The Price
Elena's eyes snapped open.
The first thing she noticed was the silence. Then the ache in her limbs. Her wrists burned from the coarse ropes binding them to a rusted iron bedpost. She tried to move, but her muscles screamed in protest. Her mouth was parched, her lips cracked and dry. Even breathing felt like it took effort.
She blinked, trying to make sense of the dim, grimy room. The air reeked of mildew and something rotten. A single flickering bulb hung from the ceiling, barely casting light on the stained concrete walls. There was no window. No clock. No clue where she was or how long she had been unconscious.
Only one thing was certain—she had been kidnapped.
Her memory came rushing back in flashes. The broken door. Her uncle's betrayal. Her father—collapsing with a blow to the neck.
Her chest tightened with panic. Is he alive? Did they kill him?
Her cracked voice barely rose to a whisper. "Dad..."
No response. No sound outside. Her throat was too dry to scream again. Her lips trembled as tears threatened to spill.
She needed water. She needed time.
For now, she had neither.
Instead, Elena rested her head against the bedframe. Her long brown hair clung to her face, soaked in sweat and grime. She knew she had to stay calm. Screaming wouldn't help her now. Wasting her energy wouldn't either.
Think, Elena... Think.
She counted her breaths. One. Two. Three...
And waited.
---
Time passed in a haze.
It could have been hours—or minutes—before she heard the door creak open.
Two of the thugs entered. One of them was the man with the scar across his cheek. The other was lanky, younger, with nervous eyes that darted around the room like a trapped animal.
Elena sat up as straight as she could, trying to seem less weak than she felt.
"Well, look who's awake," Scarface muttered. He walked over and placed a plastic water bottle on the floor near the bed. "You'll need this. Big night ahead."
The younger one smirked, but said nothing.
Elena's voice rasped out. "Please... let me go."
Scarface chuckled. "You think you're in a position to negotiate?"
She licked her cracked lips. "I don't have the money you want... but I can pay it. In installments. Every month. I'll make sure you get it. Just let me and my father go."
The younger thug looked uncertain, as if tempted.
But Scarface shook his head. "We already have a client. Rich man. Wants a virgin. We told him you were untouched. He paid for purity."
Elena flinched. Her stomach twisted. But she forced herself to speak. "You can lie. Tell him something else. You don't have to do this."
The thug crouched down near her. "I don't think you understand. This isn't personal. It's business. Your uncle owed money. He sold you as collateral."
Elena clenched her fists. "Then I'll pay his debt. I'll make up for it."
Scarface leaned in closer, his voice low and menacing. "He paid more for you than your uncle's debt ever was. You're property now."
That word—property—sent a wave of rage through her.
"I'm not property," she spat.
"Save your voice," the younger one said. "Eat. Drink. You'll need strength for tonight."
He tossed a cold sandwich on the floor. Neither man made a move to untie her.
Then they left, locking the door behind them.
---
Elena didn't cry.
She stared at the wall, heart pounding, mind racing.
They were going to traffic her. That was clear now. They weren't bluffing. And no one knew where she was.
Unless...
Her mind flashed back to Alexander Knight.
She had left the contract at home, untouched. But he had sent her that file for a reason. His assistant had messaged her. Maybe he would notice if she didn't reply. Maybe... just maybe, he would get involved.
Then again, why would he care? He didn't love her. He only wanted her as part of his plan—a pawn in a marriage contract for appearances.
Still, he was powerful. Connected. And if she somehow survived this, she might need to take that deal after all.
She shifted her wrists, wincing at the burn of the rope. She couldn't afford to wait. She had to escape before that "client" showed up.
I need a weapon... an opening... anything...
Her eyes scanned the room. Nothing but dust, rusted pipes, and discarded boxes.
Then she saw it—half-buried under the bedframe. A small shard of glass, no bigger than her finger. Probably from a broken bottle.
It'll take forever to cut the ropes with that, she thought.
But it was something.
She reached for it with her fingers, twisting her body just enough to snag it.
Pain shot through her arms, but she clenched her jaw and pulled it closer.
Slowly, Elena... You've been designing jewelry with tiny tools for years. You can do this.
She began to saw at the rope.
---
Hours blurred together. She carved until her fingers bled. But she didn't stop.
She had one chance.
She couldn't let them take it away.