01.

༒ ℑ𝔪𝔯𝔞𝔫༒

“Say my name, Gattino.”

His voice came out low, smooth, and controlled, the kind that didn’t need to be loud to make your body react. It wrapped around me, heavy and dangerous, as his body pressed mine deeper into the mattress.

I could feel the weight of him, solid and unyielding, hovering just enough to remind me that I wasn’t going anywhere unless he allowed it.

I swallowed, my throat dry, my chest rising and falling too fast. Even thinking his name felt like stepping into something I couldn’t come back from.

His hand pinned my wrist above my head, not rough, not painful, just firm enough to remind me who was in control. The other slid slowly along my side, fingers dragging in a way that made my skin heat up against my will. Every touch was deliberate, like he was studying me, learning how I reacted without me saying a word.

“Say it,” he murmured again, his face closer now, his breath warm against my lips.

I turned my head slightly, trying to create space, but it only made things worse. His nose brushed against my jaw, his lips hovering just close enough to make my heart stutter.

God.

This was wrong.

Everything about this was wrong.

I wasn’t supposed to be here. I wasn’t supposed to be under him like this, reacting like this, feeling like my body had already betrayed me. My fingers tightened against the sheets as I forced out his name, barely above a whisper.

Something dark flickered in his eyes, something satisfied, like I had just given him exactly what he wanted. A small smile tugged at his lips, slow and knowing, and it made my stomach twist in a way I didn’t understand.

“Good boy,” he said softly.

The words sent heat rushing through me, sharp and unexpected, and I hated how my body reacted to it. Before I could think, before I could stop him or even stop myself, his lips crashed into mine.

Who would've thought that one night with this stranger will turn him into this possessive freak? Still it was wrong, yet it somehow feels right…

~~

A week ago, my life was already falling apart in a way I couldn’t fix, no matter how hard I tried to think my way out of it. The knocking on my door came again, louder this time, aggressive enough to make the wood shake, and I just sat there on the floor with my back pressed tightly against the wall, my breath stuck somewhere between my chest and my throat like even breathing too loud would give me away.

“Open the door, Imran!”

My heart slammed against my ribs so hard it actually hurt. They were back. Of course they were. I didn’t move, didn’t make a sound, didn’t even shift my weight, because in that moment it felt like the smallest movement would betray me.

Another bang followed immediately, louder, more impatient.

“Don’t pretend you’re not inside!”

I squeezed my eyes shut, my fingers tightening around my phone as my whole body went tense, like I was bracing for something worse than just knocking. I kept asking myself the same question over and over again—how did it get this bad?

Because a few months ago, yeah, things were hard, but they weren’t like this. I was just trying to survive like every other student, dealing with classes, part-time work, bills that never seemed to end. It wasn’t easy, but it was manageable. I still had some kind of control over my life.

Then my father disappeared, just like that, without warning, without explanation, without even the decency to leave a message behind. He didn’t just leave either, he left a mess so big I didn’t even know where to start. Debts, and not the kind you can slowly chip away at. These were debts tied to people you don’t ignore, people who don’t care about excuses, people who don’t care that I wasn’t the one who borrowed the money. To them, I was just the next available thing to collect from.

His son.

That was enough.

Another loud knock made me flinch despite myself, my shoulders tightening as the voice on the other side came again, sharper this time. “Last warning!”

My chest tightened because the truth was simple, I didn’t have the money. Not even close. I barely had enough to keep myself afloat, to stay in school, to eat something that wasn’t instant noodles every day. So what exactly did they expect me to do? Sell my organs? Disappear like he did?

The silence that followed felt worse than the knocking. It stretched out, heavy and uncomfortable, making me listen harder, my ears straining for any sound that might tell me they were still out there. Seconds passed, then minutes, and each one dragged long enough to make me question if they were just waiting for me to slip up. Then finally, I heard footsteps, slow at first, then fading away.

Even then, I didn’t move. I couldn’t trust it that easily. I stayed where I was, pressed against the wall, counting quietly in my head just to give myself something to focus on, waiting for any sign that they might come back. When nothing happened, when the silence stayed real this time, I finally let out a breath, my body loosening slightly as the tension started to drain out of me.

I leaned forward, resting my forehead against my knees, my hand still gripping my phone like it was the only thing keeping me grounded. I was screwed, completely and fully, and no amount of thinking was going to change that. There was no plan, no backup, no one coming to fix this for me.

My phone ringing made me jump, the sound too loud in the quiet room, and I stared at the screen for a second before answering, already knowing who it was.

“Hello?”

“Imran, where have you been?” Pierre’s voice came in immediately, sharp with concern and just a little bit of irritation. “I’ve been calling you all day.”

I let out a dry laugh that didn’t sound like me at all. “Yeah… sorry. I’ve been busy.”

“Busy doing what?”

I hesitated, then sighed because there was no point pretending with him. “I’m in trouble.”

There was a short pause, then, “What kind of trouble?”

“The bad kind.”

“Explain.”

So I did. I told him everything, not leaving anything out this time, from my father disappearing to the debts, to the men showing up at my door like they already owned me. By the time I was done, the line went quiet, and for a second I thought maybe the call had dropped.

“Pierre?” I called.

“I’m here,” he said quickly, his voice lower now, more serious. “I’m just thinking.”

“Yeah? Any bright ideas?” I asked, even though I already knew the answer.

He ignored that. “I can help you with some of the money.”

I frowned, sitting up a little straighter. “What do you mean?”

“Not all of it, but… maybe half.”

I let out a short breath, shaking my head even though he couldn’t see me. “Half is still a lot, Pierre.”

“I know.”

“Then why would you even say that like it’s small?”

“Because you’re my friend,” he said simply, like that explained everything.

It kind of did, and that was the problem. My throat tightened a little, and I rubbed the back of my neck, feeling uncomfortable with the idea. “I can’t let you do that.”

“You’re not letting me do anything. I’m choosing to.”

“It’s too much.”

“Imran,” he sighed, a bit of frustration slipping into his voice now, “we’ll figure it out, okay? There are other ways to get money.”

“Like what?” I asked, already suspicious because of the way he said it.

There was a pause, small but noticeable.

“What?” I pressed.

“It’s probably nothing,” he said quickly. “Just something the guys at the club were talking about.”

“What guys? What were they saying?”

“It’s stupid. Forget it.”

“No, tell me.”

Another pause, longer this time, like he was debating if he should even say it.

“There’s this site,” he said finally. “Underground. People make money there.”

My grip on the phone tightened slightly. “Doing what?”

He hesitated again, and that hesitation told me everything before he even said it.

“Pierre.”

“It’s not something you should consider,” he said quickly. “I shouldn’t have even mentioned it.”

“What do they do on the site?” I asked, quieter now, even though I already knew where this was going.

“They get paid… for company. For spending time with people.”

I let out a small, humorless laugh. “You mean sex.”

He didn’t respond.

“That’s not for me,” I said immediately, shaking my head even though he couldn’t see me.

“Exactly. That’s why I said forget it.”

We talked for a bit after that, but I wasn’t really paying attention anymore. My mind was stuck on what he said, going over it again and again like it was trying to make sense of something I didn’t want to understand. After we ended the call, I just sat there for a while, staring at nothing, my thoughts running in circles.

The truth was simple. I didn’t have options. There was no miracle coming, no sudden solution that would make everything disappear. It was either I found a way to get the money, or those men would come back, and next time they wouldn’t just knock and leave.

I reached for my phone again before I could think too much about it, my fingers hovering over the screen for a second before I opened the browser. I told myself I was just curious, just looking, nothing more. It took a few tries to find it, digging through links and pages that didn’t look like much at first, but eventually I got there.

The site.

It looked normal, almost too normal, clean layout, simple design, nothing about it immediately screamed what it actually was. But the deeper I went, the clearer it became. Profiles, pictures, prices, people offering themselves like it was just another job you could sign up for.

I stared at the screen longer than I should have, my stomach twisting slightly. I almost closed it right there, almost convinced myself this was a bad idea and I should forget it. But then I remembered the knocking, the way my heart had nearly stopped each time, the way I had sat there helpless, waiting for them to leave like I had no control over my own life.

I couldn’t keep living like that.

So instead of closing it, I created an account, my movements slower now but steady. This didn’t mean anything, I told myself. It was temporary, just until I got the money, just until I could fix things. That was it.

That’s what I kept telling myself as I stared at the empty profile page.

I stood up after a moment, pulling off my shirt, hesitating just slightly before taking a quick picture. I made sure my face wasn’t fully visible, just enough to show my body and nothing more. It felt strange, uncomfortable in a way I didn’t want to think about, but I ignored it and uploaded it anyway.

Then came the price.

I stared at the empty space for a while because I didn’t know what to put. I didn’t know what I was worth, and the thought alone made something in my chest tighten in a way I didn’t like. Still, I pushed it down and typed in a number, something that felt both too high and not enough at the same time.

I looked at it for a long moment, knowing this was the point where I could still back out.

I didn’t.

My finger hovered for a second before I pressed confirm. And just like that, it was done.