I Am Mustafin

| 7 | - It Is A Crime

Home..?

I glance back at Efrem, eyeing him and the humble look on his soft features as he guides me down the side of the main entrance hall, coming before a long corridor.

How can one person live in such a big house by themselves..?

The adrenaline pumping in my veins doesn't diminish, my heart pounding in my chest as I walk steadily beside him. His hand hasn't left my back and I can't help but move closer to him in the discomfort of being in unfamiliar surroundings.

All at the same time, I can't help but wonder what is to come when we do reach wherever he's taking me. I want to believe that nothing bad will happen, although deep down, I know that's inevitable. To be me is a crime and being exposed this way, I am very much liable for merely existing.

I expect to be tortured, at best. No one merely does anything out of the good of their hearts–especially not in this world.

Maybe that's why he saved me.

He's being gentle right now, but who knows what will happen when he decides it's time I 'get what I deserve'?

First chance I get...I'm getting the hell out of here.

I'm drawn out of my thoughts when I feel Efrem abruptly turn, my body subconsciously turning with him. My gaze has fallen away from him and shifted to the site ahead of me.

Food...

A long table covered in bowls and trays of food rests in the center of the room. Beautiful chairs are tucked in around it, a crystal chandelier hanging above as coffee tables with vases and flowers rest on the far sides, against the walls.

I'm in awe, frozen where I stand. The luxuries of the room are only some I could imagine as a child when Selina would read princess stories to us. However, unlike those stories, the walls aren't pink and gold and the floor isn't white with golden figures dancing in swirls in the marble.

No, this floor is a plain beige color and the walls are painted in warm maroon with golden lining.

The child me would be awfully disappointed that the rich don't actually live in pretty pink castles...

I don't realize that Efrem has moved away from me until my gaze falls on him, finding that he is standing by the right side row, first seat nearest to the head of the table. But a few feet behind him, a fairly lean and well-built man appearing in his early thirties stands dressed in completely black attire.

His stoic features remain still and it seems that he can never overlook me as he shamelessly eyes me with those deep green irises of his. If it were not for the fact that he stands in this room, I would've been convinced that this man is a military soldier—not a bodyguard.

"Sit down and eat," Efrem demands as he pulls the chair out, motioning for me to sit.

The idea of getting off of my feet does sound very nice right now, and I willingly move to lower myself on the cushioned seat. The instant the pressure on my bare feet is relieved, painful pulsations ache from my injured ankle, stopping at my knee.

I visibly wince in pain, shifting my foot to position it off of the ground to dull the sharp stings and the bothersome swelling covered by the hem of my pants. I make an effort not to show any discomfort, not wanting to draw any more attention to myself than I already have.

Besides, I'm convinced that even if he did know I'm in pain, he has no reason to care. I'd merely be embarrassing myself by acknowledging it to him.

My head turns to a side, eyeing him as he lowers himself on the chair at the head of the table. In doing this, the strong intoxicating scent of the cologne penetrating his jacket—still concealing me—hits my senses. At first, it's pleasant and compelling. However, as the smell of the mix of food he places on my plate fills the air, my stomach turns.