Isolde woke up in a different room. As she regained consciousness, she felt an excruciating pain at the back of her neck. When she touched it, she winced in agony. She could feel something foreign embedded inside her body.
"You're awake?" The voice made Isolde lift her head—it was Malric. The man responsible for the pain in her neck.
"You can't just keep sleeping here. You're not a princess." Malric pulled Isolde to come with him out of the room—who knew whose room it was.
Malric took her back to the same place where she had once danced with the other performers. By chance, Isolde's gaze met Severin's, who was sitting in the corner of the room. A half-naked woman sat on the floor beside him, resting her head on his thigh while he gently stroked her hair, his eyes fixed on Isolde.
Isolde quickly averted her gaze. Severin's intimidating stare made her feel as though her heart had stopped beating.
From the corner of her eye, she saw Severin speaking to one of his subordinates, who stood not far from him along with three scantily clad women.
Isolde didn't know what Severin said, but she stepped back in fear as the subordinate walked toward her. The man pulled a card from his pocket and handed it to her. The card had the number 429 printed on it.
What kind of card is this now?
"Go there and wait for Mr. Severin," the man said before walking away without another word.
Malric gave a crooked smile as he saw the card. "You're going to room 429. Severin wants to taste you first before letting the other men enjoy you."
Isolde frowned, confused. "You think being allowed to live comes free? You need to be useful to have a reason to stay alive. To Severin, your life means nothing. But at least you can make your body slightly more valuable than your life. If you want to survive here, the only way is to make Mr. Severin pleased and see you as useful. Because the useless ones always end up on the lowest floor of the underground. You've seen what happens there, haven't you?"
Isolde nodded. Ah… damn it. This is no different than death. Whether living or dying, it's all the same—equally torturous for her.
She clenched the card in her hand.
Is this her karma?
She used to mock her half-sister—born from her father's affair with a prostitute. But look at her now. She is out of prison, only to end up in a pleasure house as a prostitute herself, just to avoid being killed by a heartless mafia boss named Severin.
.
.
.
Isolde struggled to swallow her saliva, shocked by what she saw inside room number 429.
This room was more fittingly called a torture chamber, judging by the variety of instruments displayed inside.
Isolde wasn't naïve—she recognized every object in the room and knew exactly what each was used for. One of her ex-lovers had enjoyed similar things, making Isolde the target of his twisted games. Their relationship ended when, in the middle of making love, he uttered the name of Isolde's younger sister—Olivianne.
That incident had infuriated Isolde. She had sacrificed so much for that man, giving him everything he wanted, even if it meant enduring pain from the way he sought his pleasure.
Every man Isolde had ever dated always ended up falling for Olivianne, leaving Isolde because she wasn't as beautiful because her body wasn't as alluring as Olivianne's.
Isolde scoffed. How pathetic that in a moment like this, of all times, she would be thinking about the sister she hated so much.
The door behind her opened, and her heart suddenly pounded when she realized who had just entered the room.
The silence made it easy to hear Severin's footsteps approaching—until they stopped right behind her.
"Turn around," Severin commanded in his deep voice.
Slowly, Isolde turned to face him. Her height only reached his chest, so the first thing she saw when she turned was his partially unbuttoned shirt, revealing his chest. Severin lifted her chin with his rough hand, forcing her to tilt her head up and meet his gaze.
Severin's face was handsome—Isolde had to admit that. But the aura he exuded and the way he looked at her made her shrink back in fear.
This man in front of her was no ordinary man. He was a mafia boss involved in illegal human organ trafficking and other cruel acts Isolde couldn't even begin to imagine.
"You're trembling. Are you scared? If you were, you shouldn't have obeyed Lucien's order to come here." Isolde gently bit her lower lip.
"I didn't have a choice. The only options were to die in prison or die here."
"So, you'd rather die here, is that it?" Severin scoffed, studying every inch of her face—then, without warning or reason, he suddenly slapped her.
Slap!
Isolde was stunned. A sharp pain flared at the corner of her mouth, and she tasted blood. The slap had split her lip.
"Looking at your face pisses me off. You look just like her." Severin grabbed a handful of her hair, yanking her head back so she had no choice but to look at him through tear-filled eyes.
"I wonder if Lucien felt anything at all seeing you—so much like his sister—sending you here even though he must know you'll die, sooner or later, just like she did."
Severin released her hair with a rough shove, making her nearly fall to the floor. She barely managed to keep her balance.
Severin took a drag from his cigar.
"Take off your clothes," he ordered between puffs of smoke.
Isolde had no choice but to obey. One by one, she removed her clothes in front of him until she stood completely naked.
Severin's eyes scanned her exposed body from head to toe as if he were evaluating her—judging her worth.
"Your face may resemble hers, but your body doesn't—it's disappointing." Isolde knew she didn't have a beautiful body. Her ex-lovers had told her that often, constantly comparing her figure to her sister's, which they claimed was more attractive.
"Why are you silent? Do you need to be taught how to do this?" Severin stroked Isolde's cheek, then deliberately pressed hard against the injured corner of her mouth, making her wince in pain.
"Don't disappoint me unless you want me to throw you to my men so they can take turns with you until you lose your mind."
Isolde nodded slowly. Her trembling hands fumbled with the buttons of Severin's shirt, struggling to undo them.
Once she had removed his shirt, Isolde knelt before Severin, reaching for the zipper of his pants—but Severin rolled his eyes in irritation. He didn't like how plain and dull she was. Nothing about her actions excited him. She was too boring, not even remotely entertaining.
Before Isolde could even lower his zipper, Severin suddenly kicked her, sending her falling backwards onto the floor.
He walked past her, approaching the wall where various pieces of equipment were neatly displayed. He took a chained collar and returned to Isolde, fastening it tightly around her neck.
Isolde's eyes widened, her lips parted in shock as the collar squeezed her neck firmly.
Severin yanked the chain, forcing Isolde to stand. If she didn't, she would have trouble breathing from the pressure he applied to the collar. She winced again when Severin pressed on the torn corner of her mouth, clearly intending to hurt her.
"Lucien sent you here thinking your damned face—so similar to my late lover's—would weaken me. But so that you know, I don't tolerate weakness. I killed the woman I loved with my own hands because I couldn't stand having weaknesses.
If I could kill the woman I loved that easily, imagine how effortless it would be to kill you. I could do it anytime I want—just one pull of the trigger, and your brains would spill across this floor, decorating the room."
Isolde stayed silent, not answering anything, allowing Severin to touch her cheek with his large, rough hand.
"Your eyes are beautiful. If I wanted to, I could sell them to Corvin right now. You heard what Ivander said in the operating room, didn't you? Corvin's wife just had an accident and lost her sight. I'm sure Corvin would agree your eyes are pretty—and I'm also sure he'd be willing to pay anything to get them as a gift for his wife." Severin pressed the burning tip of his cigar into Isolde's collarbone, making her wince in pain.
"Now dance. Do your job. Entertain me. Don't disappoint me—unless you want to end up tossed to my men, passed around until you're no longer breathing."
Severin gave the order as he walked over to the sofa and sat down, casually holding the chain still attached to the collar around Isolde's neck.
Isolde nodded, slowly beginning to move her naked body, swaying in front of Severin.
Severin—shirtless—sat on the sofa, gripping the chain, yanking it tight every time he felt Isolde's dancing wasn't to his liking.
"What a good girl. I suppose I should thank Lucien for sending me such a delightful toy like you," Severin said with a crooked smile, clearly pleased by the sight of Isolde dancing naked in front of him, her face full of fear and barely holding back tears.
"Lucien should be here to see this moment—to see the person he went through so much trouble to find and send to me to bring me down… now serving as my entertainment."
Severin pulled the chain again, this time with greater force, causing Isolde to fall forward. If she hadn't caught herself with her hands, her face would have slammed into the floor.
"Don't stand. Crawl to me," Severin ordered, patting his thigh. Naked, with not a thread of clothing on her body, Isolde crawled toward Severin, who sat waiting on the sofa.
Severin no longer gave any explicit orders, but Isolde could sense what he wanted. His silence was heavy with expectation—he sought satisfaction, and Isolde knew she had to provide it if she didn't want to be handed over to his men.
Her trembling hands moved to unzip his pants once again. This time, Severin didn't react violently. He allowed her to continue, watching her closely as she reached for him.
Leaning his chin against the armrest of the sofa, Severin observed Isolde's every nervous motion in silence as though silently judging her performance.
Isolde's hand moved with visible hesitation, guided more by fear than intent. She avoided looking at Severin's face, not daring to meet the eyes of the man who held her life in his hands.
Severin scoffed, unimpressed.
"How long do you plan to do that? Until sunrise?" he mocked, voice dripping with disdain. "If every girl here were as clueless as you, I'd be bankrupt from customer refunds."
Isolde opened her mouth—not to retort, as she didn't have the courage for that—but to take Severin's erection inside.
The wound at the corner of her lips made this excruciating. Each thrust of Severin's length rubbed against the raw cut, forcing a pained grimace from her.
She shut her eyes, trying to hypnotize herself into believing the man she was pleasuring wasn't a ruthless mafia boss who wanted her dead. Instead, she imagined him as her lover—or just another one-night stand like the ones she used to have.
She couldn't afford to falter. The more nervous she was, the more mistakes she'd make, and the greater the chance Severin would punish her in even crueller ways.
Her movements grew bolder as she kept her eyes closed. The most important thing was to avoid his gaze—because if she met those sharp, pitiless eyes, her courage would shatter instantly.
Severin brushed aside the hair covering Isolde's face, deliberately pressing her head down until her forehead touched his lower abdomen.
Isolde gagged violently, her face flushing instantly as her eyes welled up with reflexive tears. But Severin didn't care - he moved Isolde's head as he pleased, indifferent to how she choked and struggled for breath each time the tip of his erection passed her uvula and slammed against the back of her throat.
Tears streamed down Isolde's cheeks—whether from crying or from repeatedly gagging and nearly vomiting, she didn't know.
All she knew was that she had to hold herself back from making any mistakes. She resisted the urge to pull her head free from Severin's grip, afraid he would grow angry and strike her. Isolde endured it all.
Even when Severin released his warm fluid into her mouth, she didn't try to escape his hold—not until Severin himself let go.
And when he finally released her, Isolde coughed violently, the liquid Severin had spilt inside her mouth, gushing out as she choked.
"You're disappointing. You can't even handle this much?" Severin taunted, making Isolde tremble in fear. Would he call his men over to take turns with her?
"I can do better, I promise," Isolde forced herself to speak, though her voice came out hoarse.
Severin scoffed, "Then prove it."
Isolde moved her fingers, wiping away Severin's fluid that she had coughed up. She smeared it with her fingertips and then licked them clean in front of him, hoping it would be enough to placate him.
Isolde gripped Severin's erection again, sliding her tongue along its length to clean every inch of it. This time, however, she mustered the courage to look up at Severin's face, meeting his cold, impassive gaze as he watched her.
Once she felt she had cleaned him thoroughly, Isolde resumed stroking his erection while arching her chest forward. She guided the tip toward the swell of her breasts, rubbing it against her soft flesh.
She hoped she was entertaining Severin enough—no, she had to satisfy him. It wasn't just about being adequate; she needed to truly please him to ensure she wouldn't end up in the operating room after being brutalized by Severin's men.
Isolde was disgusted with her life, but she didn't want to die a horrific death. She still wanted to fight for survival, and this was her way of clinging to life—by casting aside her dignity and becoming Severin's plaything, his obedient little puppet.
…