In his sleek black car, Damian was halfway back to his own mansion when his phone buzzed. He glanced at the caller ID, his eyes narrowing. The club manager.
He answered.
"Mr. Volkov—sir—please, you must forgive me!" The man's voice was frantic, broken. "I tried—I did everything I could, but she—she ran! She refused you!"
Damian's fingers drummed against the steering wheel, his face unreadable. "She ran?" he repeated, his tone dangerously calm.
"Yes, sir. Please don't kill me. I swear, I begged her—I even threatened her—but she slipped away. She—"
"Enough," Damian cut him off, his voice turning cold as steel.
The line went dead in the manager's trembling hand.
Damian's jaw clenched. The corner of his lips curved into the faintest shadow of a smile.
"So," he murmured, staring out at the dark road ahead. "My little cleaner has a spine."
And for the first time in years, interest flickered in his chest.
***
The sun had barely risen when Elena dragged herself to the landlord's flat. Her eyes were swollen from the sleepless night, and her body felt like it carried the weight of a thousand burdens.
She knocked softly. The door opened to reveal Mr. Kalu, his belly pushing against his shirt, his face splitting into a smug grin.
"You again," he said, leaning against the frame. "I was wondering when you'd come begging."
Elena swallowed hard. "Please… just give me more time. I swear, I'll pay you back. My aunt is very sick. We don't have anywhere else to go."
The grin didn't fade—it grew sharper. He stepped aside and waved her in.
She hesitated, but stepped into his apartment. The smell of stale alcohol and cologne clung to the air, making her stomach turn.
He closed the door with a loud click.
"Do you think I'm a fool, Elena? You've been saying the same thing for months. Time is up. Unless…" His eyes lingered on her body in a way that made her want to vanish.
Her heart sank. "Unless what?"
"You give me what I want."
Elena's eyes widened. "You—you have a wife."
"That doesn't concern you," he said coldly, walking toward her.
She backed into the wall, her mind racing. Every nerve screamed to run, but her aunt's face flashed in her head—frail, coughing, fighting for her life. They had no money, no shelter. If they were thrown out, her aunt wouldn't survive.
Tears burned her eyes. She pressed her palms against her face, whispering, "God… why me?"
Finally, she lowered her hands, trembling. "Fine. I'll do it. Just… please don't put us on the street."
His smirk widened. He leaned in, his breath hot against her cheek. "Good girl."
By noon, Elena bought her aunt's medication with the last crumpled bills in her purse. She forced a smile as she handed it over.
Her aunt's pale fingers clutched hers. "You're working too hard, child. Don't lie to me… I can see the tears in your eyes."
Elena turned her face away quickly. "I just… I just got another job. That's all."
Her aunt coughed and lay back down, too weak to question further.
Evening fell. Elena dressed carefully, pulling on her neatest faded gown and combing her hair until it shone. She looked at herself in the cracked mirror, barely recognizing the girl staring back.
When her phone rang, her heart jumped. The landlord's voice oozed through the speaker.
"Room 208. Crystal Hotel. Don't be late. And wear something… pretty."
Her hand shook as she ended the call. She whispered to herself, "Just this once… then he'll leave us alone."
But deep down, shame and terror coiled in her stomach.
***
The hotel's glowing sign burned against the night sky. Elena's heels clicked softly against the polished floor as she made her way down the corridor, her hands clutching the thin strap of her purse so tightly her knuckles whitened.
Room 208 loomed ahead like a predator waiting for its prey. She hesitated, heart pounding, then slowly turned the knob.
The room smelled of strong cologne and whiskey. Mr. Kalu stood shirtless, his hairy chest gleaming with sweat, his lips twisted into an eager grin.
Elena froze, her body trembling. "Please…" her voice cracked as tears slipped down her cheeks. "Don't make me do this."
"Take your shoes off," he ordered sharply, stepping closer.
Her breath hitched. She bent slightly, fumbling with her shoes, tears dripping onto the carpet.
Suddenly—his phone rang.
He cursed under his breath and answered. "Who the hell is this?"
The voice on the other end was icy, deadly calm.
"If you touch her, I'll feed your heart to your wife before sunrise."
His face drained of color. His knees nearly buckled. "W-Who… who are you?"
Before he could finish, the door burst open.
Three men in black stormed in, their presence suffocating. Guns gleamed under their jackets.
"What—what's happening?" Elena gasped, pressing against the wall in terror.
One of them pressed a damp cloth to the landlord's face. He struggled for barely a second before collapsing onto the bed, unconscious.
Elena screamed as another man seized her wrist.
"No! Please—don't hurt me!"
But before she could fight, the same cloth covered her nose and mouth. A sickly-sweet scent filled her lungs, her body going limp despite her desperate struggle.
Her vision blurred, spots dancing in front of her eyes. The last thing she saw before everything went black was the tattoo on the man's wrist—the same crest whispered about in the underground.