The car slows before I'm ready. My hands won't stop shaking, and I keep telling myself it's just another one of Liam's business parties. He said I'd love it — that it would change everything for us. I wanted to believe him.
The driver opens the door before I can ask where we are. The air outside smells strange — too clean, too expensive. The building looks like a hotel, but the lights are dim, the kind that hides more than they show.
Liam takes my hand as we walk inside. His grip is too firm, his smile too tight. I notice it now, the way he avoids my eyes. The hallway stretches long and silent, lined with golden walls and guards who don't even pretend to look friendly.
"Just trust me," he says.
I try. I always try.
The doors open to a room that feels too big, too rich. Crystal lights, polished floors, people dressed like the world owes them something. Every head turns when I step in, and the heat from their stares crawls over my skin.
Something's wrong.
I whisper his name, but he doesn't look at me. He's talking to a man near the back — tall, sharp suit, calm voice. I can't hear what they're saying, but money changes hands. Liam signs something. His eyes flick toward me once, and I see guilt — or maybe fear.
That's when my stomach drops.
"Liam?" My voice cracks, small and unsure.
He walks toward me, but not close enough to touch. "You'll be fine," he says softly, almost like an apology. Then he turns and walks away.
I want to follow, but someone steps between us — a woman in black with a cold, polite smile. "This way, please."
I don't move. My voice doesn't work. She touches my arm gently but firmly, guiding me through another door. I can't see Liam anymore. I call for him, once, twice — no answer.
The next room is quieter. Softer. It smells of perfume and metal. A few other women stand nearby, all in different dresses, all with the same hollow look in their eyes. None of them speak.
Someone hands me a glass of water. My fingers are trembling so much I almost drop it.
"What is this place?" I ask, but no one answers.
A woman fixes my hair, straightens my dress, checks my makeup. Everything happens too quickly. When she's done, she looks me in the eye for a moment. There's pity there. That's when I know something terrible is coming.
A voice echoes from somewhere beyond the curtain — deep, smooth, practiced. I can't make out the words, only the tone. Formal. Cold.
The curtain in front of me moves slightly. I glimpse people sitting in rows, glasses in hand, waiting for something.
The woman in black touches my shoulder. "Step forward," she says.
My feet don't want to move, but they do. The curtain opens wider. The lights hit my face, and for a moment, I can't see anything. The brightness burns my eyes.
I hear murmurs, soft laughter. I don't understand what's happening until I notice the way people are looking at me — not curious, not kind. Like I'm an object. Something to be evaluated.
My chest tightens. My pulse pounds in my ears.
I try to step back, but the woman behind me whispers, "Stay still." Her hand is firm on my back.
I look for Liam. I look for any familiar face. Nothing. He's gone.
Panic spreads through me like ice. I want to scream, but my throat closes up. My fingers dig into the sides of my dress.
A number flashes on a small screen nearby. Then another. Then more. I don't understand at first — until I hear the sound of it. Money. Numbers. People calling out prices.
The truth hits me so fast I can't breathe.
He sold me.
The world blurs for a second. The lights, the faces, the noise — it all spins together. I can still see Liam's signature in my head, the papers, the handshake. I thought he was saving us from debt. I thought he was helping us start over.
I didn't realize I was the price.
Tears burn at the corners of my eyes, but I don't let them fall. Not here. Not in front of them.
The voice from the front keeps calling numbers, calm and sure, like this is nothing new. Each time he speaks, the air in the room tightens. I want it to stop. I want to wake up.
Then suddenly the sound fades. The room goes still.
I sense him before I see him.
He's near the back, half in shadow. The others glance toward him, silent. One man lowers his hand. Another clears his throat, steps back. Whoever he is, they know him.
He doesn't move at first. He just watches. I can feel his eyes on me — steady, unreadable. The kind of gaze that sees everything and reveals nothing.
Even from here, I can tell he's different. His posture, his stillness. A dark suit, a black shirt, no tie. A faint glint of metal near his wrist — a watch, maybe. His face is calm, but there's weight behind it, something that makes the room smaller just by his presence.
Someone says a number — higher than the rest. A final one.
The crowd stirs. Then silence again.
My breath catches. My hands go cold.
The man in the dark suit lowers his head slightly, as if confirming something. The others begin to stand, leaving one by one. The lights dim.
I don't understand what just happened, but I know it's over.
The woman in black takes my arm again. Her grip is firmer this time. She doesn't look at me when she speaks. "It's done," she says quietly.
Done. The word echoes in my head like a bell.
They lead me down another hallway — quieter, darker. My shoes click against the marble floor. My reflection stares back at me from the polished walls, eyes wide, face pale. I look like a stranger.
At the end of the hall, I glance back once more. The room is empty now, except for him — the man in the suit. He hasn't moved.
For a second, our eyes meet. I don't know what I see there — pity, power, or something worse. But it feels final.
My heart beats hard against my ribs. I turn away as the door closes behind me.
Somewhere deep down, I know that nothing after this night will ever be the same.