Chapter 2: the living soul

Days turned to weeks, weeks to months, and I lost count of time. My life had become a cycle of filth, men, and silence. I didn't fight it anymore—I had stopped fighting long ago. My stepmother had no use for me outside of what I could earn for her, and so I became nothing more than a tool. A body without a soul.

One evening, I sat by the window of the small, crumbling room I called home, staring out at the dark street below. The air was thick with the scent of rain, though the clouds refused to weep. My body ached from the night before, but pain had long since become a familiar companion. Somewhere in the distance, a child was laughing—carefree, untouched by the horrors of the world. I envied that child.

"Winnie," my stepmother's voice sliced through the silence.

I turned slowly, unwilling, uninterested. She stood in the doorway, arms crossed, eyes filled with that familiar hatred.

"There's a man waiting for you downstairs," she said flatly.

I didn't answer. I simply stood up, straightened my ragged dress, and walked past her, feeling her cold eyes on my back as I descended the stairs.

The man waiting for me wasn't like the others. He wasn't old or reeking of alcohol. He was young, clean, and well-dressed, his sharp eyes watching me as I approached. Something about him unsettled me.

"You're Winnie," he said. It wasn't a question.

I nodded.

"I've heard about you." He smirked, tilting his head. "I must say, I expected someone… different."

I didn't ask what he meant. I had stopped caring about words long ago.

"I have an offer for you," he continued, his voice smooth, calculated. "One that doesn't involve rotting in this place forever."

I frowned. No one had ever spoken to me like this before. No one had ever offered me anything but pain.

He leaned forward, his voice dropping lower. "Come with me, and I'll show you a different kind of life."

A part of me wanted to laugh. Another part of me—one I thought had died—felt something strange. Hope? No. Hope was a lie.

And yet, I found myself asking, "What kind of life?"

His smirk deepened. "One where you're in control."

For the first time in a long time, I hesitated. And in that hesitation, my fate began to change.

I stared at the man before me, trying to read his expression. There was something dangerous in his eyes, something unreadable. Men had always looked at me like I was nothing more than a product—a thing to be bought, used, discarded. But this one? He looked at me like I was an investment.

"Control?" I scoffed, crossing my arms. "What do you know about control?"

He chuckled, leaning back in his seat. "Enough to know you don't have any."

I clenched my jaw, but he wasn't wrong. My life wasn't mine. It belonged to my stepmother, to the men who paid for my time, to a world that had no mercy for the weak.

"Who are you?" I finally asked.

He smiled, slow and knowing. "Call me Damien."

Damien. The name curled in my mind like smoke, thick and inescapable.

"And what do you want from me?"

He tilted his head. "I want to offer you something better. A way out."

I laughed, a hollow, broken sound. "There is no way out."

"There is," he countered smoothly. "But it's not free."

Of course it wasn't. Nothing in this world was.

I leaned against the wooden table, eyes narrowing. "And what exactly would I have to do?"

His smirk remained, but there was something darker in it now. "You've been selling yourself for pennies. I'm offering you power. Protection. A new identity." He leaned closer, his voice dropping lower. "But you'll work for me."

A cold feeling spread through my chest. "Doing what?"

"You're smart, Winnie. You know how to survive. You know how to make men want you." He paused. "I need women like you. Not the kind who kneel, but the kind who learn how to make others kneel instead."

I swallowed hard. His words were coated in poison, but for the first time in my life, someone was offering me something more than suffering.

A choice.

A risk.

A chance.

I could stay. I could keep rotting under my stepmother's control, watching my body waste away in a life that had already stolen everything from me.

Or I could take his hand and step into the unknown.

I met his gaze, steady and unflinching.

"What do I have to do?"

His smirk widened.

"Come with me, and I'll show you."

And just like that, my fate was no longer my own.