Sold to the Alpha Triplets

Chapter 3

Since that awful night, life in the brothel has been my harsh reality. It's a place full of secrets whispered in corners and girls like me brought in to please men. They say once we hit eighteen, we're up for sale to the highest bidder.

Every day feels the same as I try to survive. I wander through dimly lit rooms and narrow halls, trying to learn what I can while blending in with the other girls. They call her Madam Gigi, but to me, she's just the red-haired woman who runs this place with her sharp eyes.

But everything changed on my seventeenth birthday. Madam Gigi motioned for me to come to her. She grinned coldly and told me to go on stage and dance. It wasn't a choice—I had to do it. The stage was lit up in red, shadows moving all around me. Customers watched my every move eagerly.

Madam Gigi's reason was simple and terrifying: by making me perform now, customers would remember me when auction time came. She believed familiarity would raise my value. I tried to fight back and escape, but every plan failed. The punishments left scars, both physical and emotional.

Girls warned me about Madam Gigi's cruelty, saying she'd use violence to stop anyone who defied her. Despite their fear, I wasn't scared of her. Something in her eyes hinted she saw me differently—not just another girl to control, maybe recognizing I wouldn't be pushed around.

I told the others to call me Thalia, a name I remembered from a piece of my past. It was all I had left from memories of a woman who I thought was my mom. I couldn't remember her face clearly.

"But right now, I'm just an exotic dancer," I reminded myself as the spotlight hit me hard. The stage felt endless, and as I opened my eyes, I saw a crowd of faces—men staring hungrily at me.

My heart raced as I took a deep breath, trying to calm down. I remembered my first clumsy performance, where I tripped and fell, ending the show early. Part of me was glad about that mistake, afraid of dancing in front of older, creepy men. But tonight, in a short black dress and tall red heels, I was determined to perform.

The music started, pulling me out of my thoughts. I moved to the beat, swaying and moving my hips. The men cheered loudly, some even threw money onto the stage, which made me feel exposed and embarrassed. This was my reality now, and I had to deal with it.

I spun gracefully and dropped to the floor dramatically as the music ended. I sighed with relief that the performance was over. Looking around, I saw the men standing and clapping loudly. Some tried to climb onto the stage, driven by their desires.

"You can't come up here, sir," the security guards at the stage edge firmly said, stopping the eager men before they reached me. "Please, I'll pay anything just to have her for a night," one man begged, his desperation echoing in my ears. It hit me hard—these men, old enough to be my dad, were willing to degrade themselves and me for their pleasure.

Disgust churned in my stomach. Without thinking, I jumped up and dashed from the stage. I ran through the brothel's halls, gasping for breath until I reached the locker room, where I slumped against the wall, trying to calm down.

"You did great out there," a gentle voice said. I looked up to see Emily, her face soft with understanding.

Emily and I were bonded in the harsh reality of the brothel. She wasn't just a friend; she was my support, comforting me through tears and shielding me from punishment. Her kindness was a rare light in a place of cruelty.

Seeing Emily in her auction clothes, marked "Contestant 6," shattered my sense of safety. Time had slipped away, and now she was about to be sold to a stranger—a thought that filled me with dread.

"Emily," I whispered, hugging her tightly. She hugged back warmly, offering comfort in the chaos.

"My dear," Emily murmured, gently running her fingers through my hair. Her words held love and acceptance of our harsh reality.

Before we could stay in the moment, a guard's voice interrupted, reminding us of the auction. Emily reluctantly let go, but I held on, afraid to lose her. The idea of her being sold like property made me feel helpless and angry.

Sometimes, I daydreamed of rebelling—standing up to Madam Gigi and the others, fighting against the injustice. But reality was tough. The girls were beaten down, trained to accept their fate, and even though I was frustrated, I didn't have the strength to change things.

"I gotta go, Thalia," Emily's voice pulled me back to reality. I watched sadly as she was led away, her steps unsure but determined. It felt like I was watching a cruel play, ending with Emily being sold to the highest bidder—a lonely guy looking for companionship from a girl who deserved much better.

Seeing Emily treated like that broke my heart. It hit me hard—I'd be facing the same fate soon.

A year passed since Emily was sold, filled with painful days under the red-haired woman and her mean crew. Some girls saw me as a threat, probably because I didn't bow down to their control. They were right—I clung to my self-respect, even in this awful place.

In my room, I stared at the wall decorations, noticing details I hadn't seen before. I realized my unease was because tomorrow's my birthday, a day that used to be happy but now felt ominous.

"Tomorrow's your birthday, Thalia. Why aren't you excited?" Sophia's voice interrupted my thoughts. I turned to see her in the doorway, her innocent smile standing out in this harsh place. Sophia was only eleven, a kid who should've been shielded from all this mess by her sweetness.

I felt a pang in my chest, knowing that Sophia would inevitably face the same fate awaiting me. She should've been playing, learning, dreaming—not counting down to being sold to satisfy someone's twisted desires.

Sophia's unexpected visit on the eve of my birthday brought a rare moment of warmth and comfort in the bleak brothel. As she came closer, I instinctively pulled her into my arms, holding her on my lap. "Sweetheart, what are you doing here?" I whispered, kissing her forehead.

"I came to wish you a happy birthday," she said, her voice filled with innocence and genuine affection. With a small gesture, she gave me a carefully wrapped gift. My heart swelled seeing the simple, heart-shaped necklace inside.

"Happy early birthday," Sophia said with a shy smile, her eyes bright with anticipation. I couldn't help but smile back, touched by her kindness and the fragile hope she brought into my world.

I unwrapped the gift carefully, a lump forming in my throat at the sight of the delicate necklace. It was a token of love and friendship in a place where such feelings were rare and precious. Overwhelmed with gratitude, I hugged Sophia tightly, hiding my tears. I didn't want her to see my fear—the dread of the upcoming auction, where my fate would be decided by money.

Night fell, shadows hinting at looming change. Tension grew as the girls prepared for the auction, a ritual stripping us of dignity and humanity. As midnight approached, Madam Gigi entered, her presence commanding obedience from everyone—except me.

"Get ready to go on stage," Madam Gigi ordered, her gaze cutting through the defiance welling up inside me. Confusion clouded my thoughts.

The dance had ended, leaving a haunting silence in the brothel's corridors. The other girls slated for auction had already faced their turns, their futures sealed with bids from faceless men in the audience. It was supposed to be over for the night, a brief break before the cycle of torment resumed.

But Madam Gigi's abrupt command shattered any hope of rest. Panic gripped me as her words sank in. "You're joining the auction today," she stated firmly, leaving no room for argument.

My mind raced, searching for a way out, a loophole in this twisted game. "But... but the auction should be finished," I protested, fear and disbelief trembling in my voice.

Madam Gigi's lips curled into a cold smile as she checked her watch. "It's exactly 12 AM now. Congratulations, my dear. You've just turned eighteen," she announced, her voice chillingly satisfied.

I stared at her in shock. I wasn't ready for this. I wasn't prepared to be thrust onto the stage, to be judged and valued only for my youth and looks. The necklace Sophia had given me felt heavy, a reminder of the innocence and hope I was about to lose.

"No, I can't do this," I protested, my voice rising with desperation. The idea of being sold to the highest bidder, losing what little control I had left, filled me with dread.

Madam Gigi's expression hardened, impatience clear in her eyes. "Enough of your drama," she snapped, irritation evident. "I've housed and fed you. Now it's time to repay me."

Her words twisted in my gut, a harsh reminder of my powerlessness in this place. Tears welled up, anger and despair overwhelming me.

Before I could speak, Madam Gigi silenced me with a chilling threat. "You will be auctioned today," she declared coldly. "Defy me, and you'll regret it."

The auction room was tense. Time slipped away, and I found myself still not properly dressed as guards ushered me towards the stage, their grip unyielding despite my resistance. Standing under the spotlight with the other girls, I felt exposed and vulnerable.

"Here are the contestants," a voice announced, the words echoing emptily. The audience, faces hidden in shadows, waited eagerly as bidding began.

"Start your bids," the announcer called out, voices clamoring. Fear gripped me as bids soared, each one deciding my uncertain future.

A guard tagged me with "10" before stepping back into the shadows. The number defined me in this dehumanizing spectacle—a commodity.

"We start at $2000 for number 10," the auctioneer declared, bidding escalating swiftly.

"$4000!" a voice called boldly.

"$10,000!" another countered.

The figures climbed, reflecting the price on my youth and body. Then, a chillingly familiar voice broke through.

"Two hundred thousand dollars," Mr. Smith's voice rang out, my heart sinking. Memories of his unwanted advances flooded back, filling me with dread.

Silence fell, bidding paused. I closed my eyes, praying for rescue.

"Going once," the auctioneer's voice cut through. Panic gripped me, hoping for any other bid but his.

"Going twice," the room held its breath. Mr. Smith's smug look fueled my terror, urging me to escape.

"So..." The auctioneer began, sealing my fate, until a voice cut through.

"One million dollars," a commanding voice declared, shocking the room. Gasps followed, all eyes on the mysterious bidder.

"Going once," disbelief tinted the auctioneer's voice.

"Going twice," murmurs filled the room. The bidder remained composed, unfazed by the attention.

"Sold," finality filled the room. "Number 10 sold to Alpha Damian," the auctioneer declared, sealing my future.

I turned to Alpha Damian, etching him in my mind as the man who saved me from Mr. Smith. He seemed older, commanding yet mysterious. Fear tightened my chest, wondering what lay ahead, what desires led him to bid so much.