The room reeks of desperation, masked by expensive perfume and cigar smoke — all of it wrapped around the spectacle of a slaveholder purchasing his slave.
Me.
Orion D'Este leans casually against a marble column, his piercing gaze scanning the women dressed like dolls in gilded cages — myself included. It's disgusting, really, the charade of civility these men wear as they bid on women as if they are nothing more than collectibles.
Father comes to me, bourbon in one hand, looking half amused, half miserable.
"Orion didn't bid for you out of pity or spite. He didn't want to rescue a damsel in distress. He bid for the sake of the game. He has no intention of playing the hero. No — he wants you because you're unpredictable," he says with a smirk.
"The game has just begun, and he can't wait to see how you lose."
I take another sip of champagne.
"Then again, you've always been terrifically good at disappointing people."
And there goes the final nail in the coffin.
I listen to his little speech, if only to see how deep his hatred for me can go. Disappointing people has always been my favourite hobby. But I would rather die than let anyone own me.
This cannot be happening.
I grab the car key from my purse and walk away, careful not to be noticed.
---
I drive the car faster than the wind can touch me. I see the police following me.
"Madam, you're going above the speed limit. Please stop!"
They want me to slow down, so I speed up.
"Ma'am, I request you — please slow down, or we'll have to take legal action!"
Like I give a damn.
Music blasts through the radio: With flowers and my love, both never come back…
That famous Rolling Stones song, Paint It Black.
I start singing as I drive recklessly.
"Ma'am, this is your last warning. Stop the car or we'll arrest you!"
"It's not easy facing up… when your whole world is BLACK!"
I scream the lyrics at the top of my lungs.
"Lady, pull over now."
"Put a finger on me, I dare you, assholes—"
Too late. The officer blocks my car.
"Madam, you're under arrest for recklessly speeding through a red light. Hand me your licence and step out of the vehicle."
"Officer, do you know who I am?"
He gives me a perplexed look.
"Madam, we do not care. Kindly step out, or we'll use force."
His phone buzzes, the air thickening.
"You might want to answer that, Officer. Could be important. What if it's the apocalypse?"
He glances at his partner and answers.
A moment later, he shoots me a death stare.
"YES, sir. I'll release her right now. Yes… understood."
"While you were chasing me, I called Uncle Lerman. Lovely guy. You might know him — your honorable Commissioner."
I spit the words out.
"Take a lesson from this, would you? Never mess with an Azure. End of entertainment, Officer. Good night."
I drive away, watching their rage twist their faces. They're staring at me like they want to rip out my kidney.
The name I ran from still gets me out of trouble — especially the illegal kind.
---
By the time I arrive at the beach, the sun is beginning to rise.
I stand at the shore. The waves brush against my feet.
I feel like they're persuading me. Whispering.
They always try to pull me under.
What if this time I let them?
I'm too tired of myself, of this world. Too tired to resist the waves. Too tired to live any longer.
Honestly, it feels easier to… give in.
Maybe I'm ready to blend with the tides.
The ocean always lures me in, and I always come back.
Not with despair — with longing. With desperation.
A search for something that doesn't ache. Something that feels real, even if it comes with my last breath.
I walk deeper and deeper. I'm coming undone.
I want to end the pain — my body, my soul, every part of me suffering. I want to dissolve.
Be free.
Disappear into the ocean.
"Don't you think it's a bit early to swim?" a voice says behind me.
I freeze but don't turn around.
"Drowning looks prettier in movies," he continues. "In real life, your lungs burn. Your limbs betray you. Your body begs for air even when your heart doesn't."
"Trust me. I tried once when I was twelve."
I listen in silence.
"Thought if I vanished, maybe… for once… he would care. Maybe look for me. Want me back."
I turn around. My wet hair sticks to my cheek, makeup smeared, but something flickers behind my expression.
"Is a failed teen suicide attempt your way of introducing yourself?"
He pauses, eyes on the waves.
"Listen… if you're here to offer empathy you think will stop me, don't. I'm saving my last ounce of patience for the moment I drown."
A sharp crash of waves hits the shore, loud enough to cut through the silence.
He flinches, a sudden gust of wind snatches the loose paper from his hands, sending it towards the water.
He chases it instinctively, legs splashing against the wet sand, fingers grasping at flying edges of paper.
That's when I really see him.
His shoulder-length hair moves with the breeze like strands of smoke.Saltlight catches in his blue eyes.
A constellation of freckles dusts the bridge of his nose, soft and human in a world that rarely is.
"So you're an artist," I say.
He finally catches the paper, smoothing it with careful hands.
"That's a compliment…" He exhales, almost shy. "No, I'm not there yet. I just try to capture beautiful things. Like the… sunrise."
His gaze drifts to the horizon, where the first light spills across the dark water.
I watched him for a moment.
Gentle. Quiet. A stranger who talks like he's afraid to disturb the morning.
"What about ugly things?" I ask.
"There's no such thing as ugly," he replies softly, eyes still on the horizon.
"I believe everything carries beauty — every paddle stroke, every harvest, every scar. Every ray of light. Even pain has its own glow if you look at it long enough. Darkness, suffering, loss, all of it."
He lifts the crumpled paper gently.
"I just try to turn my pain into art."
If there is beauty in everything…then maybe I don't have to make myself suffer to find it.