Karen Leichster. Beautiful, sweet, young. Her eyes were pools of endless black, framed by long, curling lashes. Average in height, with light brown hair that fell neatly into place. And yet, there was no spark of life in her. Her lips—full, naturally pink—never curved into anything more than a straight line.
She was a doll. A hollow frame. A body without a soul. She looked at the world as though every living being was her enemy. No one to blame but herself. No one wanted her. She didn't know what she had done wrong—only that one truth was certain:
She was an orphan. Cast aside. Abandoned by someone—her mother, perhaps, or another. All she was ever told was that she had been found in a ditch. No box. No blanket. No thread of cloth to shield her.
Only the cold embraced her then—until a stranger's mercy carried her into an orphanage, as she screamed and fought against the biting air. The headmistress once said it was a miracle she had survived; a newborn, discovered after nearly a day and a half.
Karen thought she had escaped death. She was wrong. At her first orphanage, there were no embraces, no smiles, not even proper clothing. Instead, she was locked in a storeroom through the nights, allowed out only in daylight to work.
Her meals were nearly spoiled, milk was never given, and water came sparingly. No matter how long, or how loudly she cried, the door never opened. Every attempt to run, every tear she shed, was met with a slap or a strike. She was forbidden even the luxury of a smile.
And then—the fire. Smoke seeped under the door, the air thickened, heat pressed against her lungs, and the others fled. They left Karen behind, scrambling for their own survival.
Until a fireman pulled her out, cradled in his arms. Ten years old, rescued from hell. Yet the scars would never leave her.
The second orphanage was different—humane, civilized. Children her age surrounded her. But Karen never smiled. She never cried. Her fear of punishment lingered; her nights haunted by screams in her sleep. By the time the new headmistress discovered the truth of her past, it was too late.
Yes, Karen was given warmth and affection. The other children welcomed her as one of their own. But nothing changed within. Karen Leichster believed she would never be wanted, never be chosen, never be loved.
No matter how often the headmistress whispered of love, Karen could not believe her. She lived in a cruel world, surviving on scraps of charity. Even when prospective parents visited the home, not one of them looked at Karen twice.
She taught herself she was incapable of love. She had seen with her own eyes how men abandoned women they once swore to cherish, trading them for others. She had seen men in fine suits escort their wounded wives as if they were burdens to be cast aside.
Twenty-four years of her life, Karen fought for her own survival. She finished school with good marks, but university was impossible—money was a luxury the orphanage could never provide. So she worked. As a barmaid.
The headmistress was devastated. Pale with shock, she begged Karen to reconsider, terrified of what the world might do to her.
"Karen, there will always be another way. You need not throw yourself into the shadows."
Karen's gaze remained flat, her voice steady.
"What I hate most is poverty. And men who betray. I don't know who I am, or who my parents were. This is the fate God gave me."
"Karen, God loves you. You must believe that."
"Unfortunately, I have no heart left to believe in anything… or anyone."
That was Karen Leichster. A life stripped of warmth. Each day endured in darkness. Her world reduced to one thing—money. She knew some things could never be bought. But everything else required it.
Money. One word that ruled her existence.
***
An Armani-clad man sat in the passenger seat, his gaze fixed on the dark road ahead. Long legs stretched, back resting against fine leather. His driver broke the silence.
"Sir. There she is."
The man shifted his head slightly, just enough to glimpse the figure of a young woman in a maroon skirt crossing the street.
She passed his car, disappearing into a narrow alley. He followed her through the rearview mirror.
"Shall we wait?" the driver asked.
The man's lips curved into a cold smile.
"No. We hunt."
The driver quickly stepped out, circling the car to open the door for his master.
The man emerged, sliding on his dark glasses, straightening his jacket with deliberate poise. One strong hand slipped into his pocket as he followed the woman's trail.
His smile returned as his eyes caught the gaudy, flashing sign above the building.
Tokio Bar & Club.
Interesting, he thought, stepping inside.