I woke up feeling groggy and exhausted, my body heavy from another restless night, my muscles stiff, and my chest tight with panic as the first knock rattled the door. The sound jolted me upright.
The creak of the door swinging open, letting in a thin slice of dim sunlight, confirmed someone had entered. Two hefty men stepped inside, their presence filling the small room like a storm.
The first man's voice cut through the silence: "Stand on your feet, bargain chip. You're not here to rest," he said, his eyes cold and unforgiving.
I didn't know where they were taking me, but I had no choice—my stomach twisted into knots, my hands shook, yet I forced myself to stand, knowing disobedience meant worse.
"The murmuring of several voices caught my attention. For a fleeting moment, a thought sneaked in—had Father finally cleared what he owed? My chest ached with a mixture of hope and despair, my stomach twisted with dread, and anger bubbled quietly under the surface. But even that tiny spark of hope felt hollow against the weight of my reality."
Couldn't feel my tears after several days, weeks, or months I've been locked in this goddamn cell until my father pays his debt off. The murmuring of several people caught my attention; for a moment I found myself wondering if Father had at last cleared his debt.
They kept leading me down the hallway, which seemed to stretch forever, lined with polished floors and muted walls. At the end stood a tall, sleek door of white wood, its surface Smooth and unmarked, the silver handle gleaming beneath the hallway light The door creaked open.
"Bring the girl quickly; the guests are waiting!"
Who were these guests? Why were they waiting for me? Was I being sold off again? Where would they take me this time? A thousand thoughts collided in my head, each one sharper than the last, and my chest tightened as fear, anger, and helplessness surged through me all at once.
"What are you going to do to me? Where are you taking me? Why is my father not here? I threw a cascade of questions at nobody exactly without knowing which one I wanted an answer to first, then a deafening silence. Swept through the every sound swallowed until even a pin would echo in the room until a figure approached me from behind and whispered into my ears.
"It's all your father's fault for abandoning you. You were a collateral for his debt, or let me rephrase it like this: an asset exchanged to save his own neck. Elias dumped you! and snatched your freedom from you so he could have his. But now I can't afford to feed one other mouth. I need more money than you being useless to me here," he snorted. "So I've decided to sell you to a potential buyer who would pay three times what your father owes me." The putrid stench coming from his mouth gave him away before I even saw his face.
It was Don Giorgio — a loan shark with a reputation for ruthlessness whenever money was involved. He placed a high interest rate on his own. I wish Father hadn't borrowed money from him. Well, it's not like he ever cared about us or felt the need to tell us anything. My father gave me to Don Giorgio to protect himself after owing him hundred thousand dollars. In that moment, I lost my freedom. Since being dragged into this place, I've lived each day with one thought echoing in my mind — to survive. How could I not be afraid? They seemed to revel in their power, and I dreaded the things they might want to do to me.
That thought vanished the moment Don Giorgio announced his intentions. Of course, he could recoup his debt by turning me into something his wealthy clients could buy and use to please their sexual desires. Panic surged through me, hot and heavy, twisting my stomach into knots. My chest felt tight, my hands trembled, and a cold dread settled over me as I realized I had no idea where they were taking me—or what awaited me there. Fear, anger, and helplessness collided inside me, leaving me raw and frantic.
"Wh-what? Sold? Sir, I can work without pay; please don't sell me," I whimpered pleadingly, hoping for some compassion from Giorgio.
"What? Work without pay? People like you never fail to amuse me," Giorgio said, his voice sharp and laced with annoyance. "You borrow reluctantly, then try to run when it's time to settle. I'm not a man who's easily fooled. You won't leave until I get my money back!" He snorted.
Giorgio's face was set in a stern mask, his piercing eyes radiating a cold cruelty that made my skin crawl.
With a rigid expression and eyes sharp as knives, Giorgio exuded a mercilessness so palpable it sent a shiver down my spine.
Before today, I was planning an escape. I couldn't pay my father's massive debt, and the interest increased daily. Don Giorgio even increased my stake, making me even more suffocated.
This time, it seemed like I had to resign myself to the situation. After all, my life had been ruined from the start. I thought to myself.
It all started a year ago, after Mother died of leukemia just a year and six months after giving birth to my brother, Jason, losing both lives at the same time. My father, once a loving and caring man, had turned into someone I barely recognized—drowning his grief in alcohol and gambling, distant and cold.
Then one day, without warning or explanation, he dragged me into the world that would consume my life. He took me straight to an underground Mafia house, a place where debts weren't paid with money but with people. I was to be collateral for his loans—a living guarantee for his debts. In that moment, the man I had once trusted with everything had handed me over to strangers, and my world shattered.
I never thought that my father would use me as collateral. Right after my father left, several people came looking for him. At first, I could pay back little by little, until Don Giorgio's patience reached its limit. Here I was, in a place I never knew where I was going.
The last time, Don Giorgio had given me a mini dress, and a woman had been doing my makeup. She had sharp, angular cheekbones, almond-shaped eyes that missed nothing, and a small, perfectly sculpted mouth. Her hair was pulled back tightly, showing off a flawless complexion that suggested both skill and discipline.
Her features were precise and refined, like someone who took pride in perfection—high brows, smooth skin, and keen eyes that seemed to measure everything she touched. After it was all done, before they dragged me away. I was being taken to the CEO of Elysium Co., a company that specialized in construction materials—but to him, I was nothing more than someone to satisfy his twisted desires.
Drifting back to reality, I realized I wasn't alone. Many girls like me—used as collateral by their own families—were being herded toward a god-knows-where room. The voice cut through the murmur of footsteps:
"Hey! Hurry up and bring them in! Everyone's waiting!"
It was Don Giorgio, his tone sharp and commanding as he barked orders to his men.
My hand was yanked roughly, as though I were nothing more than a pet. Perhaps they had never considered people like me human, especially when what was theirs couldn't be returned on their terms. Still in the darkness, I could hear the men moving around, their chatter a mix of praise and anticipation—words that made my stomach twist in fear.
At first, the murmurs sounded like compliments, but soon the underlying tone became clear:
Am I becoming a spectacle?
"D-Don Giorgio, where am I?" I asked, stuttering.
My body trembled, as if I were already on display. I stomped my foot to steady myself, feeling the rough, cracked, grimy concrete beneath me. Around me, the other girls shifted nervously, their whispers and fidgeting blending with the faint echo of footsteps approaching. The noise from the crowd seemed to fade slightly, making the backstage feel even colder and more oppressive. I stayed close to the others, waiting, my heart hammering, unsure who would be called out first.
From the shadows of the backstage, I heard a man's voice carry across the room:
"Welcome, ladies and gentlemen. This time, we have truly beautiful girls. Whose stunning curves are alluring, can't you see? Aren't you curious to see her face?"
His tone was disturbingly casual, almost as if he were advertising a product to potential buyers. My stomach twisted as I shrank closer to the other girls, wishing I could vanish.
Yes, they were offering us our body to the audience. How's this? What are they going to do to me?
Suddenly, the man behind us yanked me onto the stage. The bright light blinded me for a moment, and it took a few seconds before I could make out the faces filling the large room.
What was this scene? Why were there so many lustful eyes on me?. My eyes darted, searching for Don Giorgio or anyone I could recognize. Unfortunately, I couldn't find a single person who could help me.
My lips felt so stiff I couldn't even form the words to beg for help. Was this where they'd make me a slave? God, I was terrified. How could I ever be free when all these men looked at me like predators circling prey?
Dozens of hungry eyes roamed over me, their desire so naked it made my stomach churn.
I tried to shrink into myself, to disappear, but there was nowhere to hide. My legs shook, my hands trembled at my sides, and my chest felt impossibly tight. The stage seemed endless, the floor cold beneath my feet, and the crowd's murmurs swelled into a deafening pressure in my ears.
From the corner of my eye, I spotted other girls waiting backstage, their faces pale, their eyes hollow. Some had been here longer than me, their expressions hardened from repeated exposure to this cruel world. For a fleeting moment, I envied them; they had learned to survive this nightmare.
A low murmur ran through the crowd, punctuated by the clink of glasses and whispers of interest. I could feel their desire, the way their eyes lingered on me, mapping me, judging me. My stomach twisted, my body recoiling at the thought of what they imagined.
I clenched my fists, trying to steady myself. My mind raced. Should I fight? Should I cry? Every instinct screamed at me to run, to escape, but there was no exit. The stage was a cage, and I was its only occupant.
The man beside me leaned closer, his voice a hiss: "Don't lower your head. Look at them. They're paying for you."
I couldn't. My gaze stayed glued to the floor, my body trembling, my soul shrinking. The thought that my life had been reduced to this—a display, a commodity, a prize—made me want to disappear entirely.
And yet, amidst the terror, a tiny spark of defiance flickered inside me. They could look, they could measure, and they could covet. But I would not give them satisfaction. Not yet.
---
"Now let's start from the price tag of a hundred thousand dollars," said the auctioneer.
"One hundred and twenty thousand!" a woman called out.
"One hundred and twenty-five!" a man in a tuxedo shirt with a weird moustache added.
"Fifteen million," someone shouted from the back—whose face I was struggling to see.
"One hundred fifty thousand," another person shouted.
"One hundred and fifty-seven" people—I couldn't see their faces—kept on prancing.
Then the hall went silent.
"Is that the last price?" the auctioneer asked
"One hundred and fifty seven… going…"
Just as he was about to strike the gavel to finalize the sale, a voice echoed from the back.
"Three million dollars," someone echoed from the back.
What—who the hell was that sick head? I asked myself. Who would even waste three million dollars just to purchase me?
I could see the smile creeping across Don Giorgio's face, like he'd already hit the jackpot after selling me like some rare artifact.
"T-T-Three million!… going…" The auctioneer stuttered until he slammed the gavel down. Gbam. Just like that, I was sold to God knows who.
I wondered what my life would become in the new place I was going to—perhaps even worse than what I'd experienced here. The thought sent shivers down my spine. I wished the ground would just open up and swallow me whole, never to return.