Chapter 1 The Cage

My life has always been a series of nightmares, each one more suffocating than the last.

My mother's death was the spark that lit the inferno of misery I now called life. I had watched her fade away slowly, powerless to stop the illness that took her away from me.

She had been my only shield, my protector, the only person who truly cared for me. And when she died, my world crumbled.

What came after was torture-the kind I couldn't have imagined even in my nightmares.

It started with my stepfather. A man who was supposed to care for me in her absence revealed himself to be a monster. He removed the facade of civility the moment her body was cold.

At first, it was harsh remarks, a cruel smirk when I tried to talk back, and an icy glare. But as time passed, his hatred for me grew, spilling over in waves of rage that he didn't bother to hide.

I became his punching bag.

His leather belt struck against my skin leaving marks that burned long after the beating.

The humiliation was worse. I could no longer go to school as my arms, legs, and back became a canvas of purple and angry red swells.

I stopped flinching after a while. It didn't matter anymore. Pain had become as familiar to me as breathing.

But the abuse wasn't enough to satisfy his need for control. He locked me in the basement for hours, sometimes days, without food. I grew used to the gnawing hunger that twisted my stomach into knots.

When he did feed me, it was with stale leftovers that barely kept me alive. He would stand over me as I ate, watching with a smug grin, reminding me that even my survival depended on his mercy.

And then there were 'punishments.' If I made a mistake or spoke out, he would force me to kneel for hours. My knees would scrape against the cold, hard floor until the skin was raw and bleeding. He'd pace back and forth, his voice a venomous hiss, spewing insults at me.

The blades came later. The first time he pressed a knife to my skin, I thought I was going to die.

The cold steel bit into my flesh, drawing blood that dripped down my arm in crimson streaks.

"This is a lesson," he said, his tone void of emotion.

The slices weren't deep enough to kill, but they scarred me physically and emotionally. My arms, legs, and back bore the evidence of his twisted idea of discipline.

I was nothing to him. Nothing but a burden. And when his debts grew too large to handle, he sold me.

I didn't know where I was going or what would happen to me. All I knew was that I was being handed over to men who saw me as nothing more than bought goods.

Their eyes were cold, devoid of humanity, as they dragged me into their world-a hidden underbelly of the society that I never knew existed.

The 'market,' as they called it, was a living nightmare. I was thrown into a cage, the metal bars cold against my skin.

The stench of fear hung heavy in the air, mingling with the salty tang of tears. Around me, other girls huddled in their own cages, their eyes hollow, their spirits broken.

Some cried softly, their sobs muffled by the oppressive atmosphere. Others sat in silence, staring blankly into the distance as if they had already given up.

I became one of them. Days bled into months, and time lost all meaning.

The traffickers barked orders at us, their voices cold, treating us like animals. Food was scarce, a piece of bread here, a sip of water there.

When buyers came, the atmosphere shifted. The air grew thick with dread as men with cold eyes inspected us like merchandise.

I had seen girls pulled from their cages, their cries echoing in the market as they were dragged away. Some fought back, their screams piercing the air, but it never made a difference. Resistance was met with punishment.

I prayed to be invisible. But prayers meant nothing in a place like this.

One day, everything changed.

The usual noise of the market stilled. The traffickers scrambled into action.

A new buyer had arrived-someone important enough to make even these hardened men nervous.

Their voices dropped to hushed tones. The tension in the air was almost suffocating.

And then... I saw him.

He walked in like he owned the place, his presence intimidating. Tall and broad-shouldered, he moved with a confidence that sent a chill down my spine.

His dark hair was slicked back, and his sharp features were accentuated by the dim light. He was handsome in a way that made my stomach twist, a predator cloaked in elegance.

I kept my eyes on the floor, hoping he wouldn't notice me. But he did. His gaze swept over the cages before landing on me.

"Get up," he ordered, his voice deep.

I stayed kneeling, but a sharp prod from one of the traffickers forced me to my feet. My legs shook beneath me, but I managed to stand, my body trembling like a leaf in the wind.

"I want this one," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

The traffickers moved quickly, dragging me out of the cage with rough hands. I stumbled as they pulled me forward, my body too weak to resist.

"Get her ready," he ordered. "Thirty minutes."

They shoved me into a small room, where I was stripped and dressed in clothes that barely covered me. The fabric clung to my skin, leaving me exposed and vulnerable.

My reflection in the cracked mirror was unrecognized-a girl with hollow eyes, bruised skin, and a spirit shattered beyond repair.

When they brought me to his car, I felt the weight of my fate settle over me like a suffocating blanket.

The ride to his place was silent, but I could feel the weight of his eyes on me, and I didn't dare to look.

When the car pulled up to a massive estate, my breath caught in my throat. The mansion was stunning, its grandeur both beautiful and classy, but I wasn't fooled. This wasn't a home, It was a prison. Another cage.

"Get out."

I stumbled out of the car, my legs barely holding me up as I followed him inside.

As the doors closed behind me, I knew there was no escaping him.

I belong to him now. His possession.

And in that moment, I realized that my nightmare wasn't over, It was just beginning.