Chapter 1 Drugged

Sophia I knew something was off the moment I stepped into the kitchen that morning. Sadie was never nice to me—never. Yet here she was, smiling like we were best friends. It was unsettling. “Sophia, it’s your birthday. Are you really going to your cleaning job today?” She asked, her voice unusually soft. I studied her for a moment, trying to figure out what she was playing at. Sadie had spent years pretending I didn’t exist. Why did she suddenly care? “Umm, yeah. I need to keep myself busy,” I answered cautiously. “It’s your birthday, and your marriage to Liam is just a few months away.” My stomach twisted at the mention of Liam. I didn’t know him well—not in the way a girl should know the man she was going to marry. Our families had arranged this, a transaction more than anything else. I hated being reminded of it. Instead of answering Sadie, I forced a smile. We weren’t friends. She didn’t like me, and I was done trying to make her like me. The same went for her mother. I grabbed my bag and left before she could say anything else. The Ricci Grand Hotel was always busy, but tonight, it was chaos. The Taylor family, well, my soon-to-be husband's family was hosting some high-profile function, and every inch of the place was filled with well-dressed guests. I quickly changed into my uniform and got to work. Cleaning during events like these was a never-ending task, but I didn’t mind. It kept me distracted. It kept me from thinking about the life waiting for me outside this hotel. “Sophia.” I froze. I knew that voice. I turned around, and I found Stella, my stepmother, standing near the bar, a glass of red wine in her hand. She looked elegant, as always, her dark green dress hugging her figure perfectly. She wasn’t smiling, but there was something in her eyes—something calculating. “You’re eighteen now,” she said, swirling the wine in her glass. “Drink something.” I hesitated. Stella had never cared about me, not even a little. So why was she offering me a drink now? “I don’t drink,” I said, keeping my voice even. She let out a soft chuckle. “It’s just one sip. Consider it a birthday gift, and besides, you need to learn to drink, or Liam might find you boring.” I glanced around. The hotel staff wasn’t supposed to drink on duty, but Stella was staring at me like she was daring me to refuse. I didn’t want to cause a scene, so I reached for the glass and took a small sip. “There. Was that so hard?” She smiled, watching me for a moment before walking away. I shook my head and went back to work. But a few minutes later, something felt… wrong. At first, it was just a strange warmth in my stomach. I thought maybe it was from moving around too much and maybe because I hadn't eaten anything. But then, the heat spread—slowly, creeping up my arms, down my legs. My skin felt too tight, my uniform too warm. I gripped the edge of a table, trying to steady myself. What was happening to me? My heart was racing. My breath came out in shallow pants. I wiped my forehead, but my hands were trembling. I needed air. I forced myself to keep working, wiping down the last of the tables before heading toward the VIP suite I was assigned to clean. Maybe if I finish up quickly, I could take a break. The moment I stepped inside the empty suite, a wave of heat crashed over me. It was unbearable. My body was on fire. A need to touch myself, but I couldn't. I have never touched myself, not even once. I remember at school girls would laugh at me when I told them I couldn't touch myself because back then. It seems to have been a trend. And I was delulu. Now, I kind of need that knowledge of how to finger myself because the heat in between my thighs isn't one that can be avoided. I stumbled toward the bathroom, gripping the sink for support. My skin was flushed, and my breathing was erratic. I let out a moan that almost surprised me. What is going on? What the hell did Stella give me? I should have known. Stella never liked me, never tried to be a mother whatsoever; all she did was try to parade Sadie to men and make her more appealing than me. What did she give me? I want to cry, but I can't, not now. The need to be touched, to be held, was overwhelming. I fought it, but it was useless. The heat was too much. My hands moved on their own, unbuttoning my uniform. I needed to cool down—I needed relief. Without thinking, I stepped into the shower, not even caring that it was a VIP suite, and turned the water on, hoping the cold would wash away whatever was happening to me. But even as the icy water cascaded over me, the unbearable ache only grew. I moaned and started to rub my thighs together. My hands went to my chest, and I hesitated. The shower wasn't helping; I needed a bathtub. I quickly came out of the shower and then turned on the tub, went back into the kitchen, and found some ice; poured all the ice inside the bathtub; and as I waited for the water to be ice cold, I went back into the shower and started to help myself. I really can't be this stupid. How do people use their fingers to help themselves? Should I maybe watch some porn? I started rubbing my thighs together again, but I needed something inside me. Anything that can make me whole. My finger moved on its own, and I started touching myself. A moan escaped my lips, and that's when I knew I was now doing it the right way.