Chapter 3 The Price of a Soul

Room 808, Sunrise Hotel.

The moment Keira walked in, she knew she had made a fatal mistake.

Martha wasn't there.

Instead, a grotesque, obese man sat at the table, his eyes raking over Keira's body like a predator looking at a piece of meat.

"Ms. Lynn," the man grinned, revealing yellow teeth. "You look even better than the photos."

Keira turned to leave, but two burly bodyguards blocked the door.

"Who are you? Where is my mother?" Keira demanded, backing away.

"Your mother?" The man, Brandon, laughed as he poured a glass of wine. "She's a smart businesswoman. She sold you to me. Three million dollars to cover the Lynn family debt. A fair price for an used toy."

The world spun. Sold. Her mother had sold her into prostitution to save the family company. To save Zoey's inheritance.

"I am not for sale," Keira hissed, her hands trembling.

"The money is already in her account," Brandon stood up, unbuckling his belt. "Now, be a good girl. I hear you've had surgery. Let's see if it was worth the money."

He lunged at her.

"No! Get away!" Keira screamed, grabbing a dinner plate and smashing it over his head.

The plate shattered, but Brandon only staggered back, furious. "You bitch!"

"Grab her!" he roared at the guards.

Keira was cornered. There was no way out. The guards were closing in.

She looked at the jagged shard of porcelain in her hand. Then she looked at Brandon's disgusting, lust-filled face.

She would not let him touch her. She would not be soiled again.

"Stay back!" she screamed.

"Or what? You'll cut me?" Brandon sneered.

"No," Keira's eyes burned with a terrifying madness. "I'll make sure you don't get what you paid for."

Without hesitation, she raised the shard and slashed it across her own face.

Blood sprayed. A deep, horrific gash opened from her cheekbone to her jaw.

"Holy shit!" Brandon recoiled in horror.

Keira didn't scream. She stood there, blood pouring down her neck, staining her white dress red, looking like a vengeful demon. She pressed the shard against her own throat.

"I'll do it," she said, her voice calm and deadly. "I'll cut my jugular next. Do you want a corpse, Brandon? Do you want a murder charge?"

The room went deathly silent.

Brandon was a pervert, but he wasn't a murderer. "You... you crazy psycho! Get her out of here! I don't want that bad luck!"

The guards stepped aside, looking at her with fear.

Keira didn't drop the shard. She kept it at her throat as she backed out of the room, step by step.

The moment she hit the hallway, she ran.

She ran until her lungs burned. She ran barefoot, her heels lost, her feet bleeding. She ran out of the hotel, into the cold night rain.

She didn't know where she was going. She just needed to get away.

Pain overwhelmed her. The cut on her face throbbed, blending with the agony in her head. Her vision began to tunnel.

She stumbled into a park, reaching the edge of a lake.

The water looked so peaceful. So dark.

Why not? The thought seduced her.

'No one wants me. My mother sold me. My husband hates me. I'm dying anyway.' She thought.

She took a step toward the water.

"Keira!"

A voice roared behind her. A powerful hand grabbed her arm, yanking her back from the abyss.

She spun around, colliding with a hard, warm chest. She looked up, trying to focus through the blood and rain.

A man. Tall. Powerful.

"Who..." she whispered.

"You idiot," the man's voice was shaking with rage and fear, "Did you think dying would solve anything?"

Keira couldn't hold on anymore. Her legs gave out.

"Help me..." she murmured, darkness finally claiming her.

When Keira opened her eyes again, the smell of antiseptic was gone. Replaced by the scent of lavender and expensive cologne.

She was in a soft bed. The pain in her face was a dull throb; she could feel bandages.

"You’re awake."

A familiar, kind voice.

Keira turned her head slowly. Standing there was Elodie, the head housekeeper of the Lynn family—the only person who had ever been kind to her as a child, before Martha fired her years ago.