The night was colder than usual.

Elira curled into herself on the thin mattress that barely passed for a bed, pressing her hands to her aching lower stomach. A fresh wave of pain shot through her, and she bit her lip to keep from crying out. She knew better than to make noise in this house.

Her body was already weak. The cramps were brutal this time, stabbing at her insides like knives. Her skin was clammy with sweat, her breaths short, and yet… she knew morning was near. And she hadn’t made dinner.

The room spun slightly as she stood up, clutching the wall for balance.

But before she could even make it past the small, cracked mirror, she heard footsteps storming in.

The door slammed open.

“Elira!” Bianca’s voice screeched, full of irritation.

Elira flinched, turning slowly.

“You didn’t cook,” Bianca snapped, arms folded and eyes blazing. “What the hell have you been doing? Sleeping?”

“I-I wasn’t feeling well,” Elira murmured, her voice weak, hands pressing her stomach unconsciously.

Bianca didn’t wait.

The slap was so sudden, Elira didn’t see it coming. Her head whipped to the side, hair flying as she stumbled back against the wall.

“You disgusting thing!” Bianca yelled, grabbing Elira by the hair. “Do you think your little stomach ache matters? Are you some princess now?!”

Elira cried out softly, but Bianca didn’t care.

She hit her again, this time punching her arm. “You’re just a burden! Just a filthy, unwanted thing living in this house.”

“B-Bianca, please—” Elira tried to speak, but Bianca had already stormed out, screaming for her mother.

Luciana came moments later, fury on her face like a storm cloud.

“Elira,” she said coldly. “What did you do now?”

“She didn’t cook!” Bianca snapped. “And she just sat here like a queen while I starved!”

Luciana’s eyes narrowed. “You useless rat.”

Before Elira could even defend herself, Luciana slapped her hard—so hard her vision blurred. Then came the blow to her shoulder, and another push that sent her sprawling to the ground.

She landed on the cold, hard floor with a thud, pain shooting up her back.

“You're not even worth the dirt under my shoe,” Luciana hissed, grabbing a vase from the table and raising it like she’d throw it. “We feed you, we let you live here, and you can’t even cook?!”

Tears spilled from Elira’s eyes. “I—I’m on my period,” she whispered, voice trembling. “It hurts—so bad…”

Luciana’s face twisted in disgust. “So what? You think we care about your pathetic bleeding? Get up and clean this place. And don’t even think of touching any food tonight. You don’t deserve it.”

Bianca snickered in the background, arms crossed smugly.

The two of them left her there on the floor.

Elira curled into herself, biting her hand to keep from sobbing too loudly. Her stomach cramped again, worse than before, and she felt like she might pass out. But she didn't. She couldn’t. No one would come for her. No one ever did.

---

The Next Morning

The sun rose, soft and golden, but the house remained cold.

Elira stood in the kitchen, barely able to keep her legs steady. Her hands shook as she peeled potatoes. Her vision swam, her body weak from both hunger and pain, but still… she cooked.

She fried eggs. Toasted bread. Poured orange juice into a crystal glass.

It took everything she had.

Just as she was placing the food on the dining table, Bianca walked in.

She didn’t even wait.

With a glare full of hate, Bianca picked up the plate and threw it across the room.

“What the hell is this?!” she shouted.

Elira gasped as the plate shattered. Hot egg and crumbs scattered everywhere.

“I said soft-boiled eggs! Not this trash!” Bianca screamed. And then, she slapped her again. This time, across the cheek. Elira stumbled.

Luciana walked in just as Bianca was spitting curses.

“What’s going on now?” Luciana asked lazily.

“She messed up the breakfast!” Bianca growled.

Luciana rolled her eyes. “Honestly, Elira. You can’t even cook a simple meal? Are you that stupid?”

“I tried—” Elira whispered, tears welling.

“Try harder,” Luciana snapped. “Or starve.”

They both walked away, laughing. Elira stood frozen for a moment. Then she sank to her knees and began picking up the food from the floor, her hands trembling.

Her stomach growled painfully. She hadn’t eaten since the day before.

She looked down at the food on the ground.

Tears rolled silently down her cheeks.

Slowly… ashamedly… she picked up a half-squashed piece of bread and brought it to her lips.

It was cold.

It tasted like dirt and salt and pain.

She ate it anyway.

Because it was all she had.

---

Later, she cleaned the floor—again.

Blood still stained her thighs beneath the long skirt, her cramps hadn’t stopped, and her body was weak… but she scrubbed every inch of the marble until it shined.

The house stayed silent, cruel in its peace.

And Elira, once again, went back to her room with nothing but pain in her stomach and a prayer on her lips.

“Please,” she whispered into the air. “Please, someone… help me escape this hell.”

But the walls did not answer.

They never did.

__________________________

The music inside the club throbbed like a heartbeat gone mad. Bass shook the walls, lights flashed red and violet across expensive tiles, and smoke curled lazily in the air like a silent witness to the madness below.

But in one shadowed corner, something darker than the music was unfolding.

This wasn’t just a club.

It was a place where power met sin.

The air reeked of perfume, alcohol, and something sour—something that wasn’t quite right. Girls stood on a platform, one after the other, under the harsh white lights. They were all beautiful—painted lips, styled hair, revealing clothes—but none of them smiled. They didn’t need to. No one cared.

They were not guests.

They were goods.

And this was an auction.

Eyes roamed over the girls like they were meat in a market. Men in suits and gold watches raised drinks and money like it was just another Friday night. They laughed. Whistled. Shouted offers.

"Five lakhs for her!"

"Ten for that one!"

"She’s not even eighteen, I’ll go fifteen—"

Laughter exploded across the room like fireworks. But behind the glitter and noise was nothing but sickness.

Each girl stood silent, shoulders trembling, mascara slowly bleeding down their cheeks.

And then—everything stopped.

The music. The murmurs. The laughter.

All fell into a heavy hush the moment he walked in.

The man entered like a shadow given flesh. Tall, broad-shouldered, flanked by bodyguards in black suits, eyes hidden behind tinted glasses. But no one looked at them. All eyes were on him.

Power clung to him like a second skin. Dark. Cold. Dangerous.

Men stepped aside. Even those with drinks and women on their arms paused and nodded in respect—or maybe fear.

He didn’t look at anyone.

His eyes scanned the stage, slow and bored, as though he’d seen all this before and it no longer entertained him. Until—

His gaze landed on her.

She wasn’t standing like the others. She wasn’t smiling or posing or trying to appear confident.

She was shaking.

Her skin was pale, lips trembling. Her arms hung stiff at her sides like she didn’t know what to do with them. Her eyes scanned the crowd with silent fear.

Her body was dressed in a deep wine-red satin dress that clung to her like a second skin. Thin straps, a dangerously deep neckline that revealed too much. Her long black hair fell down to her waist like ink, silky and shining—but her eyes…

Her eyes were glassy.

She looked like she wanted to disappear.

She looked like prey.

And that made her his favorite.

“I want her,” the man said, his voice low and rough with lust.

Another man near the front scoffed. “You’re not the only one. I’ll start the bid—one crore!”

The bidding began again.

Voices rose. Hands flew up. Prices jumped like numbers in a game.

Two crores.

Three.

Five.

Ten.

The girl shook her head softly, taking a step back on the platform. But there was nowhere to run. The light followed her like a spotlight in a nightmare.

Her legs quivered under her.

Every offer made her heart sink lower. Every laugh, every shout, every leering gaze was a knife.

Fifteen crores.

Twenty.

Twenty-five.

She couldn’t even cry. The tears had dried up.

She was just… empty.

When the price hit forty crores, the air shifted again.

People stared at the man. Wondering if he’d give up.

But then—he smirked.

“Fifty crores,” he said simply.

Silence fell.

No one dared to challenge that.

The host of the auction blinked, stunned, then nodded. “Sold.”

The lights dimmed.

The music returned.

But to her… the room was still.

Frozen.

The girl took another step back, heels clicking on the cold floor, panic filling her chest.

She saw him approach.

Slow. Confident. Like a predator who already knew he’d won.

She tried to turn.

Tried to run.

But his hand caught her wrist like iron.

She flinched as his fingers touched her face—trailing from her cheek to her neck, then her exposed collarbone.

Her breath hitched.

His skin was cold.

“You’re even better up close,” he murmured, voice laced with dark hunger. “I can’t wait for tonight... you, under me, babe.”

The words dripped with filth.

The room continued its rhythm of sin, but for her, time stopped.

She tried to pull away, but he held tighter. His thumb pressed to the hollow of her throat.

And then he leaned closer, his lips brushing her ear.

“I want you begging.”

She cried, trembling, but it was useless.

He turned and walked away like he hadn’t just ruined her world.

But before he disappeared into the crowd, he stopped by one of his guards and spoke coldly:

“Get her to the farmhouse.”

The guard nodded.

“As you know how.”

Those four words rang louder in her ears than all the music in the world.

__________________________

They pulled her away from the platform.

She didn’t scream. What was the point? No one would help her. Everyone here was part of the machine.

Her heels scraped the floor as they dragged her out through the back corridors of the club. Cold, grey walls. Locked doors. No windows.

Just her fate, walking closer with every step.

She whispered prayers under her breath—ones she hadn’t spoken in years.

Please… please, someone help me. Please…

The guards didn’t speak.

They pushed her into the backseat of a black car. She looked out the tinted windows, but saw nothing but her reflection—frightened, broken.

She thought of her parents. Of freedom. Of light. Of anything but this.

The city lights passed in a blur as the car sped toward her cage.

The farmhouse.

She didn’t know where it was.

Only that once she reached it… she wouldn’t come back the same.

________________________

The moon was high when they arrived.

The house was massive, isolated behind wrought iron gates. The kind of place where screams wouldn’t be heard.

They pulled her out. Her legs barely worked.

A woman in black waited by the door. Cold-eyed. Silent.

She handed the guard a small box—clothes.

"Put this on her."

And then she was taken inside. Past crystal chandeliers and marble floors.

But to her, it was a graveyard.

They threw her into a room and shut the door.

She was alone.

And in a few hours, she would no longer be.

She sank to the floor.

And for the first time that night, she let herself break.

She sobbed.

Loud. Ugly. Painful.

She hugged her knees to her chest, whispering the same thing over and over again:

“Please… someone save me.”

But no one came.

Not yet.