"A parasite like you doesn't deserve a seat at this family's dinner table."
The words lashed through the air like a whip, spat from the lips of her stepsister, Freya, just as Bella placed the last plate on the table.
The seventeen-year-old swallowed hard. Her hand trembled around the soup ladle she still held, but she only lowered her gaze.
"I... I haven't eaten anything all day, Freya," she whispered.
Charles, a middle-aged man with eyes full of contempt, sat at the head of the table. His stare was sharp with disgust.
"Do you think we care, Bella? You eat after everyone's done. If there's anything left."
Freya chuckled—a cold, mocking sound, the same one she had made yesterday when she stepped on the hem of Bella's skirt, sending her crashing to the floor with a tray full of tea. The scrape on Bella's knee still bled, but no one cared.
"I just wanted to sit and eat... just for a moment," Bella murmured, barely audible.
But it was enough to make Freya rise from her seat and slap her across the face.
The sound echoed. Bella's head snapped to the side.
The air grew colder, as if the world itself mourned her loneliness.
"If you speak again," Freya hissed, her breath hot against Bella's ear, "I'll make sure your tongue stops working."
Bella didn't cry. Her tears had dried up long ago.
She simply stood again, dragging her feet back to the kitchen.
There, she sat on the cold floor with an empty plate, waiting—for leftover bones or crumbs someone might toss her way.
"Am I really that worthless, Mom?"
She whispered the question to an old, faded photo of her mother tucked away in the back of a drawer—the only piece of her past she had left.
Suddenly, the kitchen door burst open.
Charles stormed in, a half-empty bottle of liquor in one hand, and a belt in the other.
Bella froze.
"Did you steal money from my wallet, huh?!" he roared.
His breath reeked of alcohol. His bloodshot eyes burned with accusation.
"N-no… I—I would never touch your money…"
The belt came down before she could finish her sentence.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Bella curled up on the floor, shrinking into herself, trembling beneath the endless storm of terror.
Her sobs finally broke free—not from the pain—but from the crushing weight of a life she no longer wanted to carry.
Freya stood at the doorway, watching with a faint smile.
"Good, Dad. Don't go easy on her."
Night fell in silence.
The wounds on Bella's back remained open.
Freya locked the bathroom, forbidding her to clean the cuts or even fetch warm water.
Bella slept curled in a corner of the kitchen, using a damp, foul-smelling mop cloth as a blanket.
But at exactly 2 a.m., she heard Charles's voice in the living room.
"I have no other option, Mr. Edward. She's useless, yes, but... she's beautiful. You can have her. At least as collateral until I pay off my debts."
A voice responded on the other end of the phone—calm, cold, and venomous.
The words weren't clear, but they were enough to make Bella's blood freeze.
She didn't know who Edward was.
But the way her stepfather spoke—like he was selling a thing, not a person—made her stomach twist.
And when Charles finally ended the call, his final words felt like a bullet lodged in her skull.
"Tomorrow night, she'll be yours. I'll wrap her in her finest dress… and hand her over myself."
***
The night sky hung heavy and gray, like an omen that refused to be ignored.
Bella stood in front of a full-length mirror, wearing a plain white gown that brushed the floor.
But the dress was no symbol of happiness. It wasn't a gift of love from her father or stepsister.
It was just wrapping paper—like a ribbon on a coffin.
Freya walked into the room, her lips curled in a mocking smile.
"Perfect. You look like a bride… the dumbest, most pathetic bride in the world," she sneered, roughly adjusting the wedding veil on Bella's head.
"I don't want to get married, Freya…" Bella murmured.
Another slap landed—this time from Freya.
"You are nothing. You don't get to refuse!"
Charles entered behind her, his voice sharp.
"Shut up! Today, you'll repay our kindness by clearing my debt. That's more than enough.
You should be grateful—I'm marrying you off to a filthy rich man!"
Bella stared at her stepfather, her eyes hollow.
"You're selling me like an object, Father..."
Charles only laughed.
"Edward isn't just any man. He's a CEO—filthy rich... and the only fool stupid enough to trade that much money for a girl like you."
A black car pulled up in front of their old, crumbling house.
The back door opened, revealing the silhouette of a tall, broad-shouldered man in a jet-black suit, with eyes like a killer awakening from a long slumber.
It was the first time Bella laid eyes on Edward Van Der Hout.
His gaze was sharp. Cold.
But it was his smile that made her blood run cold.
"So this is my new bride?" Edward's eyes scanned her from head to toe, like assessing an auction item.
Charles grinned, patting Edward's back.
"She's all yours. Do whatever you want. But remember—she's only collateral for my debts."
Edward turned to Charles lazily.
"You'd better remember what the contract says. If you don't pay in a month, she's mine. Forever. With or without your signature."
Bella's eyes widened.
"What does that mean?"
The man stepped closer, grabbing her chin roughly.
"It means, starting tonight, you belong to me.
Not just as my bride… but as my property—something I can use whenever I want."
Bella was taken to Edward's mansion on the city outskirts—a chilling estate with wide grounds, hidden cameras in every corner, and armed guards standing like statues.
Her room was locked from the outside. No windows.
Just a large bed, a tall mirror, and a camera in the ceiling corner.
Edward stood in the doorway.
"From tonight on, you'll dine with me. Sleep beside me. And serve me… whenever I say."
Bella stepped back, her voice trembling.
"But I—"
Edward's laugh was sharp and cruel.
"You are mine!"
He approached, lifting her chin again with force.
"Bella... be a good girl. Just for me, alright?
Fifteen minutes after our wedding, all the mafia circles bowed to me.
They say you bring luck.
And I believe it."
Bella couldn't speak. Fear swallowed every word.
Edward leaned down, whispering in her ear,
"But if one day your luck runs out...
I'll be the first to bury you alive."
That night, Bella slept at the edge of the bed, hugging her knees, her body shaking.
She knew—starting tonight, she was no longer a person.
But when she woke in the middle of the night to the sound of footsteps approaching her door, her breath hitched.
All she could do was pray it wouldn't be the night he turned her into a puppet.
But then—the key turned. Slowly.
And Edward's shadow crept into the room through the opening door.
That night marked the beginning of a never-ending hell.
Will Bella survive Edward's dark world…
Or will she slowly drown, piece by piece, as a doll with no soul left to claim?
***