Chapter 2 THE PAYMENT

Amelia's POV

It felt like the ground beneath me could open up and swallow me whole, and honestly, I wanted it to. I wanted to vanish. Just disappear from the suffocating tension thickening the air around me. But the floor stayed solid beneath my trembling legs, and my reality remained horrifyingly intact.

Because he was real. Standing there like a nightmare in daylight.

The Mafia King.

My stomach flipped. My pulse thudded wildly in my ears, drowning out every sound but the echo of his boots as he stepped forward.

I'd heard stories about him, dark, twisted tales whispered in alleyways, muttered warnings behind closed doors. I never thought I'd breathe the same air as him, let alone be at his mercy.

But there he was.

Eyes like obsidian, cold, flat, soulless, locked on me. His presence sucked the air out of the room, left it heavy, unbreathable. I could feel the way my wolf instincts kicked in, screaming danger, screaming run, but there was nowhere to go. I was bound. Weak. Cornered prey.

And the worst part?

He could smell my fear.

My shoulders trembled uncontrollably. My breath came in shallow gasps. My entire body shook as he approached me, slowly, deliberately, like a lion savoring the moment before the kill.

He stopped just a foot away, and for a split second, he didn't say a word. He just looked at me.

Studied me.

And then his lips curved into a dark, sinister smile.

"Oh, little angel," he said, his voice a slow, velvety dagger. "So you thought you could run away from me?"

I flinched. His words slithered down my spine like ice water. His voice, it was smooth, almost gentle. But the danger in it? It wrapped around me like a noose.

He took another step forward.

"You took a loan," he said, eyes fixed on mine with deadly precision. "You knew what that meant. You knew what it would cost. And yet... you chose to run."

My bound hands twitched at my sides. The cords bit into my skin as panic rose in my chest. I wanted to scream, to beg, but my throat was tight, dry, strangled by fear.

"That's not how this works," he murmured, crouching down until he was eye-level with me. His gaze pierced through me, stripping away any last shred of defiance I had left. "You don't get to make the rules, sweetheart."

He was so close. I could see the scar that ran beneath his left eye. The faint scent of expensive cologne. The calm, calculated madness behind his eyes.

"If you want to run away," he whispered, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, "you better learn how to do it properly. Because no matter where you go, I'll find you. You could hide in the clouds, dig a hole to hell, live under the damn ocean-I'd still drag you out with my bare hands. Do you understand that?"

Tears stung my eyes. My chin trembled as he gripped it between his fingers and forced my face upward. His touch was rough. Possessive. Mocking.

"I-I'm sorry," I croaked. "I didn't mean to run. I just... my mom... she was dying, and I didn't have money, and I didn't think you'd-"

He cut me off with a soft chuckle. A cold, amused sound that sent fresh chills through my bones.

"Oh, sweetheart," he said with a sneer. "That's the worst excuse I've heard all month. Business is business. You borrow, you pay. That's how it works."

I bit down on my lip so hard it bled. My heart pounded against my ribs, wild and terrified.

"And the consequences," he continued smoothly, rising to his feet and pulling a sleek black pistol from inside his coat, "are very, very simple."

My blood ran cold.

He pointed the gun straight at my forehead.

I stopped breathing.

The metal gleamed beneath the harsh ceiling light. My eyes widened in horror. My body locked. And then, warmth seeped down my thighs, soaking through my underwear.

I wanted to disappear. To die. Anything but this.

"You either die or...

"I either die... or what?" I whispered, barely able to speak through the terror.

He tilted his head slightly, studying me with a cruel smile.

"Yes," he said. Just that. One word. One answer.

I couldn't stop the tears anymore. They slipped down my cheeks in hot, desperate streaks. My shoulders shook with silent sobs.

"All right," I breathed out shakily. "Tell me. What do you want me to do? What should I do to stay alive?"

His eyes flickered with amusement, as if watching a trapped mouse beg for its life entertained him.

He tucked the gun away with fluid ease.

"Now you're talking," he said with a nod. "But don't worry. You'll find out... soon."

Before I could even process those words, the door behind him swung open. Two massive men in black suits stepped in. No expressions. No words.

Just brute strength.

"No! Wait..please!" I screamed as they grabbed me, hauling me upright like a ragdoll. My knees buckled. My head spun.

They dragged me down a long hallway, my screams echoing off the cold stone walls.

Then, suddenly, we stopped.

They shoved me into a blindingly bright room.

The contrast shocked my senses. My eyes squinted against the sudden glow. The walls were lined with racks of dresses, makeup tables, heels arranged like weapons. It looked like a backstage dressing room in a luxury club.

"What... what is this?" I stammered.

Before I could get an answer, three women approached. Their faces blank. Robotic. Efficient.

One of them snapped a pair of scissors from the table and cut the ropes binding my wrists. Another began tearing at my clothes. I screamed and slapped her hand away.

"Stop! Don't touch me! Don't..!"

But they didn't even flinch. Like machines, they worked around my thrashing.

I was stripped bare, left shivering and exposed. Humiliated.

Then came the dress, a sleek, black cocktail piece that hugged every curve, making me feel more naked than before. The heels they forced onto my feet were tall and sharp. Red lipstick was smeared across my trembling lips, my hair sprayed and styled in seconds.

I was barely human anymore. Just a doll.

"Please..." I whispered.

No one listened.

Minutes later, I was dragged out again, still breathless, still trying to piece together what was happening.

And then I saw him.

The Mafia King. Standing beside an open black car.

He didn't say anything at first. Just looked me up and down. His gaze lingered on my trembling legs, my exposed skin, my painted lips.

Then he leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of my ear.

"Behave yourself in there," he said in a low, deadly murmur. "He's a big client of ours."

I froze.

My mouth parted, but no sound came out.

Client.

The word hit me like a slap.

What?

No. He didn't mean..

My heart dropped.

He's selling me.

My vision blurred. I stared at him in disbelief. Disgust. Pure horror. My stomach twisted so violently I thought I might throw up.

"No..." I whispered.

But he didn't care. He just smiled faintly and pushed me into the car.

The door slammed shut behind me.

I sat frozen in the leather seat, hands clenched into fists. My legs pressed tightly together. My chest heaved with silent sobs.

I was being sold.

Used.

Reduced to nothing more than a product.

A payment.