Come Back to Me

The brothel owner sat with Gay, Nick, and Dylan—the family's trusted legal counsel—in a dimly lit office that stank of cigar smoke and sweat. The room was draped in velvet decay, with furniture that pretended to be luxurious but was rotting from within. Outside, muffled cries and laughter pulsed like a heartbeat through the crimson walls.

Tension crackled in the air like static.

Nick sat on the edge of explosion, his fists clenched, jaw locked, breathing like a storm held back by sheer force of will. Gay stood nearby, ready to intervene if needed, while Dylan tried to keep the discussion as civil—and legal—as possible.

—"The fact is," Dylan said, voice sharp and steady, "you are unlawfully holding an aristocrat who was declared missing and presumed abducted seven years ago. Her name is Sara Valtieri-Archer. Her case is recorded, archived, and sealed by the royal courts. You are facing charges of kidnapping, human trafficking, and—"

The brothel owner raised a hand, laughing dryly.

—"You people really have no idea, do you?" he interrupted. "That woman was delivered here through an official transfer. I paid handsomely for her six months ago—straight from a known agency."

He leaned forward, indifferent to the fury in the room.

—"Since then, she's never said a word. Not one. She doesn't eat unless commanded, doesn't speak unless asked, and never resists. She's the perfect sexual slave. A masterpiece."

That was it.

Nick lunged.

His hands grabbed the man by the collar and slammed him into the wall so hard the framed picture beside him shattered on impact.

—"I'll kill you for what you've done to her, you sick bastard!"

—"I—I didn't do anything!" the man choked, squirming. "I don't know what happened before she came here! I swear!"

Dylan and Gay pulled Nick back before he lost control entirely.

Through clenched teeth, Nick gave Gay the order.

Burn it. Burn it all.

Dylan negotiated the woman's release. Legally, she had no identification anymore—no name, no rights—but the documents Dylan held carried enough weight to force compliance. The brothel owner, trembling now, signed the papers.

But it wouldn't save him.

Outside the office, Gay was already making calls. He gathered the others—Shaco, Satino, and two more from the old days. The order was clear:

Erase everything. Everyone.

Nick, meanwhile, took Sara in his arms.

He had brought clothes for her—a soft dress, a warm coat, boots lined with fur. But she didn't dress herself. She simply stood, eyes wide and hollow, while Nick dressed her as if she were a doll carved from porcelain.

She didn't speak.

She didn't flinch.

She didn't recognize him.

Nick held her gently as they walked out of that den of corruption and into the night. His heart broke with every breath she took, every step she made without awareness.

She was alive.

But she was not Sara.

Not yet.

He took her to the best private clinic in the aristocratic sector, where only the elite were treated. Adam, the most skilled doctor in the region, and Irina, a world-renowned psychiatrist, were waiting.

Sara was immediately admitted.

She was physically frail, mentally fractured, emotionally obliterated.

But she was not beyond saving.

Nick didn't leave her side. He set up a bed in the corner of her room. He only stepped away to see Ana and Anthony for brief moments—just long enough to reassure them with kisses, stories, and lullabies.

Back in the clinic, he would return to the silence of the woman he loved.

He would speak to her.

He would brush her hair.

He would clean the tears that fell from her eyes in sleep.

She never responded. Not even when he begged.

One evening, desperate, Nick gently held her cheeks in his hands and tried to meet her gaze.

—"Sara," he whispered, voice breaking. "Please… please see me."

She blinked once. And then, in a soft whisper, she spoke:

—"I'm a sexual slave. I can offer you exquisite pleasure."

She leaned in to kiss him, her movements automatic.

Nick pulled back.

Tears spilled down his cheeks. He turned away, crushed. This… wasn't her. This was programming. A response etched into her soul by cruelty.

A few days later, Adam returned with test results.

—"She's malnourished," he said. "But nothing irreversible. Her physical condition will improve. But everything else…" He exhaled slowly. "That's beyond me."

Irina, on the other hand, dove deep into Sara's psyche.

She crossed the labyrinth of pain.

She whispered to the parts of Sara no one else could reach.

Until one day, Sara screamed.

She thrashed, cried, tried to throw herself from the bed. It took four nurses to restrain her. Her sobs echoed like thunder. Her mind had awakened to the horrors buried inside—and it wanted to die rather than face them.

They had to sedate her.

Again and again.

—"Her mind was shattered," Irina told Nick, removing her gloves. "I won't lie to you. This will be a long road. But she's still in there. I've seen it. I've felt it. She screams for you when she's sedated."

Nick looked into the room as Sara slept, her brow furrowed, her lips moving silently.

He entered the room, wiped her tears gently.

—"I love you," he whispered against her forehead. "I love you so much, Sara. I'll stay right here. I'll bring you back."

—"N-Nick…" she whispered in her sleep. Her hands twitched.

—"Sara, I'm here. I saved you, and I'll save you again. Please… come back to me."

—"Nick… help me…" she breathed.

She woke a few hours later.

And she didn't recognize him.

Again.

Every time someone tried to touch her, she'd scream and lash out—biting, hitting, sobbing. She trembled violently. But it wasn't rage.

It was terror.

Her mind was pulling her back into reality, and the reality it offered was unbearable.

She didn't want to heal.

She didn't want to return to a world that had let her be destroyed.

And yet Nick stayed.

Irina never left her side.

And slowly, day by day, they worked to rebuild what had been broken.

—"We'll heal her, Nick," Irina promised. "We'll bring her back. But if she falls into the hands of that agency again, you won't get a third chance."

Nick's jaw tightened.

—"There won't be a third time. I promise you. This ends now."

Later that night, flames consumed the brothel.

Every man who had touched her—every monster who had fed off her pain—was swallowed by fire.

And no one mourned.

It was called a business dispute by the underground.

A cleansing by those who whispered about vengeance.

To Nick, it was justice.

But the true battle still remained—

restoring Sara's soul.