And the Monica who remained, who had tasted what that "game" really looked like, who had felt the kind of discomfort Sabrina brushed off so easily, who'd stared into the eyes of a man who didn't see her as human, only as property, that Monica picked up the phone, raised it to her ear again, and said calmly:
"I didn't ask to be sold."
That one sentence carried more venom than any scream could have.
Sabrina went silent. Utterly silent. Not even breathing.
Then, finally—"Don't be dramatic." It came out tight, strained, brittle.
But Monica didn't flinch.
"Funny," she said, voice dry. "That's what I told myself the entire night. That maybe I was just imagining it. That I was being dramatic. But you know what? I wasn't. I just hadn't accepted that you don't actually care about any of us. Not really."
"Monica—"
"I was never a person to you," she said, cutting her off. "Just a name. A product you could polish, present, and profit off."
Another pause. This time longer. Heavy.
