Chapter 3

Where… where am I?

Keeping my eyes open was a struggle. 

My lashes fluttered as dim light pierced through the haze clouding my vision. My body  felt heavy.  

I tried to sit up—slowly, painfully. The room around me was barely lit. The air was musty, tinged with the scent of perfume, cigarette smoke and other things that weren't pleasant.  

I glanced down. The clothes I wore weren’t mine. A short silk slip clung to my skin. I didn’t remember changing.

The last thing I remember…

“Oliver!” I gasped, sitting up sharply as panic surged through me. My heart thundered in my chest.

Where was Mona? What was going on?

As my eyes adjusted, I became aware of a figure watching me from across the room. A girl—no, a woman, though not much older than me—stood with one hip cocked, arms folded, her skimpy outfit revealing more than it covered.

“Daddy’s little princess,” she drawled mockingly, sauntering toward me with a slow, deliberate sway.

I scrambled to move, to get out of her way, but I was too weak, too disoriented. Her heel came down sharply on my fingers.

“Ah!” I cried out, instinctively clawing at her legs in defense.

Without warning, a harsh slap crashed across my face. The force of it sent my head snapping sideways, and for a moment, all I could see were stars.

“Where’s daddy now, princess?” she sneered, her lips curled in cruelty.

I stared up at her, breath coming in ragged gasps, my cheek stinging and my pride burning hotter.

“Don’t you dare glare at me!” she shrieked, her voice going shrill. 

“You think you’re better than me? Just wait. An even worse fate’s waiting for you.”

She crouched, her eyes roving hungrily over me. “Those men outside? They’re dying to get their hands on you. They’re going to tear you limb from limb.”

Her gaze dropped to my arms, then my thighs, and she licked her lips. “Look at that smooth, pampered skin... must be nice, huh?”

Was she mad? Deranged? A wave of cold dread washed over me.

“I bet you were really taken care of,” she continued, her voice full of bitter resentment. “Silver spoons. Bodyguards. Perfume and pearls.”

Before I could respond, she lunged forward and yanked my hair, hard. Pain exploded across my scalp as I screamed, feeling like my entire skull might come apart.

With a grunt, she dragged me across the floor and flung me in front of a vanity. I crumpled at its base, my head pounding from the impact.

I saw my reflection, bruised.

“Look!” she hissed, yanking my hair so hard my neck snapped back.

“Let go,” I gritted, my scalp burning under her grip.

Her other hand clamped around my jaw, fingers digging into my cheeks as she forced my face upward, toward the mirror.

“Look at it, princess.” Her voice was venomous. “This is the last time you’ll ever see yourself like this—so pretty, so spotless, so scarless.” She sneered, hatred laced into every word.

Her breath was hot and sour against my skin. “The next time you catch a glimpse of that face, you’ll be ruined—soiled, broken, just as ugly as I am.”

“Let go!” I growled again, struggling against her, feeling helpless rage rise like bile in my throat. “I said—let me go!”

And then I did the only thing I could—I bit her.

Hard.

My teeth sank deep into the fleshy part of her hand near her thumb. She screamed in pain, wrenching away. 

“You little bitch!” she screeched, and before I could brace myself, her palm slammed across my cheek.

Pain exploded across my face as I was knocked to the floor. My head throbbed. My ears rang violently. My mouth filled with the coppery taste of blood, and I spat it out immediately, panting.

“Ugh,” she muttered with disgust, flexing her bleeding hand. “Look what you made me do now.”

She crouched down beside me again, grabbing a fistful of my hair to lift my head. Her fingers were slick and trembling with fury.

“Your smooth little face is already bruised,” she said mockingly, almost with pity, as her fingers trailed lightly over the swelling on my cheek. 

“You can’t take this, can you? I bet no one’s ever laid a hand on you before. Bet you’ve never been slapped that hard, never been touched without permission.”

She smiled darkly. 

“Well, get ready for a whole new world, sweetheart. Out there, everyone wants to get a piece of you. They’ll touch, grab, spank every inch of you as they please. Even your perfect, perky tits—especially those.”

She leaned in, her voice dropping to a bitter whisper.

 “Just like your dear daddy used to do to us.” Her laugh was sharp and joyless, scraping through the air like broken glass.

 “What can I say? The sins of the father… visited on the daughter.”

She drew back and spat in my face.

Without hesitation, I spat right back, hitting her square in the eye.

She gasped, stunned.

“You useless cunt!” she snapped, raising her hand high.

I braced myself for the impact, squeezing my eyes shut.

“Veronica!” a sharp voice rang out, cutting through the tension like a blade.

The blow never came.

“Don’t damage the merchandise,” the voice continued with cold disapproval.

In the blink of an eye, Veronica was yanked away. The room fell still again.

A woman stepped forward—older, poised, and dressed in sleek black. She reached down and helped me to my feet. Her touch was firm but clinical, like handling something fragile but not precious.

“You’re finally awake,” she muttered, more to herself than to me.

I was led down a narrow hallway into a smaller room. It was bare, save for a single plush chair in the center—soft, pink velvet, the kind that felt too luxurious for a place that reeked of captivity.

I was lowered into the seat like a doll.

“Get her dressed,” the woman commanded. “Full makeup. Cover every mark.”

She reached out and tilted my chin, inspecting the side of my face where Veronica had struck me. My busted lips. Her brows lifted slightly, amused.

“No... actually, leave it,” she said, a slow smirk forming on her lips. “The sight of her like this will drive them wild. The Montage prize possession, bruised and defiant. It’ll be a frenzy.”

Our eyes locked.

I stared at her, unmoving. Unyielding.

"Still with that defiant look," she mused silently, her smile deepening.

“I wonder how long you’ll keep it,” she said, stepping back. “How many days will it take to break the Montage princess?”

I said nothing. But I didn’t look away.

She turned toward the door, her heels echoing across the floor.

“For your sake,” she added over her shoulder, pausing just before exiting, “I hope you’re not sold to Enrique.”

She glanced back at me, her gaze glinting with something close to pity.

“Because if you are…” She smiled thinly. “You’ll be dead by tomorrow. That’s for sure.”

And with that, she was gone.

The girls set to work immediately.

I had so many questions, but no one answered.

“Who are you? What is this place? What’s going on?” I asked again, my voice barely above a whisper. Still, silence.

They didn’t even meet my eyes. They just kept working, brushing my hair, patting, forcing clothes over my head. 

I sat there limply, letting them doll me up like some lifeless mannequin. My body moved only when they needed it to. I didn’t resist. What was the point?

Moments later, the same woman returned—the one who had inspected me earlier.

Her eyes landed on the small mirror one of them had left on the floor. In an instant, she stormed across the room and snatched it up.

“Don’t be stupid!” she roared, her voice cracking through the air like a whip. “Never make mistakes like this again!”

The girls froze mid-motion.

She turned on them with a seething glare. “We don’t leave anything behind that she could use to hurt herself. How many times do I have to say it? Do you know how much that would cost? Would you be able to pay them?!”

I looked blankly. 

She glanced at me, her voice lowering into something more biting. “It happens all the time. Girls looking for the quick way out… thinking death is better than what’s coming. Thinking they can cheat the humiliation.”

Her gaze raked over me. “You don’t get that option.”

And just like that, she was gone.

End my life… The words echoed in my head. Strangely, the thought had never occurred to me.

Not even that night in the car, when I thought Oliver was trying to help me escape everything. I had panicked then. I had fought. I hadn’t wanted to die.

No. I still didn’t want to die.

I was led down another dimly lit hallway and into a new room.

It was filled with rows of girls, all dressed in revealing stripper outfits. Some were adjusting their tops in the mirror, others applying glitter to their eyelids, and a few simply sat there, their eyes hollow.

One girl turned toward me. “You a stripper?” she asked, raising a brow.

Another girl beside her snorted. “She doesn’t look like she belongs here.”

The first girl shrugged. “Oh.”

“What’s going to happen to me?” I asked, my voice dry and cracking.

The girl gave me a sympathetic glance. “An auction,” she said simply.

I blinked. “What?”

“You’ll be sold,” she replied, her tone flat. “Those are the two things that happen here—you either dance or you get auctioned. And since you’re clearly not here for one, you’re definitely here for the other.”

“Sorry,” she added after a moment, though her eyes said she’d seen too many like me to mean it fully.

“I’ve never seen the cage this packed before,” another girl said, trying to sound light. “Wonder if I’ll get good tips tonight.”

I wasn’t sure what broke me more—the nonchalance in her voice or the realization settling into my bones.

It was packed tonight.

Because of me.

Because I was the main event.

Because I was the item on display, the prize merchandise up for sale.