Chapter 3: A deal with the devil

The rain had started again by the time I stepped outside. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and burning trash, a smell I had long since associated with my childhood. I should have been afraid—I was leaving behind everything I had ever known, walking into the unknown with a man whose intentions were a mystery. But fear was a luxury I could no longer afford.

Damien led me through the narrow, dimly lit streets, his pace steady, his steps confident. He wasn’t from here. I could tell by the way he walked, the way people moved out of his path without him even looking at them. He had power. Influence. And I had no choice but to follow.

We stopped in front of a sleek black car parked at the end of the alley. It looked out of place against the backdrop of broken-down homes and rusting street signs. He opened the door and gestured for me to get in.

I hesitated.

“This is your last chance to back out,” he said, watching me carefully. “Once you step into this car, there’s no turning back.”

I thought of my stepmother, of the way she had stolen every piece of my soul and sold it to the highest bidder. I thought of my brother, cold and lifeless on the thin mattress, his body a reminder of my own helplessness. I thought of my mother, bleeding out on the floor, her silent suffering stretching beyond the grave.

There was nothing left for me in that house.

I slid into the car.

Damien got in beside me, shutting the door. The engine hummed to life, and we pulled away from the only home I had ever known. I didn’t look back.

The city was different at night. The streets I had walked a thousand times felt foreign from the inside of Damien’s car. I watched neon lights flicker against the rain-streaked windows, the reflections of people moving through the streets like ghosts.

“Where are we going?” I finally asked.

Damien was silent for a moment before answering. “Somewhere safe.”

I almost laughed. Safe? That word had never meant anything to me.

“You still don’t trust me,” he observed.

“Should I?” I countered.

He smirked but didn’t reply. Instead, he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a cigarette, lighting it with flick of his silver lighter. The glow illuminated his face for a brief second, casting sharp shadows across his jawline.

“You don’t have to trust me,” he said, exhaling smoke. “You just have to listen.”

I turned my gaze back to the window. The city blurred past us, unfamiliar roads winding into places I had never been. I didn’t ask any more questions.

We arrived at a tall building on the outskirts of town. It was sleek, modern, and completely out of place in a world where people like me weren’t meant to exist. Damien led me through a private entrance, past security guards who didn’t even glance in my direction.

An elevator carried us to the top floor, its mirrored walls reflecting the image of a girl I barely recognized. My clothes were thin, my skin marred with bruises that had long since lost their color. I looked like someone who had been emptied out and left to rot.

When the doors opened, we stepped into a space so luxurious it made my head spin. Plush furniture, walls lined with art, floors polished to a shine.

A woman was waiting for us.

She stood near the floor-to-ceiling windows, a glass of red wine in one hand. Her dark hair cascaded down her back in waves, and her lips were painted a deep, blood-red. She turned slowly when she heard us enter, her eyes sharp as they swept over me.

“This is her?” she asked.

Damien nodded. “This is Winnie.”

The woman took a sip of her wine, considering me for a long moment. Then she set her glass down and stepped closer.

“She’s too thin,” she murmured, reaching out to lift a strand of my tangled hair between her fingers.

And she looks half-dead.”

“She’s tougher than she looks,” Damien replied.

The woman smirked. “She’ll have to be.”

I shifted uncomfortably. “Who are you?”

“My name is Selene,” she said. “And from now on, I’m the only person you answer to.”

I bristled. “What exactly am I supposed to be doing?”

Selene glanced at Damien, then back at me. “Learning,” she said simply.

“Learning what?”

She smiled, but there was no warmth in it. “How to stop being a victim.”

Something inside me stirred at her words.

Victim.

That was all I had ever been. A girl with no choices, no power, no control. But standing here, in this strange and beautiful place, I felt something I hadn’t felt in a long time.

Possibility.

Selene gestured for me to follow. “Come with me,” she said. “We have a lot of work to do.”

I hesitated, glancing back at Damien. He gave me a small nod, as if telling me this was the moment that would define everything.

Whatever this new life was, whatever I was about to become—I knew one thing for sure.

I would never be weak again.

Selene led me down a long hallway, the heels of her shoes clicking against the marble floor. The walls were lined with doors, each one closed, each one hiding something unknown. I followed in silence, my bare feet cold against the ground

The air in this place was different—heavy, charged, filled with something I couldn't name. It smelled of expensive perfume, leather, and something faintly metallic, like the scent of blood just before it dried.

We reached the end of the hall, and Selene pushed open a door, stepping aside to let me in. I hesitated before crossing the threshold, my body tense with instinctive wariness.