"Two million dollars, Miss. That's not money you find under a pillow."
Marco's voice, cold and raspy, was the worst lullaby Aurelia James had been forced to listen to for the last six months. It carried the stale scent of cigarettes and a threat that grew more tangible every single week. Aura leaned against the doorway of her small apartment unit, crossing her arms over her faded work dress. She tried to look much taller, much stronger, and far braver than her trembling feet actually felt.
"I know the number, Mr. Marco," Aura shot back, her voice tinged with annoyance, a desperate attempt to conceal her terror. "Because you've been reciting it every week like a failed spell. But if I had two million dollars, I'd probably be drinking champagne in Paris, enjoying freedom, not debating debt interest in this smelly, flickering hallway. Please, use a bit of common sense."
Marco, the man with a long scar across his temple, offered only a thin sneer. His smile conveyed no humor, only a chilling contempt that made Aura want to slap him with her now completely empty wallet. Marco's associate, the thin man who was always silent like a sinister welcome statue, stepped closer. Aura could feel the cold radiating from their presence, squeezing the small space around her.
"We didn't come for common sense, Miss James," Marco stated, his voice low and menacing. "We came for settlement. Our boss doesn't appreciate waiting, and this debt, your Father's debt... has already moved into a more private, more urgent domain."
"Private?" Aura hissed, her pain morphing into a verbal defense. "You've already seized Mother's antiques, her wedding ring, and some ridiculous trinkets that wouldn't even sell at a flea market. And you call this private? When will you move into the spiritual domain? Maybe you can ask my Father, Karl James, to negotiate with God about the 10% daily interest!" Aura couldn't stop herself. When she was afraid, words were the only weapon she possessed, a fragile shield against crushing reality.
Marco ignored her, his grip on the worn leather folder tightening, radiating an aura of finality. "Your choice is simple. This is the final notice. Pay in full within the next 48 hours, or we will come again. And this time, we will take this house, the papers are already drawn up... or your life. And we are not joking about the latter."
Suddenly, the silent associate moved quickly. He scanned the small unit and instantly found his target: Aura's workstation. He lifted Aura's design laptop.
That laptop was more than just a machine. It was the one she'd paid for in installments over two years, the laptop where thousands of hours of hard work, her dreams, and Aura's entire future as a designer were stored. It was the only proof she still had a profession, a shred of dignity.
"No! Not my laptop!" Aura screamed. Her voice cracked; the fear finally drowning out her sharp tongue. She lunged forward on pure instinct, but Marco quickly seized her arm, his grip so powerful it promised a bruise.
"It's collateral. Consider it a down payment," Marco said, his eyes promising cold hell. "Remember, Miss. 48 hours."
The two men left as quickly as they arrived, leaving a deafening silence. The smell of their cigarettes slowly vanished, replaced by the scent of despair.
Aura yanked herself free from Marco's non-existent grip and collapsed onto the cold wooden floor. Her breathing was ragged, not from exhaustion, but from utter defeat. She hugged her knees. Tears finally streamed down her face, not from fear of the debt collectors' physical threat, but from the searing pain of losing the laptop. Her last fortress had crumbled. She couldn't work. She couldn't earn money legally.
Two million dollars! My God, Father, Karl James, are you sunbathing somewhere, having fun with the money you should have used to rebuild our lives? If you see this, please know that I will haunt every cup of coffee you drink in your hiding place. Why didn't you just borrow money from the Greek gods, huh?! Because only they could demand an impossible number like this!
Aura allowed herself to cry, but only for three full minutes, she asserted to herself. Three minutes was enough time to process how miserable and fundamentally unfair this situation was. After that, she had to get up.
She knew that if she didn't act, Marco's threat would materialize. Her mother back in the village, who was already sickly, wouldn't survive if those debt collectors really attacked their house and humiliated them in front of the neighbors. Her mother, who was always so proud of her daughter, who believed her eldest daughter would become a successful designer. Aura could not fail, not for Mother.
My laptop is gone. That means the legal work is finished. Aura took a deep breath, the inhale carrying the damp odor of the old apartment. Now, we move on to work... that is less than legal. Oh, this is the destiny of Daddy's little debt collector.
She rose, her legs feeling heavy, but her face hardened. No more tears, only cold determination.
She picked up her cheap phone, the screen cracked in the corner. Her fingers trembled as she reopened the exclusive dating app. Aura knew this world. This was where rich men looked for high-paying 'dates' paid hourly at fantastic rates, a fraction of the $2 million, but if she worked non-stop, without sleep, she might reach half before the debt collectors returned.
She looked at her reflection in the small mirror. A beautiful face that now looked utterly exhausted.
"Okay, Aura," she negotiated with her own shadow. "If we're going to sell our dignity, we have to make sure the price is as high as possible. No half measures. We're going to look like dignity worth millions of dollars."
She walked to her closet, pulling out a black silk dress she had only worn once. The dress had an open back and a daring neckline. A gift from a friend that Aura always considered too vulgar.
"Damn it. This dress makes me look like a circus clown. But hey, this is the circus of my life," she scoffed at her reflection. "If I'm going to hell, at least I'll look expensive doing it."
Aura started doing her makeup. She applied thick eyeliner, bright red lipstick. She was no longer trying to look innocent or sweet. She had to look bold, tempting, and, most importantly, unafraid. She had to look like a woman who could demand millions.
"I'm not selling my soul," she whispered to the mirror, trying desperately to convince herself. "I'm just renting out my body. This is just a transaction. A final sacrifice. And I will do it with this fierce face, so they know I'm not easily acquired."
She activated her profile on the app. Within seconds, notifications flooded in. There were doctors, lawyers, even middle-aged politicians. But Aura was looking for a shark, not minnows. She needed a huge amount in a single transaction.
Her eyes landed on one verified account.
A profile that exuded an aura of unimaginable power and wealth. The photo was blurred, just the silhouette of a man standing on a skyscraper balcony, as if he commanded the entire city.
PROFILE NAME: Alexander V.
No cheap selfies, no show-off poses. Just quiet, intimidating power. Aura felt her knees tremble, but her fingers typed.
Aura (Message): What are you looking for?
The response was instant, as if Alexander V. was just waiting for her.
Alexander V. (Message): I'm looking for someone to accompany me tonight. Alexander V. (Message): The Volkov Tower Hotel, 50th Floor. Room 5001. 11:00 PM. Don't be late.
Aura read the message twice. The Volkov Tower. The same name as his last initial. This man wasn't a shark. This man was a killer whale in an ocean of wealth.
Aura's sharp wit vanished, replaced by genuine horror. But that $2 million...
She looked at the wall clock. 10:15 PM. She had to hurry.