Spoil Me, My Mafia Lord

Isabelle felt as though all the blood in her body had turned to ice. Her hands trembled uncontrollably at her sides while her eyes slowly shifted toward Sebastian, hoping with every shattered piece of her heart that she had misunderstood what she had just heard. Yet the cold indifference on his face told her there was no misunderstanding at all. The man standing beside her was indeed Sebastian, her boyfriend of six years, the man she had loved with complete devotion, the man she had planned to marry, and he was discussing her future as if she were a commodity placed on display for bidding.

A violent sting rose behind her eyes, but Isabelle bit down hard on her lower lip, forcing herself not to cry in front of him. Rage, humiliation, and disbelief burned inside her chest until it became difficult to breathe. For six years she had believed every sacrifice he made for her was born out of love. She had believed his concern whenever she struggled financially, his willingness to support her studies, and the endless promises of a stable future together were proof that she had found a man worth trusting. Now every memory was turning poisonous in her mind, each act of kindness transforming into evidence that she had merely been a long-term investment.

"The client will be here soon," Sebastian said in a tone so casual that Isabelle's stomach lurched. There was even a trace of smug satisfaction in his eyes, as though he had accomplished something worth celebrating. "They will like you, and they should. I spent too much money building you into something valuable. It is only right that I get every cent back."

His words struck her harder than any slap. Isabelle looked at him, searching desperately for some flicker of remorse, some sign that the man she loved was still buried somewhere inside him, but there was nothing. Sebastian looked at her the same way merchants looked at luxury merchandise behind a glass display. In that instant, Isabelle understood with horrifying clarity that his love had never been real. She had not been his partner, nor his future wife. She had been a product he patiently polished until the day he could sell her at the highest price.

She clenched her fists so tightly that her nails dug into her skin, grounding herself against the dizziness threatening to consume her. Crying for him would be pointless. Begging him would be humiliating. Sebastian was no longer the gentle man she once knew, if that man had ever existed at all. He was a monster who had worn affection like a mask.

Around them, the ballroom glittered with unbearable beauty. Crystal chandeliers hung from the high ceiling, scattering golden reflections over the polished marble floors. Elegant guests laughed with glasses of champagne in hand while expensive perfume mixed with the rich scent of liquor. The music was loud enough to drown any hidden screams. To the outside world, it was a glamorous elite gathering, but to Isabelle it felt like she had been thrown into a den of predators dressed in designer suits.

Her breath caught when three men approached Sebastian. They were all broad and intimidating, each one dressed in black tuxedos that failed to soften the violence radiating from them. Their eyes landed on Isabelle immediately, and the way they looked at her made her skin crawl. There was no courtesy, no restraint, only the shameless examination of men assessing whether an item was worth its price.

"Is this the woman?" one of them asked.

Sebastian nodded with pride that made Isabelle want to retch. "Yes. Beautiful enough to make any man obsessed."

One of the men stepped closer, his gaze sliding from Isabelle's face to the curve of her waist. "The boss has been waiting ever since he saw the photos."

A wave of nausea twisted Isabelle's insides. Photos. The word alone made her feel violated in ways she had never imagined. She remembered countless moments when Sebastian had taken pictures of her, claiming he wanted to keep memories of the woman he loved. She had smiled for him, laughed for him, trusted him completely, never realizing those same photographs had been sent to strangers as samples for purchase.

"All the women you sold were good," another man commented with a low chuckle, "but this one looks expensive."

Sebastian reached out and gripped Isabelle's chin, lifting her face for them to inspect. "She is more than expensive," he said with disturbing pride. "Look at her body, her skin, her face. Men at the top will fight over her. And the best part is, she is still untouched. I never laid a finger on her."

The room around Isabelle spun. Every word that left Sebastian's mouth felt like acid being poured over her dignity. She yanked her face away, but the men only laughed, amused by her disgust and terror. At that moment, whatever remnants of love she still held for Sebastian were extinguished completely. There was nothing left except hatred so sharp it made her chest ache.

Without warning, the men grabbed her by both arms. Isabelle struggled immediately, twisting and trying to pull free, but their grips were merciless. She was dragged away from the dazzling ballroom toward a dark hallway where the music slowly faded behind her. The further they walked, the colder the air became. The luxurious sounds of celebration were replaced by the echo of hurried footsteps and Isabelle's uneven breathing.

At the end of the hallway stood a massive steel door. Isabelle's pulse pounded against her ribs so hard it hurt. Every instinct screamed at her that whatever waited behind that door would mark the beginning of the worst nightmare of her life.

The men pushed it open and hauled her inside.

The room that greeted her was both lavish and grotesque. A magnificent chandelier hung above, illuminating velvet furniture, gold-trimmed walls, and polished glass tables. Yet beneath all that luxury was a scene so vile Isabelle nearly collapsed. Half-naked men lounged carelessly around the room, some drunk, some laughing, others inhaling white powder from the tables. Several women were sprawled unconscious on the floor while a few sat in dazed silence, too numb to react to anything around them.

The entire place looked like a palace built for depravity.

Then Isabelle noticed him.

At the center of the room, elevated on a grand chair that resembled a throne, sat one man who looked entirely detached from the chaos around him. Unlike everyone else, he was fully clothed in an impeccably tailored black tuxedo. One hand rested lazily on the arm of the chair while the other held a cigarette between long fingers. Smoke curled around his face, giving him an almost unreal aura.

He did not need to move to command attention. His presence alone was enough to silence the room inside Isabelle's mind.

When his eyes settled on her, Isabelle felt a strange jolt run through her body. Those eyes were dark and unreadable, carrying a level of authority that made every other man in the room seem insignificant. She should have only felt fear, but for reasons she could not understand, there was also a disturbing flutter deep in her stomach.

A shirtless man approached her and roughly grabbed her cheek. "So this is Sebastian's prized merchandise," he sneered. "Beautiful enough to make any man lose control."

Before Isabelle could react, he shoved her to her knees. Pain shot through her legs as they hit the hard floor. Tears finally spilled down her cheeks as humiliation swallowed her whole.

"Do it," the man ordered.

His hand reached for her hair, but survival struck Isabelle with sudden force. She jerked away, scrambled to her feet, and ran toward the only man in the room who had not touched her.

She collapsed at his polished shoes, clutching his leg with trembling fingers as sobs tore out of her throat.

"Please," she begged brokenly. "Please help me. I will do anything. Just get me out of here."

For several agonizing seconds, the man did not respond.

Then Isabelle saw him rise.

He stood over her like a dark monument, broad-shouldered and composed, every movement carrying effortless control. He crouched and gripped her jaw, forcing her tear-filled eyes to meet his.

His face was devastatingly handsome, but there was nothing gentle about it.

"Then surrender your body," he said in a deep voice sharpened by a foreign accent. "Because your refusal means nothing here."

Isabelle stared at him through blurred vision. She knew this man was no savior, yet compared to the beasts behind her, he was the only wall standing between her and complete ruin.

Her body shook violently as she nodded.

"I will give you everything," she whispered with broken desperation. "My body, my soul, anything you want. Just save me from them."