word a thunderclap in the charged atmosphere of the tent.

"Rose," he growled, his eyes blazing with an untamed fire, "from this moment forward, you are mine."

The declaration hung in the air, heavy and irrevocable.

Unable to contain the tempest of emotions any longer, Bill swept Rose into his arms.

Her slight frame felt fragile against his battle-hardened physique.

With purposeful strides, he carried her towards the bed in the tent.

Rose's heart pounded against her chest, a frantic bird seeking escape.

Despite her prowess in the cutthroat world of commerce, Rose found herself woefully unprepared for this primal dance.

Her mind raced, searching for a strategy, a loophole, anything to regain control of the situation.

But here, in this primitive setting, her business acumen held no sway.

Bill's proximity overwhelmed her senses.

The heat radiating from his skin seemed to sear through his clothing.

His scent, a heady mixture of pine, sweat, and something uniquely male, filled her nostrils.

Rose's breath came in short, panicked gasps.

Her fingers clawed at Bill's shoulders, desperate to push him away.

But her efforts were futile against his unyielding strength.

Bill's calloused hands roamed her body with a possessive urgency.

Each touch ignited conflicting sensations within Rose. Fear warred with an unexpected, unwelcome spark of desire.

She bit her lip, struggling to suppress a whimper that threatened to escape.

Outside, the wind whispered secrets to the trees, oblivious to the storm brewing within.

Rose's world narrowed to this moment, this man, and the terrifying unknown that lay ahead.

Bill's tongue pushed into her mouth, exploring new places.

Eventually, Rose stopped fighting and let Bill do as he wished.

Bill heard the quiet sobbing from her and felt an unfamiliar tenderness rise in his chest.

He grabbed his hair in frustration.

What did he want?

He wanted to possess her, but he didn't want to hurt her.

This conflicting emotion made him uneasy.

He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath to calm his thoughts.

Outside, the wind quieted, and the stars disappeared, signaling that the storm had finished.

Bill left the tent, leaving the sobbing Rose alone inside.

The next morning, Rose was awakened by Bill, who ordered her to go to the river and wash clothes for the soldiers.

"Go to the river," Bill said in a low, cold voice.

"Make sure you scrub these stains out."

Rose bit her lip.

Yesterday's experience had left her numb.

She understood that refusing him last night had turned into punishment today.

She was no longer surprised by Bill's unpredictable moods. Compared to enduring his torment in bed, she preferred doing the laundry.

Rose stepped outside the tent.

The morning in the forest was freezing, sending chills through her body and covering her skin with goosebumps.

She picked up a pile of dirty clothes so tall it nearly blocked her view. The clothes reeked of sweat, blood, and dirt, making her stomach churn. Hugging the pile tightly, she headed toward the river.

At the riverbank, Rose knelt and plunged the clothes into the cold water. The chill was so sharp it made her hands go numb.

Clenching her teeth, she scrubbed the clothes with all her strength. The rough fabric scratched her delicate skin, leaving her hands red and raw after hours of washing.

Her fair skin turned pale with a bluish tint, and her golden hair hung messily around her face. A few strands blew into her mouth, and she constantly had to tuck them behind her ears. Despite her exhaustion, her beauty remained.

Around the camp, those black men patrolled vigilantly, their faces grim. Unlike yesterday, they avoided Rose as if she were a poisonous creature. None dared meet her gaze.

They knew all too well how possessive Bill was over his "prized possession," and no one wanted to provoke him. To them, Rose had become a woman who could bring them deadly trouble.

While Rose struggled with the heavy labor, only Leo kept watch from a distance, ensuring she didn't try to escape.

The pungent smell of soap mixed with the stench of sweat made Rose nauseous.

She swallowed her discomfort and mechanically continued scrubbing, her arms aching under the weight of each piece of clothing, as if lifting stones. Beside her, the pile of dirty clothes seemed endless.

The harsh cries of crows echoed in the distance, adding to the desolate atmosphere of the riverside .

Thinking of her father, Rose couldn't hold back her tears any longer. They rolled down her cheeks and dripped into the cold river, vanishing instantly.

By evening, the wind howled, whipping sand and stones against the camp. Inside the tents, warm fires were lit.

Rose had finally finished washing the clothes. Exhausted from the day's hard work, she was escorted back to Bill's tent by Leo, who had been waiting for her.

Bill's eyes fell on her red, rough hands. His brows furrowed slightly, and a flicker of something almost like pity crossed his gaze.

Rose felt Bill's stare roaming over her, making her uncomfortable.

Instinctively, she grabbed a nearby animal skin and wrapped it tightly around herself, as though shielding herself from his oppressive presence.

"Come here,"

Bill said, his deep, gravelly voice carrying a faint trace of gentleness that seemed out of place in the quiet tent.

Rose froze. She didn't move, standing rooted to the spot. Her pale face showed no color, and her lips were pressed into a thin line. Deep in her eyes, resistance burned.

When she remained still, Bill's patience snapped. He strode over and scooped her into his arms.

Rose struggled, pounding on his chest with her fists.

"Let me go! Stay away from me! I want to be alone!"

She cried.

Her voice was hoarse, laced with aversion and hatred.

After a day of labor, Rose's exhaustion dulled her fear, leaving only resentment in its place.

"Let you go? I won't even let you escape me."

Bill murmured, a mocking smile curling his lips.

His blue eyes gleamed with an unsettling intensity—a blend of unyielding authority and a maddening possessiveness.