Vance looked at her, his eyes cold. "You will learn your place," he said. His voice was smooth, like silk, but sharp, like a knife. He started giving her orders. Small things at first, then things that made her feel sick inside. Isabella's stomach turned, but she did what he said. She knew if she didn't, she would be punished. Maybe even killed.
She saw how brutal this world was. People didn't care about each other. They used violence like it was nothing. Karl watched her, his face showing nothing. But she saw something in his eyes, a small hint of trouble inside him.
Days went by, and Isabella got used to a bad routine. Vance's orders kept coming. Each one made her feel a little less like herself. She was like a puppet, moving when he told her to.
She had to go to dinners. Men with hard faces talked about deals and killing like it was normal. She had to pour drinks, her hand shaking. She heard their rude jokes.
She saw how they didn't care about people. A man could get beaten for saying the wrong thing. A woman could be thrown away like trash. They used violence to get what they wanted.
Karl was always there, watching. His face was like a mask. But Isabella saw something. When Vance gave her a bad order, she saw a small change in Karl's eyes.
He watched her, not with lust or hate, but with a quiet look. She wondered what he was thinking. Was he like her, trapped? Or did he want to be here?
One afternoon, she saw a woman being dragged away. Her face was hurt, her eyes empty. The woman looked dead inside.
Another woman, her face sad, whispered to Isabella. "They take everything," she said. "Your pride, your hope, your soul."
Isabella felt cold. She knew she was in a place where being kind was bad. Where to stay alive, you had to lose yourself.
She knew she had to leave. But she also knew it was a bad dream. She was trapped in a place ruled by Vance.
One night, Vance came to her room. His eyes were dark. He looked at her body, and she shivered.
"You're going to a meeting tomorrow," he said. "You have to look your best."
Isabella knew what that meant. They were like auctions. Women were sold like things.
She was going to be shown off, like a prize. She looked at Karl, who stood in the door. Would he let this happen?
The next day was long and scary. She was dressed in a pretty dress, but it felt wrong. Her face was painted, but her eyes were empty.
When it got dark, she was taken to a big room. Men and women were there, wearing fancy clothes. The air was thick with perfume and fear.
Vance stood at the front, his eyes shining. He looked at her, and she knew her life was going to change.
She was led to a platform, and the room grew quiet. Vance started to talk about her, like she was an object. He described her looks, her "value," and the men in the room began to make bids. Isabella felt sick. She was being sold.
The bidding went on, the men's voices loud and greedy. She looked at Karl, hoping he would do something. But he just stood there, his face still.
The price climbed, each number a fresh wave of nausea. She felt like a prized animal, being auctioned off for the highest bidder's pleasure. The men's eyes, filled with a mix of lust and calculation, made her skin crawl. She tried to focus on anything but their voices, their words, but the room was a suffocating cacophony of greed.
"Fifty thousand!" a man with a thick, gold ring shouted, his voice thick with liquor.
"Sixty!" another countered, his eyes narrowed, his hand gripping his glass.
The numbers rose, each one a hammer blow to Isabella's spirit. She felt herself slipping away, becoming less and less human with each passing moment. She was a thing, an object, a prize.
Finally, a man with a cruel, thin smile won. He came forward, his eyes gleaming with a predatory hunger. She felt like she was going to throw up.
"She's mine now," the man said, his voice rough, possessive. He reached for her, his hand outstretched, and Isabella closed her eyes, bracing for the inevitable.
But then, something happened. A loud noise, like a gunshot, ripped through the room. The bidding stopped, the men frozen, their eyes wide with shock. The room went silent, the only sound Isabella's ragged breathing.
She opened her eyes. Vance was standing, his face red with anger, his hand clenched.
"It's over!" he yelled, his voice a low, dangerous growl.
The man who won the bid looked confused, then indignant. "I won," he said, his voice rising. "She's mine."
"Not anymore," Vance said, his voice icy. "She belongs to me."
The room was tense. Isabella didn't know what was happening. Was Vance protecting her? Or was this just another display of his power?
He turned to the winning bidder, his eyes narrowed. "You forget your place," Vance said, his voice low. "I have the right to take back anything and everything."
He then turned his gaze to the room. "Tomorrow night," he said, his voice ringing out, "we celebrate. We celebrate her...arrival. We celebrate the bonds that tie us together."
He paused, his eyes sweeping over the room, settling on Isabella. "Tomorrow night," he continued, his voice laced with a dark amusement, "we have an initiation."
Isabella's heart pounded. An initiation? What did that mean? She looked at Karl, but his face was unreadable. She knew, with a chilling certainty, that whatever was planned for tomorrow night, it would be far worse than anything she had experienced so far.
Vance then walked to Isabella, and grabbed her chin with his hand. "You will show everyone your loyalty to me." He said. "You will be marked, and you will be mine." He then turned to the room. "Now, the party is over."
The room slowly emptied, leaving Isabella alone with Vance and Karl. Isabella looked at Karl, searching for a clue, a hint of what was to come. But he remained silent, his eyes fixed on the floor.
Vance then turned to Isabella. "Tomorrow," he said, his voice cold. "Don't make any mistake."