Dawn surprised Veronika in a different bed, wider and softer than the previous one. She had slept like an angel—or so she thought until the moment she heard the door open. She turned her head in annoyance and found Anna standing there, holding a bunch of keys that jingled to the rhythm of her monotonous breathing.
—Did you sleep well? —Anna asked, with a hint of sarcasm.
Veronika sat up in bed, frowning.
—Do you know what it means to knock before entering? Damn intruder!
—Knock? —Anna raised the keys with a faint metallic sound—. In case you forgot, I'm the one who controls all the doors. Including yours.
The redhead muttered an insult as she got up. Her lips curved in a grimace of disgust.—What a privilege, huh? Go to hell.
Anna, unmoved, gave her a cold look.—Don't think that just because you wear a red ribbon it makes you superior to me.
Veronika chose not to answer. She had half-learned that arguing with Anna only prolonged pointless disputes. She limited herself to cursing under her breath while clumsily slipping on her shoes.
—And where are we going now?—To get you a new uniform —Anna announced—. You're part of a different block now, so you must look the part.
Veronika wrinkled her nose.—You mean those ridiculously short skirts some girls wear? Give me something classier. I refuse to expose myself like some exotic store mannequin.
—Perhaps you should have thought of that before signing a contract you didn't read —Anna retorted, turning to leave the room. The redhead followed, feeling mocked.
—Damn it… —Veronika muttered to herself, resisting the urge to scream.
As they walked down a long corridor with immaculately white walls, Veronika noticed the absence of male figures.—Anna, something bothers me. I've been in this mansion for a short time and I haven't seen men, except for the Master and the occasional visitor. Isn't that dangerous for security?
—There are men who work for the Master, but not inside the mansion. —Anna smiled ironically—. Inside here, the staff is exclusively female.
—So he's a fetishist… —Veronika muttered, not bothering to hide her contempt.
Anna didn't respond. She merely quickened her pace until they reached a spacious room filled with worktables, mannequins, and rolls of fabric. Two tall women with serious expressions approached as soon as Veronika crossed the threshold, giving her no time to protest.
—What the hell…? —she exclaimed, feeling herself being guided toward a metal frame that closed around her waist and wrists, immobilizing her.
—Please don't shout. It's part of the protocol —one of the women said with a clinical tone.
Veronika felt a shiver of rage and vulnerability.—Protocol? You're insane! Why the hell do you need to restrain me like this?
—To take your measurements without you moving and altering the calculations —explained the other, pulling out a measuring tape while probing Veronika's hips—. The outfit must fit you perfectly.
—Couldn't you use a normal method? —Veronika grimaced as the seamstresses' hands palpated her chest and waist—. This is humiliating.
—It will be over soon. —Anna stood to one side, arms crossed.
The seamstresses' fingers traced Veronika's contours without the slightest modesty, as if analyzing her under a magnifying glass. One of them—tall, with a martial bearing—measured her bust with the tape, jotting it down in a gray-covered notebook.
—Eighty centimeters —she muttered in a mechanical voice—. Continue.
The other seamstress slid the tape down Veronika's waist, stopping at her navel.—Sixty… —she announced, emotionless.
Trapped in the metal frame that held her arms and torso, Veronika contained a tremor of fury. She could neither strike nor insult, only glare at Anna from the corner of her eye, who remained impassive.
—Are you enjoying this, aren't you? —Veronika asked, trying not to move her head.
—As long as it's done quickly —Anna replied coldly—, no one gets too stressed.
The last seamstress set the tape around Veronika's hips and adjusted it with surgical precision.—Eighty-five hips —she murmured, finishing her notes.
—Interesting… —Anna muttered, stepping closer with an air of superiority—. Apparently your face and those measurements are the only good things about you.
With that, she grabbed Veronika's chin with calculated force, making her hold her gaze. A flash of humiliation crossed the crimson eyes of Veronika, who tried to shake free, but the frame prevented any movement.
—Let go of me, damn you… —she exhaled, glaring defiantly.
Anna allowed a faint smile.—Relax. You'll be out of here soon.
With a snap, the seamstresses released the straps, and Veronika staggered forward. Once free, she instinctively swung a slap at Anna. But one of the guards—a tall, broad-shouldered woman—intercepted her arm with military firmness, leaving Veronika no room to lash out.
—Calm down, Kensington —came the guard's neutral voice—. We still have work to finish.
Veronika panted as if she had run a marathon. Without another word, one seamstress handed her a black dress with white accents at the shoulders, shiny fabric, and a dark collar to match. The short, tight skirt highlighted her curves. Anna stepped forward, holding the red ribbon taken from a nearby drawer between two fingers.—Get dressed —she ordered.
With her face burning in rage, Veronika changed behind a makeshift curtain. Seeing her reflection, she couldn't help tightening her lips: the black dress, the white on the shoulders, and the collar around her throat gave her an elegant yet too provocative air. At that moment Anna pulled the curtain aside and, with the same cold demeanor, tied the red ribbon around her neck, completing the look.—It marks you as part of this "select" block —she commented, sinking her fingers into the ribbon before releasing it.
Veronika stared at the mirror with a mixture of aversion and resignation.—It couldn't be more obvious —she whispered—. It's like stamping the word "object" on my skin.
Anna tilted her head, not bothering to contradict her.—The rules of the contract you signed are clear. You knew…
—I knew nothing —Veronika cut her off, with a tone of wounded pride—. But it doesn't matter: I'm already here. What more do you want from me?
With a tug, the guard dragged the metal frame aside, clearing the way. The seamstresses gathered their tapes and papers, avoiding Veronika's gaze as if she were a passing phenomenon. With a curt gesture, Anna indicated the exit, and the redhead, with the ribbon tied tight around her neck, moved forward. She left the workshop, heading toward another section of the red block.