CHAPTER 5: SHADOWS AND PAYMENTS

Sophia’s POV

I slowly adjusted myself in the cold, dark room.

A grimace crossed my face as I felt the pain coursing through my body, through the core of my femininity. I couldn’t stop the tears from falling.

Was it because I had become a woman for hire? Or was it because of the things he whispered to me all night?

When we left the bathroom last night, he claimed me again and again. He seemed never satisfied in humiliating me.

He slept soundly on his stomach, oblivious to the torment he had inflicted. Even now, I couldn’t bear to look at his face—and I didn’t want to. Thank God for this dark, red-hued room.

I stood and went to the bathroom, locking the door behind me. I turned on the light. Mirrors covered every wall, and in their reflection, my body revealed the marks of every strike and bite: my arms, wrists, the backs of my shoulders, my hips, thighs, and buttocks. There were kisses across my chest and a few on my neck.

I slumped onto the floor and let myself cry. I felt so weak.

What crime had I committed to deserve this? I tried to be a good daughter and sister, so why… why did I have to go through this?

I whispered apologies to my mother, wishing she could somehow undo the horrors of last night.

Minutes passed as I hugged myself, trying to rebuild the fragments of my being, knowing it was nearly impossible. I swore to myself that I would never let this happen again.

I turned on the shower and scrubbed myself relentlessly, hoping the soap could cleanse not just my body, but the filth that seemed embedded in my very soul. It didn’t work. No amount of washing could erase it.

I don't know how much time I spent cleaning my self.

Eventually, I rose, determined to leave the room. I didn’t know how to face him—or anyone. I twisted the doorknob, took a deep breath, and stepped into the light of the bright room.

Sunlight poured through the curtains, reflecting off the black-and-red ceiling. I searched for him, but the cold air greeted me alone.

Thank God.

I noticed scattered money on the floor and picked it up. Then, my eyes fell on the red stains on the white bedsheets. I sat down on the bed, my stomach twisting. I am a paid woman now…low woman. A prostitute..

“Friend…” Emma’s voice called from the door. She rushed forward and hugged me tightly. Over and over, she apologized. I hugged her back.

“Are you okay? Really… I’m so sorry.”

I forced a smile and stood, collecting the scattered bills—over fifteen thousand pesos. I stared at the amount, numb. Is this the price of my suffering last night?

“Is this all I’m worth?” I whispered looking on the money I'm holding.

“F-Friend!” Emma cried, holding a piece of paper she grabbed from the table.

I turned to her.

“Why?” I asked.

“This isn’t it!” she exclaimed, showing me the check—five hundred thousand pesos, made out to my name from Alexander Sy.

“Is this… real?” I asked, trembling.

Who's... Alexander Sy??

Emma shook her head in disbelief. “Friend, you’re worth so much more! What did he make you do last night to pay this much?”

I felt a strange, conflicted relief, but also lingering disgust.

“I’m going to change and head to the hospital,” I said.

Emma hurried to gather my clothes while I draped a jacket over my bruises and let my long hair cover my neck.

Emma confirmed with Momshie that the money was more than enough. “Next time, if you ever need it, just come to me!” the woman had said.

“No, Momshie. It won’t happen again,” Emma reassured.

We withdrew the money at the bank and quickly used it to buy blood for my sister’s surgery. That night, she underwent the operation, and I focused solely on her recovery, trying to erase the memory of that dark night.

Over a month passed at the hospital. Friends and family helped us, paying off debts as my sister healed. Jerome and Emma accompanied us home, and we managed to secure a small house through careful planning, renovations, and saving.

Now, sitting on the terrace with Emma and Arnie, I allowed myself a brief sense of peace. Emma nudged me, smiling.

“See? That night was a blessing in disguise.”

I nodded, smiling genuinely. “Yes. Just… don’t let it happen again.” Emma said.

We laughed and joked, easing the tension that had clung to us for so long.

Ethan’s POV

I sat in my swivel chair, biting my thumb as I tried to make sense of the past three months.

“Please, Ethan… let me go.”

“I want you back, Sab.” I had gone to the house I bought for Sabrina, my mind consumed by her. I knew I was losing my sanity—hell, I was crazy.

“And then what? You’ll complain again, or make your mother pay me again? You know why I accepted the money. You hurt me so damn much!”

“I’m sorry, baby… please…” I reached for her hand, but she pulled away, packing her things.

I followed her to the bar I frequented to forget. A man approached and offered me pills. I paid without hesitation, chasing the high. I needed to feel alive.

Then she appeared—a stunning woman, smiling provocatively in the dim light.

“What’s your name?” I asked, my body high on drugs and desire.

“Sabrina,” she said, dancing with a careless grace.

The night spiraled into chaos. My anger, my lust, my need for revenge all collided. I lost control. I left the room in shambles, the evidence of my rage—and hers—scattered across the bed.

Morning came. The harsh light revealed what I had done. Blood on the sheets, torn pieces of clothing, a memory that refused to fade. Panic surged. Did I just destroy a life?

I dialed Alex's number.

"Bro! you're interrupting me-"

"I need your cheque right now."

"What the hell! how much?!"

"Just fucking get your ass here."

I quickly wrote a check—five hundred thousand pesos—trying to atone, to somehow balance the scales. Alexander arrived shortly after, reminding me that she was a virgin and that everything had been documented. Then we storm out of the room without looking back.

"What the actual fuck! half a million? For a lay? Is her pussy build with gold and diamonds?!" he joke.

I stared at him coldly. His eyes furrowed.

"What the fuck did you do, Bruh!"

"I..fuck! I hurt her. I was..fucking high on drugs -"

"What the fuck! Did you kill her?"

"Hell no! She just needs money! that's all."

I bite my lower lip as I stared on her portfolio Alex has given me.

Her name… Sophia Soledad. My heart stopped.

I looked at her photos: smiling, simple, working at an orphanage sponsored by my mother. The coincidence stunned me. But why? Why Sophia?

Alexander handed me coffee. “You look frustrated, Bro. Is she okay?”

I struggled for words. “Did I ruin her life? Was she… sold?”

“Relax. She’s fine. So, do you know her?”

“Kinda,” I admitted.

Alexander smirked. “Then stop overthinking and face it. Look in the mirror, Bruh. You’re acting like a dog.”

I wasn’t this aggressive before. It got worse after Sabrina left me, and also because of the painful passage of time.

Like me, she’s also a victim. What hurts is that I became the one victimized by her. Judging by the expression in her eyes, she’s a good woman. That makes me even more uneasy.

Even though Alex said she wasn’t sold by her worthless father, I can’t find peace. I need to go to her and talk to her. I don’t want Mommy to find out about this, or for it to come out in the media. The secret I’m guarding cannot be exposed.

I sighed, coat in hand. It was time. Time to face what I had done. Time to make amends—or as close as I could get.

“Let’s go,” I said, finally standing.

"Woah, really? You wanna see her? You already pay her."

"I just need to settle this."

Alexander followed silently. Whatever happened next, I had to fix it.

Her innocent eyes keep flashing in my mind over and over.

Damn it! It feels like I’m being sentenced to prison by those very eyes!

I know that no matter what I do, I won’t find peace.

I’ve felt this before, though I can’t remember when.

There’s only one person I think of—Vera Mia. She fuck with my head with just her touch.

But now… it’s different.

I can’t understand myself.

If I don’t fix this now, it’s definitely going to be a huge mess. My system is fucked up right now. I don’t want to make it worse.

Every word cuts deeper than the last.

Every look feels like judgment. I’ve learned to flinch before anyone even raises a hand. Trust is a joke—love, a trap. My own body is a map of reminders, scars I can’t hide, memories I can’t erase.

And yet… I still feel something, somewhere, that wants to believe it could be different. But I don’t know if I can survive being let down again.

To be continued…