Chapter 76

Rebekah pov

How could Marcello do this? How could he reduce these people to such a state? The slaves, the breeders, they were all human beings, deserving of dignity and respect. But Marcello saw them as nothing more than pawns, tools to be used and discarded.

The child's sobs slowly subsided, their small body relaxing in my arms. I held him for a long time, trying to impart some sense of safety, some sense of comfort. As I did, I knew I had to protect this people but how?  had to find a way to keep them safe from Marcello's wrath but it's just a myth I can't do anything.

But for now, I just held the child, my heart heavy with sorrow and my mind racing with determination. I would not let Marcello win. I would not let him break me, or these people. I would find a way to fight back, to reclaim their dignity and their lives. But I just had to mind my business because I can't fight him.

The child's grip on me tightened, and I knew I had to let go. I gently pried their arms loose, smiling softly as they looked up at me. "It's okay," I whispered. "You're safe now."

The child nodded, their eyes still welling up with tears. I wiped them away, my touch gentle. As I stood, the child clung to my dress, his small frame trembling. I knew I had to leave before Marcello finds out that I had reached to the quarters, I haven't seen this world that Marcello created. He is such a beast.

I strolled through the slave quarters, my eyes scanning the rows of downtrodden faces. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and despair. As I walked, my gaze landed on a woman standing atop a raised platform, her whip cracking through the air. The slaves cowered beneath her, their backs bloody and bruised.

My anger simmered, my eyes narrowing as I approached the woman. She sensed my presence, her head snapping up to meet my gaze. For a moment, our eyes locked, and I saw a flicker of fear. Then, she bowed, her voice dripping with deference.

"Ma'am Rebekah," she said, her words laced with a hint of tremble.

I ascended the platform, my heels clicking on the wooden boards. The woman kept her head bowed, her eyes fixed on the ground. I surveyed the slaves, my gaze lingering on their battered bodies.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" I spat, my voice venomous. "You get off on their pain, on their suffering."

The woman remained silent, her head still bowed. I laughed, a cold, mirthless sound. "You're a monster," I continued, my words pouring out like acid. "A heartless, soulless creature. You're no better than the dirt beneath my feet."

The woman's shoulders trembled, but she didn't respond. She knew better. One wrong move, one misstep, and Marcello would unleash his wrath upon her. I knew the consequences all too well.

"Look at me," I demanded, my voice rising. "Look at me when I'm speaking to you."

The woman slowly raised her gaze, her eyes locking onto mine. I saw the fear, the submission, and the desperation. It only fueled my anger.

"You're a failure," I sneered. "A pathetic excuse for a human being. You're nothing but a tool, a puppet on strings. Marcello's strings."

The woman's eyes flashed with anger, but she bit back her response. She knew the price of defiance. Instead, she stood there, her gaze cast downward, her body trembling with each word.

I continued to berate her, my insults pouring out like a torrent. The slaves watched, their eyes wide with a mix of fear and fascination. They knew better than to intervene. They knew the consequences of crossing Marcello's favorites.

As I finished my tirade, the woman's head bowed once more. I turned to leave, my anger still simmering. But I knew I'd be back. I'd keep fighting, keep pushing back against Marcello's regime. The woman's silence was a stark reminder of the fear that gripped us all.

As I walked away from the quarters, the sound of the whip cracking through the air seemed to fade into the background. My anger still simmered, but I knew I had to keep moving. I couldn't let Marcello's cruelty consume me.

I made my way through the winding corridors of the estate, my mind racing with thoughts of escape, of rebellion. But every door I tried led to more walls, more barriers.

The sun began to set, casting a golden glow over the estate. I stood at the window, watching as the slaves were led back to their quarters. The woman who'd been flogging them caught my eye, her gaze meeting mine for a brief moment. I saw a flash of hatred, of resentment. But it was quickly snuffed out, replaced by the familiar mask of submission.

I turned away from the window, my heart heavy with frustration. I couldn't save them, not yet.

As I walked through the corridors, I stumbled upon a hidden door. It was slightly ajar, and I pushed it open, revealing a narrow stairway that led down into darkness. My heart skipped a beat as I hesitated, wondering where it might lead.

Without thinking, I descended the stairs, the air growing colder with each step. At the bottom, I found myself in a small, dimly lit room. The walls were lined with books, old and dusty. In the center of the room, a single candle flickered, casting shadows on the walls.

I approached the books, running my fingers over the spines. Some were bound in leather, others in worn cloth. I pulled out a volume, opening it to a random page. The words danced before my eyes, but one passage caught my attention.

"Freedom is not given, it is taken."

I smiled at the name of the book, assholes like him study books that keep them more evil.