Nick had scoured every corner of the earth in search of Sara.
Years passed, and the love of his life remained lost—swallowed by shadows, vanished like mist at dawn. The agency that had stolen her seemed to evaporate without leaving a single footprint behind. Every lead turned to dust. Every whisper of truth dissolved in silence.
Seven long years.
Seven winters without her laughter.
Seven summers without her touch.
Now, Ana and Anthony, their beautiful twins, had grown into radiant children—living dolls with porcelain skin and golden hair, reflections of their father in miniature. Ana, in particular, mirrored Sara in both spirit and temperament. Her defiant eyes, her quiet strength, her sudden gentleness—all belonged to her mother.
Nick had become a devoted father, but also fiercely protective. Especially with Ana. He held onto her too tightly, afraid that if he blinked, she too would vanish like her mother once had.
And yet… despite everything, Nick had never stopped searching. His hope, though thin and flickering, still burned—however faintly.
But that hope was fading.
His father, the man who had been his greatest ally, had died just six months earlier from cancer. With his loss, something in Nick crumbled further. Now, only his children—and his closest friends—kept him tethered to the world.
Gay. Shaco. Satino.
They never left his side. Through every investigation, every false trail, every sleepless night. They had become his brothers in pain, his army in silence.
That night, Nick stood quietly in the doorway of his children's bedroom. He watched them sleep, their chests rising and falling in harmony, unaware of the war that still raged in his heart.
Then… his phone rang.
The screen flashed Gay.
Nick answered immediately.
—"Gay?"
—"Nick—it's me." Gay's voice was breathless, shaken. "You need to come. Now."
—"What? What's going on?"
—"It's… it's Sara."
Nick froze.
The name struck him like thunder. He hadn't heard it spoken with truth in years.
—"Sara? What do you mean Sara?!"
—"She's here," Gay said, nearly whispering. "She's at the place I'm at right now… the burdel."
For a moment, Nick couldn't breathe.
Sara. After all these years. Alive.
But in a brothel?
His heart pounded like a storm in his chest.
Gay gave him the address. Nick didn't wait. He called Shaco and asked him to come to the mansion to stay with the twins. Moments later, Nick was out the door, his breath fogging in the night air, his thoughts a violent sea of disbelief, hope, and dread.
He drove like a man possessed.
When he arrived, Gay was waiting outside—his usual boldness buried beneath a layer of unease.
—"Nick… prepare yourself."
They walked into the building together. The air was thick with smoke, sweat, and perfume. It clung to the skin like oil. Moans echoed from every corridor—some of pleasure, others of despair. Bodies lounged in corners and doorways—some laughing, others glassy-eyed, intoxicated beyond reason.
The burdel was a temple of ruin.
Men and women were strewn about like forgotten puppets, used and discarded. Nick felt his stomach churn. This was no place for any human soul—let alone her.
Gay led him through narrow halls until they reached the heart of the brothel—a circular chamber lined with seven glass rooms, illuminated in pulsing hues of red and blue.
Each room contained a young woman.
Each one was naked.
Each one was chained by the neck to the floor.
And each one wore the same haunted expression—blank, disconnected, lost.
They didn't move unless commanded. They didn't speak. They didn't blink.
They had become merchandise.
Nick's skin prickled with rage.
And then… Gay stopped before one of the glass doors.
Nick turned—and there she was.
Sara.
His Sara.
His soul froze and his heart shattered all at once.
She sat on a low seat, her body draped in eerie sensuality. Her skin was pale, her lips painted, her limbs perfectly still—like a porcelain statue. Her eyes… her eyes were open but empty. Staring at nothing. Seeing no one.
She looked like a ghost performing a memory.
Nick rushed to the glass, his palms slamming against it.
—"Sara… SARA!"
He shouted, desperate.
But she didn't flinch. She didn't look.
She simply moved—slow, practiced, mechanical—tracing delicate circles in the air with her fingers, as if rehearsing an old dance.
It was her…
And yet not her.
Her soul was somewhere far behind those eyes.
Nick's fists struck the glass again.
—"Sara! It's me, it's Nick! My love—it's me! Look at me! Please!"
Sara turned her head slightly, her gaze brushing over him like a breeze that had long forgotten warmth.
She didn't speak.
She didn't cry.
She simply stared… and swayed.
Like a doll awaiting her next buyer.
Gay shifted beside him, his jaw clenched.
—"We don't have much time, Nick. The guards bring in new clients every few minutes. We have to move. Now."
But Nick couldn't tear his eyes away.
Tears spilled down his cheeks.
—"What did they do to you…?" he whispered. "What have they turned you into…?"
He pressed his forehead to the glass, breath fogging it.
On the other side, Sara leaned forward ever so slightly—her body moving as if by instinct, not will.
And for the briefest second, Nick saw something behind those eyes.
A flicker.
A tremor.
The ghost of the woman he loved.
—"I'm going to get you out," he whispered. "Even if it kills me."
The light flickered overhead.
A shadow moved in the hallway behind them.
And Nick knew—
The nightmare was far from over.
But he had found her.
And that… changed everything.