"Serve Jaxon well tonight, girl. He likes his toys quiet and obedient."
The woman's mocking voice dripped like poison into Abigail's ears. Before she could reply, a hard shove sent her stumbling forward, heels clicking against cold marble. Her hands reached out blindly, desperate to anchor herself in the unfamiliar space.
The heavy door slammed shut behind her with a sound that felt like a verdict.
She froze.
She couldn't see, but she could feel it—his gaze. Hungry, dark, and dangerous.
Jaxon was watching her.
Her fingers trembled as they clutched the hem of her short red dress. It clung to her body like a second skin. She could feel how exposed she was. Her bare shoulders, the deep neckline, the way the fabric barely covered her thighs—it all made her feel naked even though she wasn't.
Jaxon chuckled lowly from somewhere in the room. "Don't just stand there, little dove. Come closer."
Her lips trembled. Her sightless eyes stared into the void, but her mind saw everything she didn't want to feel. The tears started before she could stop them. Before coming here, she promised she wouldn't cry.
But she did. Because nothing about this night belonged to her—not the dress, not the heels, not even her choice. She had begged, pleaded, and prayed. And still, here she was, ready to make the dirtiest deal of her life.
Not because she wanted to, but because she had no choice. Her father was dying.
Idiopathic Pulmonary Fibrosis.
The words sounded like a death sentence in her ears. The doctors had given him weeks, maybe less. The transplant cost more than her life was worth. Her job at the bakery barely covered rent. She had no family, no real friends, no one she could turn to for help.
She was just a blind girl tucked away in a forgotten corner of town. And only one man had offered to help.
Jaxon Carter.
He was a serpent in silk. Tall, charming, with gold rings and a gold tongue. A man with power in the town's underbelly. He worked for the mafia—or maybe he was one of them. No one knew for sure.
Women feared him, and some secretly craved him. But not her. She had always kept her distance until he came closer. "Sleep with me," he had said, "and I'll save your father."
She had said no. Again and again. But desperation has a cruel voice, and it echoed louder than her pride. Tonight, she'd said yes. Because there was no one left to save her father… except the devil himself.
"Come on," he said again, his voice filled with wicked amusement. "I don't bite... unless you beg me to."
She stood there, frozen. Fear and horror of what was about to happen chained her to the spot. She didn't need to see to feel his gaze dragging down her body like claws. Her arms wrapped around herself instinctively, as if that could protect her.
Every instinct screamed for her to run. But the thought of her father, hooked to tubes, struggling for each breath, anchored her in place.
"Come here," Jaxon said, suddenly colder.
She didn't move.
"I said, come here, little dove. I don't like repeating myself."
Her nails tore into her palm, tasting blood as her lip cracked beneath clenched teeth. Trembling, she forced herself to lift one foot, then another. Each step felt heavier than the last, like she was walking towards the edge of the cliff. She could hear his breath growing heavier. She could feel the hunger in the room, thick and vile.
"Look at you," he whispered. "So innocent. So beautiful. So mine to ruin."
Suddenly, his hand grabbed her wrist.
She gasped, stumbling. He yanked her forward, and she hit the bed with her knees, hard. She crashed onto what she guessed was a large bed. Her knees slammed against the edge. She tried to scramble back, but his weight pinned her down.
"Relax," he whispered against her neck, "I've waited so long for this."
She flinched.
"Scared, little dove?" he chuckled darkly.
She didn't answer. She didn't need to. Her trembling body spoke for her.
"I would never hurt you," he lied softly. "I'm the only man who never will. Infact, you should be happy. I am finally going to make you a woman… my woman."
Tears slid silently down her cheeks. Her fists clenched the silk sheets beneath her. "P-Please… just make it quick," she whispered.
He laughed low and long. "Oh no, little dove, tonight, I plan to take my time."
With that, he pushed her down on the bed and hovered over her. She trembled as his body pressed against hers. Disgust churned in her stomach, but she dared not push him away. His breath tickled her ear. "Do you know how long I've waited? Ten years. Ten fucking years...."
"From across the street, in the shadows, even in that little bakery where you hide behind the counter, smiling at strangers like you belong to the world and not to me. Every laugh, every glance you threw out… I imagined it was for me. I imagined you were mine long before you even knew who I was."
He leaned closer, his breath cold against her skin. "Ten years of waiting, little dove. Ten years of wanting you, dreaming of the day you'd finally stop running…
Abigail froze.
"And now," he whispered with a dark chuckle, "you're finally here, in my arms where you belong. Better this than crying at your father's grave, right?"
He reached for the strap of her dress. She stopped breathing. Her soul felt like it was leaving her body. But she didn't fight. Like a doll that had no life, she remained quiet. She knew that after tonight, everything would change. A part of her would die, but at least her father would live.
Her body… for her father's life.
That was the deal. She closed her eyes, waiting for the worst, when suddenly, there was a loud sound.
Bang!
The door burst open. The sound was so loud, so sudden, that Abigail jumped.
What happened?
What was going on?