Vincenzo

He promised he'd repay every cent," the man continued, "and to make sure he wouldn't run off, he used you as collateral."

The world tilted. "No. No, that's not true. He wouldn't do that. Not my father."

"He said you were young, healthy, and… marketable," the man added coldly.

She stumbled back, nearly falling again. "Why would he need that much money? If he had it, why didn't he invest it? Why didn't he pay off our debts or—" Her voice cracked. "Why didn't he help me?"

Before she could say anything else, a third man rushed in with a phone pressed to his ear. "Hey," he said to the others, his face serious, "we've got news."

They all turned toward him.

It's about Alessandro Corsetti," he said, then paused. "They found him. Looks like he left the country three days ago. Disappeared right after he wired the last request."

Her stomach dropped.

He ran.

He didn't even look back.

He left her.

The men exchanged glances, then one of them muttered under his breath, "Coward."

As Diana stood there trembling, unable to process what she'd just heard, another man walked in holding a stack of papers.

"Here," he said, tossing the documents to the floor in front of her. "You wanted proof? There's your proof."

She slowly sank to her knees, her fingers shaking as she picked them up. They were damp, smeared, and creased—but still legible.

Her father's name.

Her name.

The loan agreement.

The repayment clause.

The forfeiture section, which spelled out exactly what would happen if he failed to deliver the money.

She held the papers close, gripping them like they were something sacred and fragile at the same time. Her fingers clutched at the ink like they could change what was written.

"Why…?" she whispered, more to herself than anyone else. "Why would you do this to me, Dad? Why?"

Tears spilled freely now.

She didn't care who saw.

She wasn't just hurt. She was shattered.

The man who gave her life had handed her over like a pawn. Like she was nothing more than a bargaining chip.

And then, another phone rang.

The room went quiet.

One of the men answered.

"Yes, sir."

A pause.

"No. We didn't find the father. He's fled the country."

Another pause.

"Yes. But we have the girl. The collateral."

She heard the tone shift in his voice, suddenly sharper. "Understood. We'll bring her now."

He ended the call.

"Let's go," he barked. "The boss is waiting."

They blindfolded her again and shoved her toward the door. She didn't resist. She didn't scream.

There was no point.

The ride was long and silent.

Diana didn't ask questions anymore. Her hands were bound, her ankles stiff from being forced to sit in the same position, and her spirit—what was left of it—hung on by a fraying thread.

Eventually, the vehicle came to a slow stop. Doors opened. She was dragged out.

The blindfold was still in place, but she could feel the change in air. It wasn't damp and rotten like before. It smelled... clean. Sharp. Polished floors. A touch of perfume in the distance. And beneath it all—a metallic scent she couldn't place.

The kind that made her skin crawl.

Her heels clicked as she was led down what sounded like a long corridor. Echoes of faint voices. Doors creaking. A low hum of anticipation in the air.

They stopped.

"Room Three," one of the men muttered. Keys jingled. A lock turned.

Then she was shoved forward.

The cloth was ripped off her eyes.

Diana blinked at the sudden flood of light. The room wasn't a room at all—it was a holding space. Industrial, cold, and brutal. Multiple cages lined the walls, each one holding a woman.

Some were sitting silently in corners.

Some were dressed like dolls.

Some looked barely conscious.

A chill swept through Diana's body.

No.....she whispered.

Before she could react, she was pulled toward an empty cage. The metal door opened, and she was shoved inside.

She stumbled, catching herself against the cold bars. "You can't do this. You can't—"

The door slammed shut behind her.

"Prepare her," one man barked. "Auction starts in ten."

A woman entered—beautiful, soulless eyes, carrying folded clothes and a black blindfold.

"I suggest you cooperate," the woman said calmly. "The others didn't, and you don't want to end up like them."

Diana didn't move at first.

But she didn't fight either.

She was numb.

They changed her into a barely-there silk dress—dark red, almost like blood. Then tied the blindfold back over her eyes.

She heard the other girls being led out.

Then her turn came.

She was hauled back to her feet and led through another narrow hallway.

Voices grew louder. Music echoed faintly.

She was on display now.

She didn't need sight to feel the eyes crawling over her skin.

When they ripped the blindfold off, she was already standing in a glass cage.

The spotlight hit her first—hot, humiliating. Her cage was positioned in the center of an elevated platform. Surrounding her in a perfect ring were masked men in tuxedos and shadowed faces. Power oozed from their silence. Money gleamed from their watches.

Diana's breath came in short, clipped bursts.

An announcer's voice sliced through the air.

"Lot 7B," he began. "Age twenty-two. Beautiful. Educated. Fiery temper, and as of this morning... untamed."

Laughter rose from the crowd.

Her stomach turned.

"Let's begin bidding at twenty million."

"Twenty-five," someone called.

"Thirty."

"Forty-five."

"Sixty."

The number rose with every breath.

Diana gripped the bars of the cage, heart slamming against her ribs.

Then came a pause.

A silence that rang louder than any noise.

And then—calm, deep, distinct:

"Four hundred million."

Gasps rippled through the room.

Even the announcer stumbled. "I… uh… Four hundred million. Do I hear more?"

Silence.

Dead silence.

"No further bids," the announcer confirmed, voice slightly shaky. "Sold. Four hundred million to the gentleman in black."

A man stood from the back row.

He wore a black tuxedo. A velvet mask. Leather gloves. No words. No expression.

Just a slow, deliberate nod.

The guards opened her cage.

She didn't move.

She couldn't.

They grabbed her arms and pulled her forward. Through the sea of hungry stares. Toward the man in black.

Diana's eyes scanned his figure, her heart stuttering.

There was something about him.

The way he stood. The shape of his jaw. The silence around him.

No.

It couldn't be.

But deep down, she knew.

It was him.

The stranger who had taken her body just a night ago.

The man whose voice still echoed in her bones.

Vincenzo.

But she didn't know yet.

Not really.

Not until he wanted her to.

And he would.

Oh, he would.