Felix didn't go home. Not yet.
Instead, he stepped into Neon Base, an internet café nestled between a minimalist flower shop and a gourmet ice cream bar on one of the city's most popular boulevards. The buildings here weren't luxurious, but they had personality—glassed fronts, glowing signage, stylish black window frames, and a steady stream of teenagers and young adults strolling by with shopping bags and iced coffees.
Neon Base wasn't rundown, but it wasn't overly polished either. Inside, the café was laced with black-and-red aesthetics. Rows of soundproofed glass booths gave off a faint blue glow, each one separated by soft partitions for privacy. The air smelled faintly of lemon soda and vinyl. Chill beats thrummed beneath the soft murmur of fingers tapping keys and the occasional excited shout from a headset.
Felix slipped in like a shadow and sank into one of the corner booths.
His school blazer hung loosely on his shoulders like a jacket, completely unbuttoned. Underneath, he wore a fitted black shirt tucked into black slacks, his thin silver belt glinting under the LED lights. His shirt collar dipped slightly, revealing his clavicle and the curve of a silver chain. Two silver piercings gleamed on his left ear, and a bruise—faint but real—lingered beneath his eye like a fading storm.
He looked soft but dangerous. Delicate but sharp.
The kind of boy who made people look twice—and keep looking.
He placed his headphones on and immediately joined a match. His fingers danced across the keyboard like he was born for it.
"Tch. Damn it—can't you play? What are you, nine?" he snapped into the mic, irritation lacing his voice.
His hand ran through his messy hair, shoving back the curtain of bangs falling over his forehead.
"Ahh, fuck. Just sell your account already if you can't handle a simple teamfight."
Bang—he hit the desk with the flat of his palm.
A muffled voice answered through the headset, mocking.
"If you're that good, why aren't you on a pro team instead of cosplaying God in an internet café?"
Then the other guy muted himself.
Felix threw his head back and let out a short, humorless laugh.
"Fucker," he whispered, biting the knuckle of his thumb as he glared at the screen. His tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek in agitation before he clicked the game off and pulled off the headset.
Just then, someone dragged a chair over and dropped into it, scraping it across the floor like they wanted attention.
"Tsk. You're never in a good mood, are you? Always frowning like the world owes you something."
Felix didn't even glance fully. "Out of everyone, you're the last person I want to see."
The guy wasn't wearing a school uniform. He wasn't a student. His jeans were distressed, his boots steel-toed, and a black dragon tattoo curled from his wrist into the inside of his elbow. He leaned his arm on the table, relaxed, like this meeting was casual.
"You've lost weight."
His eyes narrowed, tone teasing. "And what's this? A bruise? Damn, who managed to land one on the infamous Felix? We should invite them to the crew."
He reached out and tilted Felix's chin with two fingers, inspecting the fading violet bruise under his eye.
Felix slapped his hand away.
"Are you insane? Want to lose that hand?" His tone dropped, low and cutting. "I told you—I'm done. I quit. No more crews, no more fighting. I don't want anything to do with the past."
He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, one leg bouncing slightly.
"You really did change," the man said with a lazy smile. "Can't believe the Felix I knew turned obedient. Look at you now—proper uniform, calm voice, showing restraint… How domestic."
He pulled a black nylon bag from inside his coat and tossed it onto the desk between them.
"I brought what you asked for. It was hell getting some of it, so be grateful."
Felix snatched it. "Stop acting like you're doing me favors. I pay you, don't I? This isn't charity."
As he unzipped the bag and checked the contents, the guy leaned in slightly, still grinning.
"Yeah, yeah. But if they knew I was still selling to you, I'd have to explain a lot of things. Added some new stuff in, by the way. Consider it a gift."
He stood with a stretch. "Anyway, talking to you is boring. I've got other clients. Try not to overdose."
He walked off without another word.
Felix tapped a few times on his phone, transferring the money, then tucked it into his pocket. Without a second thought, he pulled a tablet from the bag and popped it into his mouth, swallowing dry. The rest went into his backpack.
He stood, gave the café one last glance, and walked out like nothing had happened.
---
Across the street, Nick had just dropped his girlfriend off at Lemon & Loaf, a stylish café known for its pastel drinks and floor-to-ceiling glass walls. It sat opposite Neon Base, and while the two places catered to different crowds, the street between them was clean, active, and familiar.
Nick was leaning against his car, watching his girlfriend laugh with her friends when something across the road caught his eye.
His gaze sharpened.
There—through the glass of Neon Base—Felix. Slouched in a gaming booth, casually chatting with a man that didn't look like he belonged anywhere near a school. Nick's brows furrowed as he saw the man pass Felix a small black bag. He looked… casual. Too casual.
"Baby?" his girlfriend tugged at his sleeve. "What are you looking at?"
Nick blinked and turned to her, forcing a smile. "Nothing."
But as soon as she turned back toward her friends, he pulled out his phone, tapped on the camera app, and zoomed in.
Just in time.
Felix popped a pill into his mouth and swallowed it like it was routine.
Nick's smile dropped, eyes narrowing slightly.
He ended the recording, kissed his girlfriend's cheek with practiced ease, and slid into the driver's seat.
The car rolled off into traffic, but his thoughts lingered behind.
Something about Felix didn't feel right.
---
Scene Rewrite – Maria at the Hotel
The soft rumble of the taxi faded as it came to a halt in front of the glass-fronted hotel, modern and sleek with golden lighting pooling beneath its overhanging awning. The doors slid open automatically, but Maria sat still for a second, her eyes locked on the hotel name glittering above. She blinked slowly, then opened the door.
Her boots clicked against the polished marble floor as she stepped inside. The air was perfumed with subtle vanilla and cedar, elegant but unfamiliar. She hugged her arms across her chest, feeling more out of place with every step she took. This wasn't the original location. Oliver had changed it last minute. Typical.
The elevator ride to the restaurant floor was slow, every ding like a countdown to something she couldn't yet name. When she reached the corridor lined with private dining rooms, she found the one reserved under her family's name and gently pushed the door open.
Then froze.
Inside, seated at the round dining table under a muted crystal chandelier, were her mother, her grandmother, and a man she had never seen before.
Her breath caught in her throat.
Her face hardened.
Her fingers curled around the door handle.
She stepped back, ready to leave—but two bodyguards blocked her exit before she could take another step. Her mother stood up with a smile too forced to be warm and yanked her into the room before Maria could resist.
The door shut behind her with a soft but final click.
"What the hell do you want?" Maria snapped, tearing her arm free from her mother's grasp.
Her mother's smile dropped instantly. "Why are you shouting at me? I'm your mother. Did you forget that, you brat? Why are you avoiding me? It's not like I'll kill you."
Maria sneered. "Wouldn't be the most surprising thing you've done."
"She's just shy," her grandmother interjected, eyeing the man with a sugary grin. "But I'm sure you can break her in. Bend her to your will."
Maria's heart pounded. A cold lump settled in her chest. Her lips trembled, but she forced a mocking laugh and took her mother's hand, her grip trembling.
"Ma..." she whispered, her voice cracking as old memories clashed with the present. "Did you hear what she just said? She wants to sell me off. Say something. Please."
Her eyes searched her mother's face, desperate, shattered.
But her mother just smiled as if nothing had happened. "Silly girl. Grandma and I are doing this for your sake. Be grateful. Accept it. We won't harm you—"
"You won't HURT me?!" Maria exploded, shoving her mother away. "You want to SELL me! How is that not harm?! A mother fights for her child—not sells her like a dog in the market!"
The slap came fast and sharp. Her face whipped to the side.
"Don't raise your voice at me," her mother hissed. "Do you think it's easy to meet Mister Andrew? I found you a rich man! You'll never lack a thing! You won't have to be a singer—stars like you burn out and die. Just stay quiet, stay humble, and finish school like a decent girl."
Maria laughed—hysterical, broken laughter that turned into tears.
"You're still the same snake, Ma. I tried... I tried. I stopped studying just so you'd notice me. When I came home with 15th place, I thought you'd finally see me. But you never did. Oliver gets praised for everything. Me? I'm never good enough. I'm always wrong. Even when I'm right, I'm still your disappointment."
Her mother scoffed.
"You are the rat. Oliver is the phoenix. Your father is going bankrupt, and you're here chasing dreams. You owe this family—pay it back. Meet Mister Andrew and satisfy him. You'll never be like Oliver, no matter how hard you try."
Her grandmother chuckled coldly. "Girls like you used to be beaten and starved for months. Maybe then you'd learn to shut your mouth."
Maria didn't resist when her mother grabbed her wrist and pulled her from the room. Her heart was too broken, her body too numb. As they waited at the elevator, her eyes looked at the hand holding hers.
A small part of her hoped—prayed—her mother was taking her out of the hotel, maybe to escape, maybe to finally protect her.
But the other part knew better.
She didn't let go.
"Don't cry. It doesn't suit you," her mother whispered as the elevator doors opened. She leaned in to hug her—but Maria felt a sharp sting in her neck. Her eyes widened in shock. A needle.
Maria stumbled, the world tilting as her knees hit the elevator floor. She clung to the railing, gasping.
Her mother stood over her, cold and disgusted. "If you had been perfect—half of what Oliver is—you wouldn't end up like this. Girls like you are just meant to warm men's beds and save their families."
She dragged Maria down the hall to a hotel suite, threw her on the bed, and ripped open her shirt. Maria screamed, struggling, grabbing her mother's hair. The woman slapped her again.
"You should've died the day you were born," Maria whispered through tears. "Because you're a disgrace to every mother alive. I'm ashamed you're mine."
With trembling hands, she reached for a flower vase on the nightstand and slammed it into her mother's head.
Blood.
Screams.
Silence.
Her mother crumpled, crying and bleeding.
Maria clutched her torn shirt and stumbled toward the door, locking it behind her before sliding to the floor.
She hugged herself, sobbing.
---
Back in the dining room, her grandmother chuckled. "She's a handful, but you'll get used to her."
Mr. Andrew frowned. "You said she was gentle. That wasn't gentle."
"That's how girls are these days—moody but smart. She's beautiful, talented, and has excellent grades. She'll entertain your guests well."
He nodded slowly.
Just then, Maria's mother stumbled in, her head bleeding, shards of glass embedded in her scalp.
"I'm dying! Someone take me to the hospital!" she screamed.
Her mother-in-law gasped. "Are you insane?! You're disgusting! You're ruining our appetite!"
"You brat!" she barked. "Maria is just like you—but with a good man, she'll be handled."
The woman glared back, clinging to the wall.
"If you won't take me, I'll go myself."
She grabbed the car keys and stormed out.
Her mother-in-law followed, shouting curses as the door slammed shut behind them.
---
---
Kira stepped down from the car, her footsteps slow and heavy. Her dazed eyes stared into nothingness as her mind flickered to the deal she'd made with Chris — a cold, sharp decision buried deep beneath the flames of betrayal.
She clenched her fists.
"If I'm already in hell," she hissed through gritted teeth, "I'll drag every last one of them in with me."
Her boots echoed against the cracked pavement of her neighborhood — a dying place filled with forgotten lives and crumbling walls. The rusting gate moaned open like a tired creature, revealing the skeleton of what she once called home. As she approached, a shadow brushed past her shoulder.
She bumped into a man — unfamiliar, but calm. Silent.
He gave a small nod and moved toward a black car parked nearby. Her eyes trailed him instinctively.
Two knocks on the tinted window.
It lowered slowly, revealing only darkness. Her heart stuttered. That man — he wasn't him, but she'd seen him before.
At the club.
A handler. One of the golden-glass man's hounds.
Her apartment now felt like a cage. Her eyes flicked to the stairwell.
A man stood at the landing with a walkie-talkie. Another by the railing, sunglasses reflecting the dusk. A third leaned casually against the wall, cigarette burning, eyes sharp.
They were watching.
Waiting.
Her heartbeat spiked. She turned.
A voice behind her: "She's not around."
Then another: "Isn't that her?"
A finger pointed.
Kira didn't think — she ran.
---
RUNNING SCENE
Her heels slammed against the street, sharp echoes scattering like gunshots. She darted into alleys, her lungs seizing in the thick, polluted air. Her breath came in ragged gasps as she dodged corners, shadows, bodies. She tore past broken-down buildings, past drunks slumped in filth, past the howls of dogs and the distant crack of something sharp — maybe a bottle, maybe a bullet.
She didn't care.
They were chasing her.
A voice barked behind her. "Grab her!"
A figure lunged — she slipped through a narrow path, tearing her coat.
Finally, her legs gave out, and she collapsed into the forgotten skeleton of an old escort house. Dust and perfume clung to the air like the ghosts of its past.
She backed into a corner, body trembling, hands raw.
And then the memories broke through — memories she had buried beneath steel and spite.
She'd been returning from the market, a bag of rice in hand, her thoughts on dinner.
The van came out of nowhere.
A black, windowless monster.
Two men — broad, fast, merciless.
She screamed. Bit. Kicked.
No one helped.
They slammed the doors. Her wrists were bound. Her phone gone.
She fought like hell. But it didn't matter.
"You belong to v cousin now," one of them spat. "Courtesy of your loving brother."
The betrayal cut deeper than any blade.
The van screeched to a halt at ECLIPSE — a notorious club whispered about in fear. Red neon lights pulsed like blood vessels. The bass throbbed like a heartbeat.
She was dragged inside — shoved through gold-trimmed doors into darkness and smoke.
V's cousin stood waiting. His hand struck her cheek before the insults even landed.
"You slut. You ruined my cousin. Now we ruin you."
Then he turned, ordering her stripped.
Women pulled her to a dressing room — no mercy in their hands. Her clothes were ripped. She was thrown into a micro skirt and white corset that exposed more than it covered. Heels too tall. Her legs shook.
She tried to speak. "Let me go," she mumbled. But they didn't hear—or didn't care.
Inside, the club was chaos. Women in glitter danced on elevated platforms, some hanging off poles like vines, glitter smeared across their legs. Men lounged on velvet couches, drinks in one hand, girls in the other, laughing like kings in a collapsing empire.
Kira was shoved toward a round booth. Glasses were already being poured. Someone snapped their fingers and a cold drink was pushed into her hand.
"Drink up," someone said. A man. Maybe two. Their faces blurred together. Her lips parted instinctively. The drink burned, but her throat moved on its own.
More drinks. Hands pulling her up. Someone laughing in her ear. "She's lightweight! Let's see how long she lasts."someone mocked as they force drink down her throat
Another girl blew smoke into her face. "Don't be dramatic. Everyone goes through this the first time."
They pulled her through the dance floor again. Her head lolled back. She saw flashes—men whispering, girls laughing, someone's hand sliding down her spine, another brushing her thigh. She didn't know whose.
Staggering. Dizzy. She ducked into a hallway.
Two men blocked her path. "Trying to run?"
"She's probably one of the new ones," the other said. "Back to the van."
She begged. They laughed.
She was dragged again — outside this time — into another luxury van.
The madam greeted her with a slap. "Wrong girl or not, your fate's sealed."
Back into the van. Back into chaos.
Her head pounded. Alcohol blurred her thoughts. She noticed the mountain trees only when the mansion gates opened.
A white estate sprawled beneath the moon, cold and cruel
A van. She was in a van now. A golden interior. More girls beside her—some crying, some quiet, one giggling and licking a lollipop.
"Pretty eyes," one girl told her. "You'll get picked fast."
"Picked?" Kira echoed, confused.
But the girl just grinned.
The Mansion
The mansion looked like something from a movie—grand stairs, glittering chandeliers, marble halls. Kira barely noticed. Her legs moved because others pushed her. A woman took her arm and led her to a long table.
A needle pricked her skin.
"Clean," a voice said.
The mansion's main hall was a riot of music, bodies, and blinding lights. The sound system pounded a heavy bass that vibrated through the marble floors. Smoke machines puffed clouds into the air, mixing with the haze of perfume, sweat, and alcohol. Strobe lights flashed across half-naked dancers grinding on elevated platforms. Some girls were already barefoot, their heels tossed to the side, dancing like they didn't need gravity.
Men in tuxedo jackets with open shirts lounged across couches and armchairs, drinks in hand, laughing loudly. A tray of pills passed from one group to another like party favors, each one glowing under the blacklight. Nobody asked what they were. Nobody cared.
In one corner, a girl leaned over another girl's lap, lipstick smeared as they made out between sips of champagne. The crowd around them didn't bat an eye—someone even cheered and raised their phone to record. A guy nearby popped something into his mouth, chased it with straight vodka, and pulled a giggling girl onto his lap, pressing kisses along her neck.
Kira stumbled in with the others, lost in the swirl. She was immediately handed a shot by someone she didn't recognize, and before she could react, a girl in silver glitter pressed a kiss to her mouth—messy and fast—then vanished into the crowd.
Near the staircase, a blonde girl in a red dress tried to push away a guy offering her a glowing drink. He laughed and pushed a small pink capsule between her lips instead. "Come on, baby, just enjoy the night." She gagged, tried to spit it out, but he covered her mouth, his tone still playful but firm.
Seconds later, she doubled over and threw up on the polished floor.
People nearby groaned and stepped back, annoyed more than concerned.
She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, eyes wild, and shoved through the hallway toward the back of the mansion, muttering "bathroom" over and over. She disappeared past the heavy curtains, barefoot and shaking.
Someone whistled after her. "She'll be back," a man said, pouring more tequila into his glass.
Above it all, a chandelier spun slowly, reflecting the chaos below in shards of light. Girls laughed as they danced on tables, security ignored it, and behind every smirk and clink of glass, there was a blur of pills, touches, and whispered bets about who would last the night.
And the party kept going. No one noticed who left. No one cared who stayed.
She stumbled into a hallway. No one noticed her leave the party.
She turned a corner and ran into a wall—or no, a man. Tall, calm, and cold. His golden glasses shimmered under the chandelier light. The same man from before. He didn't move when she looked up.
She smiled—sloppy, unsteady. "You're pretty," she mumbled.
Then she kissed him. Because it made sense. Because nothing made sense.
He pushed her away. "You're drunk."
She giggled. "You noticed." Then she grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the nearest door, nearly toppling them both. She didn't know why. It was instinct, madness, fear, or the drugs.
Inside the room, he caught her arms. "You need to stop."
But she kissed him again. Harder.
For a second, he hesitated. Then he kissed her back.
The rest happened in flashes. Heat. Weight. Hands.
Her body moved like it was someone else's. And in her head, she just kept laughing to herself.
"I must be dreaming."
Because the next time she blinked—
She was sore. Naked under silky sheets. Her body throbbed like she'd run a marathon. Her mouth dry. Her mind slow. The room spun even though she wasn't moving.
A knock. A butler entered. Then two maids. They pulled her up, dressed her in a tight, tiny gold dress, and said nothing.
They put her in a glass cage. Lifted the whole thing. She thought she was hallucinating.
Crowds. Laughter. Spotlights.
The man from before sat in the center, no glasses now. His eyes looked dangerous. Unforgiving.
Someone said, "The bidding starts at—"
She didn't hear the number.
Just the laughter. Just the jokes.
When a man reached to open her cage, she didn't think. She crawled out, straight to him. Her knees bruised against the polished floor.
The crowd gasped.
She didn't care.
"Keep me," she whispered. "I'll do anything."
He raised a brow.
"Crawl, then," he said.
So she did. And she kissed him.
He let her kiss him. Let her bite his shirt buttons.
Mocked her youth.
She kissed his throat.
He touched her in front of the room.
Then led her behind the wall.
They had sex.
She heard the laughter behind the thin door.
She didn't care.