He sold me
Diana frowned slightly as she unlocked the front door. The house was silent.
Dad wasn't home?
She stepped inside, kicked off her heels, and let her purse drop onto the hook by the door. Her feet were sore, and her brain still ached from everything—last night, this morning, and her mother's voice still echoing in her head.
She walked barefoot into the kitchen, grabbed a bottle of cold mineral water from the fridge, and drank half of it in one breath.
It chilled her from the inside out, cooling the lingering heat from everything Vincenzo had done to her body. She exhaled and made her way upstairs.
"Dad?" she knocked on the study door on the second floor. "Are you home?"
Nothing.
The door was shut, as usual. Probably out gambling again.
She let out a bitter laugh.
Of course he was. What else did he ever do?
When his company collapsed and the debts mounted, he didn't get help. He just started gambling more. Smoking more. Drinking more. Like running from his failures was the only thing he knew how to do.
And somehow, Diana ended up the one carrying the weight for everyone.
She grabbed her phone and tried calling him again. Straight to voicemail.
"Useless," she muttered, tossing the phone onto the bed.
She wanted to tell him about Sara. About how his precious youngest daughter was now sleeping with her ex-boyfriend. But why even bother?
Ever since the divorce, Mom had kicked him out. And now Diana was stuck living with the ghost of a father who'd rather bet on blackjack than show up for his own daughters.
She needed a shower. She needed to get him and everyone else out of her head.
She pulled out her pajamas and headed into the bathroom, stripping along the way.
The hot water ran over her skin, loosening the tension in her shoulders and the tight ache between her legs. Her thoughts wandered—back to Vincenzo.
His voice. His grip. The way he made her feel like she wasn't invisible for once.
Then guilt.
Then heat again.
She shook her head and closed her eyes.
Stop thinking about it, Diana.
He's gone. One night. That's it.
She was reaching for her towel when her phone buzzed on the counter.
Still dripping wet, she wiped her hands and picked it up, expecting maybe a message from work—or maybe even from Dad finally calling back.
But the name on the email made her breath freeze.
Andrea.
She opened it with trembling fingers.
The subject line was blank.
There was only a video.
She hesitated, then pressed play.
And immediately wished she hadn't.
It was a dimly lit hotel room. The camera was shaky at first, then it settled.
Andrea's voice laughed behind the phone.
And then Sara—her little sister—came into frame, giggling, naked beneath the sheets.
Andrea moved in behind her. He kissed her shoulder. She moaned softly. Then the sheets fell completely.
Diana couldn't watch more.
She slammed the phone face down on the sink, heart racing, bile rising up her throat.
What the actual hell?
Her stomach twisted so hard she nearly fell over. Her skin crawled like it was trying to tear itself off her.
They were in bed together. Laughing. Recording it like it was a goddamn joke.
She wanted to scream.
Instead, she stared at her reflection in the mirror. Wet hair clinging to her face. Eyes rimmed with disbelief.
She didn't cry.
She didn't speak.
She just grabbed her towel and slowly dried off.
No more. No more tears. No more begging to be seen.
She changed into a loose T-shirt and high-waisted jeans, shoved everything into her work bag, and left the house without another thought.
The ride to work was a blur.
She stared blankly out the window as the streets rolled past, the city moving on like nothing had happened. Like the world hadn't just crumbled under her feet again.
By the time she reached the company building, she felt... numb.
Her fingers wrapped around the strap of her bag as she crossed the street toward the main entrance.
She was just a few feet from the door when it happened.
A black SUV screeched to a halt at the curb.
She barely turned her head before two men in dark clothes leapt out. Everything moved too fast.
"Hey—!"
One grabbed her by the waist. The other covered her mouth before she could scream.
"Shh."
Then she did the only thing she could—she brought her knee up, hard, into one of their groins.
"FUCK!" the man groaned, stumbling back in agony.
She didn't wait. She turned and ran as fast as she could, her breath ragged, heart hammering in her chest. But she barely made it past the next block before she felt a violent tug.
A hand gripped her hair and yanked her back so fiercely that she nearly lost her footing. Her neck snapped backward from the force, and she cried out.
"Thought you could get away, huh?" the man growled into her ear.
"LET ME GO!" she screamed, scratching and kicking as hard as she could.
But the other one—recovering from her earlier blow—stormed over, his fury written all over his face. Without warning, he slammed his fist into her stomach.
Pain exploded through her abdomen. Her breath vanished. She doubled over.
Then came the final hit—a sharp crack to the side of her head—and the world turned black.
She woke to the shock of cold water splashing across her face.
She gasped, choking and sputtering as her body jerked to life. Her hair was soaked, dripping into her eyes. Her hands were bound tightly behind her back. Every part of her throbbed with pain.
"Finally awake, princess?" a voice sneered from somewhere above her.
She looked around. Her vision was still adjusting, but the smell hit first: strong bleach, stale air freshener, and old mildew. She was indoors, lying on cold tiles. Her clothes clung to her skin, damp and uncomfortable.
"Where… where am I?" Her voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.
The man didn't answer. Instead, he grabbed her roughly by the arm and pulled her to her feet. Her knees wobbled, and she stumbled into his chest.
"LET ME GO!" she yelled, struggling against his grip. "THIS IS KIDNAPPING! YOU CAN'T DO THIS TO ME!"
A sharp slap cut across her cheek.
"Shut the hell up," he snapped. "You think anyone's coming for you?"
She bit down on her lip, tears stinging her eyes, but she didn't let them fall.
Another man walked in. "She's a mess. Get her cleaned up. Change her into something decent. Boss wants her in Room Three."
"I'm not going anywhere," she hissed, even though her voice trembled.
The second blow hit her in the ribs. She folded over, gasping.
"You don't get to say no," the first man muttered. "Your daddy made sure of that."
His words sent a chill through her. "What are you talking about?" she asked shakily. "What does my father have to do with this?"
The man looked at her, then laughed bitterly. "Oh, you don't know?"
He took a step closer. "Your father—Alessandro Corsetti—borrowed two hundred million dollars from our boss. He said he'd pay it back in a year."
Her mouth went dry.
"That's not possible," she said, shaking her head. "That's… that's an insane amount of money."