CHAPTER 1: THE SALE

Point of view of Alaya

I will never forget that night.

The ground was wet, the rain fell like fine blades on the tin roof. I was sitting on the floor in our windowless room, curled up against the frayed mattress. Mom was coughing in a corner, her breath hoarse, broken, almost ghostly. She had lost weight. She barely spoke anymore. For weeks, she had looked at me with eyes filled with an anxiety she wouldn't share.

But that night... she spoke. And her words tore me away from what little innocence I had left.

— "You will understand one day, my daughter... I had no choice."

I didn't have time to ask "Understand what?"

Three sharp knocks on the door. Then the creaking of the old hinge. Three men, dressed in black. Closed faces, tinted glasses. The kind of guys who don't smile. Ever.

— "Alaya Okar?" one of them asked. His voice was deep, devoid of emotion.

I stood up, confused. One of them handed an envelope to my mother. She took it. I saw her hands trembling.

— "What is it?" I asked, my throat dry.

She didn’t answer.

The man in the leather coat turned to me:

— "Get ready. You're coming with us. You've been chosen."

Chosen? By whom? Why? My heart was racing. I took a step back.

— "I'm not going anywhere."

But two of them grabbed me like a sack of dirty laundry. I struggled, screaming, my nails scratching skin, my knees trying to hit. It was useless. My mother was crying. Silently. Guilty.

They dragged me outside, thrown into a black car with tinted windows. I screamed until I lost my voice. But no one came. No one ever comes for girls like me.

I don't know how long the trip lasted. Hours, maybe.

I watched the city lights fade, replaced by darkness, large gates, private roads, luxurious villas surrounded by silence.

When the car stopped, I was blinded by the white light of a monumental gate. I was pushed out of the vehicle. Two men escorted me into a huge building, cold and silent like a mausoleum.

The marble, the crystal chandeliers, the carved columns... everything shone. But nothing breathed life.

Then he entered.

Santino Ricci.

He didn’t need to speak to dominate the room. Tall, dark-haired, closely shaved. Dark suit, white shirt open over a gold chain. A steel gaze. Relentless. The smell of his presence made me feel nauseous.

He stared at me. Slowly. From top to bottom.

— "Virgin, then. Pretty. Wild. This will be entertaining," he breathed as if he were ordering a dish.

— "Who are you?! Why am I here?!"

He stepped closer. Too close. I could feel the leather of his jacket brush against my arm.

— "You are here because your mother chose her debts over you. And I paid for what is now mine."

A shiver ran down my spine.

— "You're lying. She would never..."

— "Oh yes, she did. And now, you will become my wife."

I laughed. A nervous, hysterical laugh.

— "Never. You can kill me, hit me, lock me up. I will never be yours."

He grabbed my chin. Hard.

— "You will learn quickly that in my world, that word does not exist. You are mine. Period."

He released my jaw and signaled to his guards.

— "Lock her in the upstairs suite. Prepare a dress for her. The wedding is tomorrow night."

I was still screaming when the doors closed behind me.

I was no longer a girl. I was not yet a woman. I was a trophy. An offering. A virgin sold to the mafia. And it was only the beginning.

I couldn't breathe anymore.

The walls of that room were too big, too white, too silent. They suffocated me. The smell of perfume in the silk sheets made my stomach churn. Every detail in that room screamed luxury... but I saw only a prison. A golden cage, where the bars were invisible but just as solid.

I was alone. Alone with my thoughts. Alone with my anger. Alone with that word echoing in my head without stopping:

Sold.

My eyes searched for an escape. A window, an exit, anything. And that’s when I saw it.

Sitting on a small dresser near the bed: a landline phone. Black, old, with a rotary dial.

My heart raced. My legs buckled, but I walked towards it. I grabbed it, as if it were the last buoy before drowning. My fingers trembled. I still remembered the number by heart. How could I forget? I had dialed it my whole life.

0-2-2… 91… 38… 06.

One beep. Two. Three.

— "Hello?"

His voice. My mother.

I froze. Tears burst forth before I could hold them back. I whispered:

— "Mom... it's me."

Silence. Then a choked breath.

— "Alaya...? My God..."

— "Why?"

My voice trembled. A mix of anger, hope, pain.

— "Why did you do this to me?! Why did you sell me?!"

I heard her tears, too.

— "I... I didn’t want to... I didn’t want to die, Alaya... I’m scared..."

— "I'm scared too! Do you think I’m not trembling?! Do you think it’s normal to wake up in a princess's room when I’ve just been ripped from my life like an animal?!"

She sobbed. Long. Then her voice returned, even more broken:

— "I am sick, Alaya. I can’t even breathe without pain. The medications... the bills... And you saw me. We weren’t eating anymore. You were just a child, I never knew how to protect you... And they offered me money, enough to survive..."

— "To survive? So you sacrificed me to survive a little longer?!" I spat, my throat tight.

— "I just wanted... to spare you. I didn’t know they would take you so quickly... I thought... maybe he would treat you well. That at least you would be fed, safe..."

I collapsed onto the bed. The phone against my cheek.

— "You could have told me... warned me... just that. You tore me away from myself. Without looking at me."

— "I’m sorry, my daughter... I wanted you to live. You are strong. You are everything I am no longer..."

I closed my eyes. Tears streamed down my temples.

— "You weren’t strong. You were selfish."

She didn’t respond. Just a breath. As if my accusation had killed her a second time.

I hung up. Slowly. My fingers released the receiver. And my arms, my back, my legs stopped fighting.

I curled up on the huge bed, feeling smaller than ever.

I no longer had a mother. I no longer had a home.

I was nothing but a body offered to a monster.