Chapter Two

Mirabella's pov

The bright sunlight pierced through the thin curtains, searing into my skull. I groaned, feeling a sharp pang in my head that made me wince.

Slowly, I forced myself to sit up, blinking against the brightness as I took in the unfamiliar surroundings. The room was bare—cold, impersonal, with walls that pressed in on me.

Confusion clouded my mind as I glanced down at myself, and my heart skipped a beat. I was wearing a white lace gown. This wasn’t what I wore yesterday. Yesterday, I had been—

“Where am I?” I muttered under my breath, my fingers brushing over the patterns on the gown.

"Why am I in this?”

I tried to push through the haze in my head, the throbbing making it hard to think. I squeezed my eyes shut, willing myself to remember.

Piece by piece, the memories began to stitch together. Then it hit me.

“He really sold me?” The words left my lips in a whisper as disbelief washed over me.

My legs gave way, and I crumpled to the floor, the shock numbing everything else.

But I couldn’t stay there. Not like this.

“No,” I hissed through gritted teeth, shaking my head, refusing to accept the reality that threatened to drown me.

I pushed myself up, a surge of determination coursing through me. I couldn’t let this be the end. Never!

I marched toward the door, ready to face whatever lay beyond.

When I yanked on the handle, my heart sank because it didn’t budge. It was locked from the outside.

My hands clenched into fists, and I slammed them against the door.

“Is someone there? Can somebody hear me? Please help me!” I shouted, my voice cracking with desperation.

Nothing.

My eyes darted around the room, landing on the small window across from me. Maybe… just maybe I could escape through there. I moved towards it, hope building in my chest.

But before I could reach it, the door creaked open.

My heart raced as I dashed back, thinking my cries had been answered.

But instead of salvation, a woman and a large, imposing man stood there.

My mouth opened, questions tumbling over each other in my head, but before I could speak, the woman’s voice cut through the air like a whip.

“How dare you disturb the quiet of this place with your screams?” She snapped, her eyes cold and unfeeling.

I swallowed hard, backing away a step, my mind racing with fear and confusion.

Quavering, I asked the woman who she was.

The woman chuckled, her voice dripping with malice.

"Welcome to your new life," she said slowly, savouring each word.

"I am the HR manager of Aphrodite Club. From now on, you will call me ‘Mother’—just like everyone else here does."

"Aphrodite Club?" I whispered, my voice trembling with disbelief.

It felt unreal. I had always thought of Aphrodite Club as nothing more than a rumour—a whispered myth.

People said that once you ended up there—especially if you were a girl—you never escaped. The stories painted it as a place full of unspeakable horrors, where human trafficking and forced prostitution were the norm.

Now, that nightmare was my reality. The realisation hit me like a punch to the gut—I was trapped in the very place I had always thought was just a myth.

"My dad really sold me?"

I couldn't believe that he could do such an ungodly thing to me. Even if I wasn't his biological daughter, how could he have such a nerve to do this?!

She scoffed. "Welcome to this beautiful hell, kiddo."

I collapsed to my knees, desperate.

"Please, let me go,” I begged, my voice breaking.

"Just give me three months. I will find a way to pay back what my father owes you.” She chuckled, a cold, unsettling sound that sent chills down my spine.

"What is your name?” she asked, her tone eerily calm.

“Mi... Mirabella, Mother,” I stammered, a small spark of hope flickering inside me, thinking she was considering my plea.

But then her expression shifted—her once-friendly face hardened into something cold and menacing.

She reached out and ran her fingers through my tangled, dirty hair, a cruel smile spreading across her face.

“Mirabella,” she said, her voice soft but laced with malice.

"Once you step through these doors, there’s no escape. This place is hell, and you will learn to survive in it because that’s all you’ll ever do here.”

She chuckled again, as if amused by her own cruelty. “Got it?”

Her words hit me like a sledgehammer, and I could only stare at her, my mind reeling with the horrifying truth. I wasn’t just trapped—I was in hell. My situation had spiralled from bad to worse, and there was no way out.

With a mocking giggle, she turned and walked out, leaving the room as cold as her words.

The heavy sound of the door locking snapped me out of my horror.

I rushed to it, pounding with all my strength, screaming for help, but no one came.

That day dragged on with no sign of escape—the window was out of consideration—and my small spark of hope began to dim.

By the second day, I was still trapped, left alone in there. My only company was the ever-present CCTV camera watching me and the muffled sobs I tried to suppress.

I prayed for a miracle, but each hour that passed chipped away at my faith.

Food was being slid under the door once a day—noon, like clockwork. The meals were cold, tasteless, barely enough to sustain me. On that second day, I refused to eat, thinking that maybe my defiance would force them to reconsider. But nothing changed. No one came.

By the third day, hunger clawed at my insides. I caved, scarfing down the food like a starving animal, realising that no one cared whether I ate or not.

Then, early on the morning of the fourth day, the door creaked open.

I scrambled to my feet, my heart racing.

When I saw it was the HR manager, I clung to a desperate hope that maybe—just maybe—my pleas had finally been heard.

"Do you really want to be released?" She asked me with an unreadable expression.

"Yes... yes, Mother," I nodded, though my stomach churned, not from hunger but from excitement.

"You really want to leave this hell?" she asked, her tone almost teasing.

I quickly affirmed that I wanted nothing more than to leave, but what came next left me utterly confused.

"That’s very simple," she said casually.

"But before you can leave, you have to learn something first."

"Learn?" I echoed, my brow furrowing in confusion.

I silently prayed it wouldn’t be anything too difficult. My father had pulled me out of school years ago, leaving me with only a basic education. The thought of having to learn something new in this place filled me with dread.

"What exactly do I need to learn, Mother?" I asked, trying to keep the fear out of my voice.

She didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she snapped her fingers, and two men appeared, carrying an old-fashioned television.

They set it down on a stool in front of me, positioning it against the wall.

She pointed at the television. "Learning whatever would be displayed on the screen is a requirement for your release."

Then she smiled. "Good luck to you, Mirabella."

Still confused about what she meant and what was happening, I watched as she and the two men left the room.

I was still hearing their footsteps echoing when the television suddenly turned on.

The sudden turn-on was not what shocked me, but what was displayed on it: an explicit adult video!

Instinctively, I rushed to the television, desperate to turn it off, but I couldn’t—there were no buttons, no way to stop it.

Panicked, I retreated to the farthest corner of the room, pressing my hands over my ears to block out the deafening noise. I buried my face in my knees, trying to shut it all out, but it was useless. The sound blared through the room, too loud to ignore, echoing in my head like a relentless nightmare.

I glanced up at the camera, tears welling in my eyes.

"Why are you doing this to me?" I cried out, my voice trembling with fear and frustration.

"Isn’t abducting me enough? Please, let me go!"

But there was no response. No one came to help. The torment continued for days—video after video, all with the same horrifying content. At first, I tried to hide from it, but eventually, I gave in. I had no choice. Maybe this was what the manager wanted me to learn, though I still couldn’t understand what the lesson was supposed to be.

This twisted punishment disguised as learning quickly became my worst nightmare.

The constant barrage of images and sounds wore me down, seeping into my mind until I couldn’t even escape in sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, the scenes from the videos replayed in my dreams, jolting me awake in terror.

The exhaustion was overwhelming, the fear suffocating, and I was left wondering how much more I could take. Even the strongest will would shatter under conditions like this, and that was exactly what the Aphrodite Club wanted.

Their notorious reputation for brainwashing and breaking people into submission was all too real, and it became clear that this was their goal for me. But why? What were they training me for exactly?

One night, as I wrestled with these horrifying experiences, the door to my room burst open.

Two men stormed in, grabbing me before I could react.

They dragged me out, my body sliding helplessly across the cold floor.

"Where are you taking me? Am I being released?" I cried, my voice weak and trembling.

But the only response was the scraping sound of my body being pulled down the hallway.

Before I could even comprehend what was happening, they hauled me into a room that looked like a makeshift hospital ward.

The harsh, sterile lights blinded me, and before I could ask any questions, they turned a pressure washer on me. I tried to fight, but my resistance was met with hard slaps and punches, leaving me gasping for breath.

“What are you doing to me?” I whispered, my voice barely audible as my energy drained away.

They stripped me of my filthy clothes, replacing them with a nightgown. Two women dressed me afterwards.

One of the men then picked me up as if I weighed nothing and tossed me onto what looked like a clinic bed.

I fought back with what little strength I had left, thrashing against their hold, but they pinned me down on both sides.

Suddenly, I felt a sharp sting in my arm. Confused, I sluggishly raised my head to see what they were doing, and my eyes widened in horror as I saw a needle being injected into my body.

“What… what are you doing to me?” I slurred, struggling to keep my eyes open.

But the drug—whatever it was—was too strong. I could feel myself slipping away.

The last thing I saw before the darkness claimed me was a woman in a mask and medical cap leaning over me.

“Let’s get started,” she said, her voice cold and detached, before my vision faded and everything went black.