Shame You Didn’t Get Any

Ashley laughed as Cynthia threw the first punch— weak, sloppy, but determined. Ashley swatted it away like an annoying fly and shoved Cynthia back again, harder this time.

"Damn," Ashley mused. "I was hoping for a little more fight."

Cynthia coughed, forcing herself to stand again. "I'm just getting started."

Ashley’s brows lifted. "Really?" Then, Got it! Ashley will take both bowls for herself and ensure Cynthia doesn't get a single bite. Here's the revised version with relentless bullying:

Without warning, Ashley grabbed Cynthia by the shoulders and slammed her against the wall, her fingers digging into Cynthia’s skin like claws. Cynthia barely had time to react before Ashley leaned in, her breath hot and mocking.

"You actually thought you've got a chance?" Ashley sneered, her lips curling into a smirk. "That’s cute."

Cynthia gasped, struggling against Ashley’s grip. "Please— I haven’t eaten in—"

A sharp slap silenced her, the impact sending a ringing pain through her skull.

"I don’t give a damn," Ashley said, her tone dark. "You’re in my cell now. That means your food is mine."

Cynthia’s eyes darted to the tray on the floor, her stomach twisting with hunger. She had barely moved before Ashley yanked her away from the wall and shoved her backward. Cynthia stumbled, barely catching herself before she hit the ground.

Ashley let out a cruel chuckle. "Learning is a process—" She bent down, scooping up both bowls of rice and cradling them like prized possessions. "And I your mother will teach you this isn’t a charity. You eat when I say. And today? I say no."

Cynthia’s chest rose and fell rapidly as desperation clawed at her. "Ashley, please—just a few bites. I haven’t eaten in over a day—"

Ashley’s expression darkened. "Did I stutter?" She took a deliberate spoonful of rice from one bowl and shoved it into her mouth, chewing slowly, making sure Cynthia watched every moment.

The scent of the food was overwhelming, making Cynthia’s stomach churn painfully.

Ashley swallowed, then licked the spoon clean before dipping it into the second bowl— the one that had been meant for Cynthia. She scooped up another mouthful, exaggerating her enjoyment. "Mmm," she moaned, smirking. "Hits the spot."

Cynthia clenched her fists, her body trembling with rage and hunger.

Ashley saw— and it thrilled her. She took another bite, then paused, tilting her head. "You know what?" She tapped her chin with the spoon. "Since you’re so desperate…"

Cynthia’s heart leaped with hope.

Ashley grinned. "I’ll let you have some— if you get on your knees and beg for it."

Cynthia stiffened, her pride warring with her hunger.

Ashley raised an eyebrow. "No? Guess you’re not that hungry, then." She scooped up another bite, stuffing it into her mouth with a smirk.

Cynthia’s entire body felt like it was screaming at her. She was lightheaded, her stomach twisted in agonizing knots. But the thought of getting on her knees in front of Ashley—

Ashley clicked her tongue. "Last chance, princess. Crawl to me, and I might leave you a few grains at the bottom of the bowl."

Cynthia’s jaw clenched so hard it ached.

Ashley’s smirk widened. "Thought so." She turned her attention back to the food, finishing the first bowl before starting on the second.

Cynthia watched in silent torment as Ashley devoured every bite, never once offering her so much as a single spoonful. When she was done, Ashley leaned back against the bed frame, letting out a satisfied sigh.

"That was good," she murmured, patting her stomach mockingly. "Shame you didn’t get any."

Cynthia’s nails dug into her palms as she fought back tears.

Ashley smirked at her reaction. "Better get used to this, princess. This is just the beginning."

Then, without another word, she turned onto her side, stretching out on her bunk as if nothing had happened.

Cynthia sat frozen, her body weak, her hunger gnawing at her insides like a living thing.

She had thought she could survive this place. But under Ashley’s rule?

She wasn’t so sure anymore.

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'A Few Days Later— Magan's POV'

The air inside the grand estate was thick with silence, the kind that felt heavy— almost suffocating. It was mid-afternoon, and the golden sunlight filtering through the enormous arched windows cast long shadows against the marble floors, illuminating the opulence of Carlos Antonio’s multi-billion-dollar mansion deep in the Manhattan woods.

Seated on an intricately handcrafted wooden chair, Megan twisted a section of her long, wavy brown hair between her fingers before letting it fall. She was staring into the massive, ancient mirror in front of her— a relic of another era, its elaborate gold frame whispering of untold wealth and power. It stood like a silent observer, reflecting Megan’s poised figure and the careful hands of Julian, one of the estate’s housemaids, working meticulously on her braids.