Billionaire’s Abandoned Sex Slave

Ophelia’s POV

I winced in discomfort as the rays of sunlight seeped through the curtains, and shone on my face. I rolled over to the other side, with my eyes still squeezed shut, not wanting to move an inch from the warm and extremely soft bed that I was laying on.

I sighed in respite when the intensifying light of the sun reduced on my face as I smiled to myself.

I was just a wink closer to falling back to sleep when I heard a loud knock on the door, which made an exasperated groan leave my lips.

I had to suppress the urge to snap at whoever was behind the door, as I fluttered my eyes open and yawned.

Afterward, I rolled off the bed with sleep-clouded eyes and fell on my butt with a gentle thud which made me let out a disgruntled grunt.

The fluffy beige-colored rug on the floor did well to alleviate the pain I should have felt for being so careless.

Then, I got up from the floor, glanced across the room with hooded eyes as I scratched my nape and yawned tiredly again.

The realization that I wasn’t at home dawned on me when I saw the large, flat-screen television which was mounted against the beige-colored walls of the room, coupled with the white light that illuminated from the chandelier that was hung above the bed.

The bedroom had an elegant white, beige, and lilac theme. The furniture was all beige-colored while the rug and walls were white, and the curtains, bed covers, and duvets were lilac-colored.

Lest I forgot, the bedroom was thrice the size of our sitting room back at home. I couldn’t imagine having so much empty space filled up with nothing because, at home, even the tiniest space had something fitted into it which could range from an old, legless table to oddities and cooking paraphernalia.

I had almost forgotten that I signed the contract and was now Ryan’s exclusive sex slave for a year.

As soon as I thought of it, I felt a huge lump of sorrow lodge itself in my throat.

But at least, Ryan didn’t make it compulsory for me to move in with him, and I was immensely grateful to him for that.

The knock on the door resounded again, pulling me out of my miserable thoughts, and with a deep inhale, I went to answer the door.

It was a short, middle-aged woman who was dressed formally in an apron worn over her formal outfit. Her black hair was gelled into a neat ponytail at the back of her head, and she smiled sweetly at me.

“Good morning, Miss Ophelia. Hope you slept well?” She asked, to which I hesitantly nodded.

How did she even know my name? I thought as I stared at her.

But then again, she worked for Ryan. Maybe Ryan had informed all his workers about me.

Who could he have introduced me as? Had he introduced me as his whore? My thoughts wrestled with each other in my mind.

“I came to inform you that breakfast will be served in thirty minutes, and also if you have any preference and allergies, please let me know, to avoid possible future disasters,” She said, as her eyes creased and her smile widened.

“Sure, I will. I don’t have any preferences and I’ll eat whatever is served to me. I’m only allergic to pineapples,” I informed her, and she nodded.

“Alright, then. I’ll be expecting you downstairs,” She bowed, which I mirrored before she turned to leave.© NôvelDrama.Org - All rights reserved.

“Just a minute, Miss Ophelia,” She gasped just as I was about to flop back on the bed.

I swallowed my frustration and widened the door silently. “Yes?”

“I forgot to introduce myself to you. I’m Lilian, Sir Ryan’s head chef, so if you need me to whip up any food for you at any time, please don’t hesitate to let me know,” She uttered, as she gazed up at me.

“Oh, alright. Sure then,” I nodded which made her smile before she turned away and left.

I slammed the door shut with my umpteenth sigh that day as I realized that there were no chances of sleeping anytime soon for me that morning.

I dragged myself away from the door, peeled my nightwear off, and stepped into the luxurious bathroom that was adjoined to my room.

The unending rows of shampoos and soaps that were lined on a shelf that was mounted on the wall looked so expensive, and I was sure the amount that was used in purchasing them could definitely pay my house rent.

I shook my head as I tore my gaze from the shampoo before I picked one which I loved its scent–it smelled like Ryan; musky and masculine.

The thought that I was using the same brand of shampoo as Ryan made my stomach tingle in a pleasant manner. I giggled to myself as I diligently washed my hair in the shower, allowing myself to imagine Ryan’s fingers raking softly through my hair, and rinsing the soap off my thick, auburn strands.

A few minutes later, I finished cleaning myself and I flung on a casual outfit which consisted of a pair of navy blue joggers and a black, baggy tee whose color was gradually starting to fade, due to the numerous amounts of time that it had been washed and worn by me.

I suddenly felt ashamed as I stared at my reflection in the mirror. I hadn’t even noticed that my shirt had faded so much.

I decided to change into a more presentable shirt as I didn’t want Ryan or any of his workers to make fun of me and deem me a shameless miser.

I threw on a navy blue hoodie which looked surprisingly neater and newer than most of my clothes.

Afterward, I grabbed a band and put my brown tresses into a messy bun atop my head.

I had no idea what to do with my face, so I just abandoned my makeup supplies and splattered a small amount of lip gloss on my lips. I smacked my lips loudly and cleaned off the excess smudge of gloss with my hoodie sleeve.

I grabbed my phone from the nightstand and swiped it on to check for any missed calls.

When I didn’t see any, I slipped the device into my pocket and inhaled deeply to brace myself as the thought of having to eat breakfast with Ryan badly unnerved me. Then, I exited the room and made my way downstairs to the dining room.

As I climbed down the stairs, I noticed that Ryan was nowhere to be found and a sumptuous dish had been laid out on the dining table. I took quicker steps as the delicious aroma of the food wafted into my nostrils, causing me to salivate.

I cast the thought of Ryan to the back of my mind and took a seat on the table I gulped with want as my eyes roamed around the copious varieties of food that was laid out on the table.

“You’re here,” A masculine voice drifted into my ears, and I whipped my head around to nod in response at the person.

I frowned when I saw a tall, young, and handsome man, who seemed to be around my age, smiling down at me.

He had black curly hair and the darkest shade of eyes I had ever seen.

“Yes, I am but may I ask who you are?” I asked as I noticed some semblance between him and Lilian.

“Oh, I’m Jason. The head chef’s son,” He scratched his neck awkwardly, and I nodded as I got up from the chair and walked up to him.

“I’m Ophelia,” I offered my hand to him for a handshake.

He looked puzzled as he stared from my face to my hand before he rubbed his hand on an apron that was tied around his waist.

“Nice to meet you, Miss Ophelia,” He bowed, and I panicked.

“No, please don’t bow to me. You seem like you’re my age mate, and I don’t fancy formalities. You can call me Ophelia or Lia, that would be better,” I suggested as I stared up at him.

He seemed hesitant before he nodded and smiled at me.

“Okay then,” He beamed, which made me grin back at him.

Maybe my stay at Ryan’s mansion wasn’t going to be as boring and frustrating as I had initially thought. I smiled to myself as he dished out some tortilla chips and quesadilla into a plate and set it in front of me.

“Thanks,” I said, to which he smiled before he trekked back to the kitchen.

After he left, I scarfed down the contents of the plate and belched as I reclined against the dining chair with a hand caressing my bloated stomach in satisfaction.

Damn, it had really been a while since I had good food.

“Where is Ryan?” I asked Jason when he came to clear the table.

“Boss has gone to work,” Jason replied, and I nodded as I got up to assist Jason with clearing the table.

“Ma’am-I mean Ophelia, let me do it,” Jason protested when he saw me trailing behind him with a tray of uneaten cinnamon rolls.

“It’s fine. I’ll do it,” I scoffed fondly at him as I placed the tray on the counter.

“Are you in college yet?” He asked me as he started piling up the dishes into the dishwasher.

“Yeah, third year,” I responded with a smile.

“Cool. I’m in my final year and a step away from being a kindergarten teacher,” He muttered.

“You want to be a teacher?” I couldn’t believe people like Jason still existed–people who had a passion for teaching, so I had to voice out my surprise.

“Yeah, I like the job,” He blushed, leaning against the dishwasher.

“That’s cool too,” I grinned at him, and he nodded, smiling coyly at me.