Chapter 6– The First Taste of Pain

📖 Chapter 6– The First Taste of Pain

The morning sun streamed through the massive palace windows, painting the room in golden light that seemed almost mocking to Thomas Stanley.

He had been forced to rise early, dressed in delicate silks, hands trembling as he prepared for the day.

The King had ordered something simple yet cruel: “Cook for me. Serve me, wife.”

Thomas’s heart sank. He had never cooked in his life—not for himself, not for anyone. In the tiny alley where he sold panipuri, he had only handled spices and fried dough. Now he had to create a meal fit for a King, under the watchful eyes of a man who owned him entirely.

The kitchen was enormous, filled with exotic spices, silver pots, and rare ingredients he had never seen. The servants had been given a holiday by the King — he was alone, expected to manage everything himself.

Thomas’s hands shook as he chopped, stirred, and tried to follow the vague instructions the King had shouted the night before. Sweat poured down his temples. His fingers burned from hot steam, the knives felt too heavy, the pots too vast.

By the time the King arrived, Thomas had plated the food. His chest heaved. He tried to force a smile, hoping somehow his effort would be enough.

The King lifted the first bite with his fork, eyes narrowing as he tasted the dish.

The silence was heavy. The palace seemed to hold its breath.

Then — the King slapped Thomas across the face, sharp and stinging. The sound echoed like thunder in the marble hall.

“You call this cooking?” the King demanded, his voice low and dangerous.

“You are mine. My wife. And yet you cannot even serve me properly. Are you trying to shame me?”

Tears stung Thomas’s eyes, but he dared not speak. The contract forbade it. He could not protest. He could not resist. His obedience was the only thing keeping him alive.

The King’s hand came again, not to strike, but to trace the bruise with a faint, cruel smile.

“You belong to me,” he whispered.

“Every part of you, every moment, every mistake… mine. Even your failure is my possession.”

Thomas bit his lip, swallowing the sob that rose in his throat. His heart pounded, not from anger, but from sheer helplessness.

Outside, the servants had begun their holiday, the palace silent but for the sound of the King’s voice and Thomas’s trembling movements.

He cleaned, prepared, and stayed on his knees, waiting for orders.

He tasted nothing of the food he had made. He could not.

It was no longer his life. Every meal, every movement, every breath belonged to the King.

The first slap, the first humiliation — it had only begun.

That day, Thomas Stanley realized with a shattering certainty:

obedience was survival, and survival came at the cost of every shred of dignity he once had.

The palace, once dazzling, now felt like a cage.

And Thomas’s life — once filled with struggle and hope for his brothers — was now consumed entirely by fear, pain, and the merciless will of the King, And his life began worsen than girls.

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