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“You need to do something with this hair. It’s beautiful but hides that elegant neck of yours. Don’t cover up your freckles when you put makeup on either. They accentuate your unusual eyes.”

I force a smile, scared that if I do anything more, my stomach will blow through the corset.

“I can figure something out with my hair, pin it up perhaps,” I say agreeably.

“I can do it,” Sydney chirps from behind me.

My smile drops, along with my heart. I don’t want the bitch to come a mile within my vicinity because I know damn well she’s going to pull something.

Just as I open my mouth to protest, Francesca turns to her and says dryly, “Fine, but if you do anything to her hair, I will personally see that you lose your hand.”

Sydney’s smile only grows, “Of course, I would never.”

Francesca scoffs as if she doesn’t believe her but walks away anyway.

If she doesn’t believe her… then why is she walking away?

Setting my jaw, I narrow my eyes and carefully watch Sydney approach me from behind. She meets my gaze through the mirror, her cold eyes churning with an indecipherable emotion.

A secretive smile pulls her red lips up higher as she begins to sift through my hair. My shoulders are hiked up to my ears, and the tension between us thickens.

“How long have you been in this house?” I ask after a few moments of silence.

Her deft fingers start separating pieces on the side of my head and then begins French braiding a small section.

“Four years,” she responds.

I raise an eyebrow. “You've avoided the auctions that long?”

She smirks. “I've worked hard to be too unstable to be sold but too valuable to be killed. I'm good at what I do,” she finishes with a wink.

I swallow, not entirely sure how to respond to that.

She glances slyly at me, “Rio has been treating me so good lately, though. He comes to my room every night now. Says my pussy is the tightest he’s ever had.”

I arch a brow. Rio has refused to touch us during lessons, and I've never seen him show any interest otherwise. I’m not surprised that he's fucking one of the girls if it's consensual, but I am surprised that she thinks I’d give a shit.

“If that makes you happy, then good for you,” I finally say in a monotone voice.

She pauses. “You don’t care?”

“Why would I care?”

“He likes you.”

I roll my eyes, annoyed by her school girl shit. She acts like we’re two girls getting ready for prom, gossiping about boys. She plays the classic mean girl act well. Pretends to be nice but all her sugary sweet words are laced with salty insults. Too bad for her, I'm not interested in playing this game.

“You have a man at home, right? Z is his name?” she asks, noting my reaction. She pulls my hair particularly tight, and I hiss in response.

“Gentle,” I snap. She only smiles, waiting for a response to her question.

“Why do you care?” I ask, my anger heightening when she runs her hands through the rest of my hair roughly, tearing through knots.

“A sexy Puerto Rican man has the hots for you, and you don't care." She shrugs. "And I guess I’m curious about the man that makes you so valuable. Is he looking for you?”

Rio does not have the hots for me, but I ignore that.

“Don’t we all have someone looking for us?”