Chapter One

Mirabella's pov

The old watch ticked relentlessly, a reminder of my mother's absence—I had inherited it from her before she passed—and the countdown to my father's inevitable return.

I had spent the day in a whirlwind of exhausting chores, my body aching with each movement. Now, in the fleeting moments of peace, I sought refuge in sleep, praying the timer would wake me before he stumbled home, reeking of alcohol and rage.

Suddenly, his booming voice sliced through the silence.

"You don't expect me to sell her to you for seventy thousand dollars that I owe you. I can't do that. She is worth far more than that," he said, his time firm but laced with a hint of desperation.

I jolted awake, panic flooding my system. My body, still aching from yesterday's beating, protested every movement. The bruises felt like they were etched into my bones, hence making me wince.

"Shit," I thought, frozen in place.

"Has he already seen me? Is he just waiting to unleash his fury once his visitor leaves?" The possibility made my stomach churn.

I had been here before, trapped in this cycle of fear and pain. There had been weeks where each day brought fresh bruises, where night offered no respite from his cruelty.

Part of me knew I would survive it again—I always did. But a darker, more insidious voice whispered that maybe this time, my prayers for an escape—even a permanent one—might finally be answered. At seventeen, I should be dreaming of the future, not praying for oblivion. Yet here I was, curled in on myself, silently begging for either mercy or an end—whichever came first.

Two years had passed since my mother’s death, and in those years, my life had become a living nightmare, one of which was his beating, which had become routine.

"Look, I know I don't deserve to be negotiating this deal, but trust me, this offer is a good one for you. She is a virgin. Young, with good features. You know what I mean. A little work, and she will be something else. Let's make it one hundred and twenty dollars, please."

Even though his voice had dropped low, I could still make out the words.

"Who could he be talking to?" I wondered.

Curiosity tugged at me, and against my better judgement, I crept silently to the door. I pressed my ear against the wood, straining to catch every word of the conversation.

"Who the hell are these people?" I wondered, as I saw two men sitting across from him, their muscular frames making them look even more menacing.

One of them spoke, his voice deep and commanding. "Before we can agree on the deal, we need to meet the girl to see if she fits the criteria you’ve described."

A twisted smile spread across my father's face, a look of excitement that made my skin crawl.

He pushed his chair back and rose, calling my name with an enthusiasm that sent my heart into a frenzy as he walked towards my room.

My heart raced as I realised I had to emerge from there, hoping he wouldn't suspect I had been eavesdropping—which, guiltily, I had.

To avoid facing his wrath, I took a deep breath, steeled myself, and casually walked out of the kitchen, trying to appear nonchalant, like a thief caught off guard.

"I'm here, Father," I shouted, my voice steady despite the panic clawing at my insides.

His footsteps approached, and I braced myself for the inevitable explosion of anger, but he passed by without a glance or rebuke.

I could not dare raise my head to meet his gaze.

To my surprise, he chuckled. "I don't need to beat around the bush since you would have heard our conversation."

I stood frozen, my mind reeling in confusion.

"Was I the one he had been talking about?" I thought, my heart racing.

Then he dropped the bombshell, his words slicing through me like a knife. "I'm in debt to these people, and since you are useless and worthless to me, I've decided to sell you to pay it off."

His face was a mask of indifference, devoid of emotion.

The ground beneath me seemed to shift, and I swayed, nearly losing my balance.

His face remained emotionless, a grim mask that bore no trace of the man I once knew. It was as if he had been replaced by a stranger, someone who saw me as nothing more than a means to an end. The treatment I've been receiving from him for the past two years was worse than what a slave would endure in the hands of a cruel master.

My mind scrambled for a reason—a way to make sense of this nightmare. How could this be happening? Was this the same man who once held me close, who had laughed with me and comforted me? The memories of him as a loving father felt like a distant dream and shattered the day my mother died in that hospital room two years ago.

Her death had changed everything; it had twisted him into this unrecognisable figure standing before me, making me wonder if he was really my father and also if he truly loved any of us at all.

The realisation of him selling me like a commodity was suffocating.

***Two years ago***

The fluorescent lights in the hospital ward flickered on my mother’s lifeless body.

I stood frozen in the doorway, my mind struggling to grasp the reality of her death.

"You bitch! She saved you from getting raped, and this is what she gets for helping you?" His voice cut through the silence like a knife.

I opened my mouth to speak, to defend myself, but he didn’t give me a chance.

"Why couldn’t you do anything when she was being raped and beaten? What the hell were you out for so late in the dark?" he accused, his eyes blazing with fury as he stormed toward me.

The accusation was so absurd it took me a moment to realise what he was saying.

How could he blame me for this? I had been out there with her, searching for him, worried sick because he hadn’t come home and it was almost midnight. We were looking for him!

"Daddy," I tried, my voice trembling as I reached out, hoping to bring him back to his senses.

"Don't call me that, you ungrateful bitch!" His voice was a snarl, and before I could react, his hand came down hard across my face.

He didn’t stop there. He looked at me with a cold, dead stare and swore, “I swear, I will make your life a living hell from now on.”

And he kept that promise. From that moment on, my life became a nightmare I couldn’t wake up from.

***Back to present***

"Okay. She’s worth the price," the man across the table said, his voice calm, almost casual, as if he were discussing nothing more than a simple business transaction.

My father nodded, his face a mask of grim satisfaction.

"Come tonight to get the rest of the money," the man continued, his eyes shifting to the other man, who had remained silent until now.

Before I knew it, the second man stepped forward, his hand clamping around my arm with a vice-like grip as he pulled me away from the only home I had ever known.

Panic surged through me, my mind racing as I realised there was no escape from this nightmare.

But I could not let this happen. Never! Hence, I screamed thinking that would be of help.

For a moment, I thought I had finally succeeded when my maternal grandfather emerged from his room, and I tearfully explained everything to him, desperate for his help.

He had always been a symbol of love and protection in my life, but his physical frailty had never been enough to shield me from the hell my father had created.

This house, along with everything my mother had inherited and built with her sweat, was willed to my father.

Despite her best intentions, it was a foolish decision that left me and my grandfather with nothing but this house after my father had squandered everything else.

I tried to resist, and my grandfather tried to intervene, but my small frame and his weakness were no match for the brute force against us.

In an instant, everything changed. He was shoved to the floor, and before I could react, a handkerchief was forced into my mouth.

I struggled, but soon I felt my consciousness slipping away, realising I had been drugged. Through fading vision, I saw my grandfather reaching out helplessly, desperate to save me.

As I was carried away, barely clinging to awareness, I made a vow to endure whatever came next.

Surely, nothing could be worse than the hell I was being torn from—or so I thought.

Little did I know, I was about to discover just how wrong I was.