Prized Possession Part 1
767 Words
My name is Mia, and at twenty-one years old, I’d already known enough pain to last a lifetime.
Ever since my mom passed, the house had stopped feeling like a home. My father once strict but kind spiraled into the bottom of a bottle. The liquor made him mean. His words cut sharper, his fists landed harder. He reminded me daily that I was a burden, a mistake, a “thing” he was stuck with.
So when my shift at the diner ended that night, and my friend begged me to stay over at her place instead of walking home, I wanted to say yes. God, I wanted to.
“Mia, don’t go back there tonight,” Alana pleaded, gripping my arm. Her eyes were glossy with worry. “He’ll only hurt you again. Just… stay. My mom won’t mind.”
I forced a smile, though it trembled. “If I don’t show up, it’ll only make him worse tomorrow. I’ll be fine. I promise.”
Her face said she didn’t believe me. But I walked away anyway. Alone.
The streets were quiet, dimly lit by flickering lamps. My footsteps echoed against the pavement, but before long, another sound joined them. A van. The engine low, crawling behind me.
I quickened my pace.
A sharp sting struck the back of my neck before I could scream. The world blurred, went dark, and when I woke, I wasn’t on the street anymore.
My wrists were bound in silk, not rope, and I was standing on a platform under a harsh spotlight. The air was thick with smoke and money, the scent of expensive cologne and danger. Around me sat men in masks, their voices low, bidding numbers that made my stomach twist.
“Fresh. Untouched,” a voice announced like I was cattle at market. “A rare find. Starting at fifty thousand.”
The bidding began.
Fear prickled, but not the kind I expected. It wasn’t terror, it was resignation. A part of me thought, maybe this is better. Maybe this is freedom from him. After all, nothing was going to be on the same level of horror as the home I lived in everyday.
The numbers climbed higher. Old men, greedy eyes peeking from behind their masks, raised their hands again and again.
And then, a voice cut through the haze. Strong. Steady. Final.
“Two million.”
Gasps rippled across the room. The auctioneer’s grin widened. “Sold.”
My head turned toward the man in the black mask. He sat tall, broad shouldered, his long black hair falling around his face. His mask covered half his features, but not his eyes. Grey. Sharp and piercing, like a storm that saw straight through me
He stood, and the crowd parted as though they knew better than to block his way. He came forward, handed over his sum, and claimed me with a hand that was firm but not cruel.
“Come,” he said simply.
I followed, legs weak, unsure if it was fear or something else guiding me.
The van ride away from that place was silent. I kept my eyes on him, on the way his fingers flexed against his knee, the way he carried himself like power wasn’t just in his pocket—it was in his blood.
At last, the van pulled up to a sprawling estate, gates taller than anything I’d ever seen, walls that whispered of wealth and secrets.
His home. My new cage or so I thought.
Inside, I braced myself for the worst. Instead, he removed my bindings, gently, as though he hated the sight of them.
“My name is Roman,” he said, pulling off his mask. My breath hitched. He was beautiful. Strong jaw, fierce features, hair framing his face like a warrior from another time. His grey eyes softened now, watching me. “You’re safe here. No one will hurt you. Not again.”
The words made my chest tighten. No one had promised me safety in years.
“Why… me?” I whispered.
His expression darkened. “Because men like them don’t deserve to touch something precious. They would’ve destroyed you.” His hand brushed mine, careful, deliberate. “I won’t let that happen.”
I didn’t know whether to believe him. But that night, lying in a bed softer than clouds, dressed in silks instead of rags, I let myself wonder: maybe, just maybe, fate had pulled me from hell into something different. Something unknown.
And for the first time in a long time, I didn’t cry myself to sleep.
- Writer
