READY OR NOT sold to the Demon king

“Anastasia Willoughby,” a lady in the registration office called out. Anastasia raised her right hand slightly. “Yes, that’s me.” “Come here, please.” She rose from her chair and quietly walked into the office. “Alright, Miss Willoughby, the manager will see you in five minutes. Please have a seat and make yourself comfortable,” the lady in the large office chair said with a welcoming smile. She offered Anastasia something to drink, but she declined with a gentle smile and a soft thank you. Anastasia sat in a waiting chair positioned in the corner, adjacent to the registration desk. Though seated, her mind was far from still. It had been five years… and she couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that something might go wrong with the money. Lost in thought, she barely noticed the lady calling her name repeatedly. It was only after a few moments that she snapped back to reality. “Are you okay?” the lady asked politely. Anastasia forced a small smile. “Yes, I’m perfectly fine.” “The manager will see you now.” Those words sent a wave of doubt through her. What if this was all a mistake? What if she should just turn around and go home? But something deep within her refused. “Thank you,” she said, rising quickly and following the lady toward the manager’s office. The lady stopped at the door and excused herself. Left alone, Anastasia stood still, nervously fidgeting with her necklace as she whispered a silent prayer, hoping everything would fall into place. “Sit, please.” The manager, seated behind a large wooden desk, gestured toward a leather chair. Anastasia nodded and sat immediately. He looked at her briefly. “Miss Willoughby?” “Yes.” “Your I.D. card and verification documents, please.” She quickly retrieved them from her bag and handed them over. He examined them carefully, nodded in approval, then closed the file. “Mira,” he called. Within seconds, the door opened and a lady stepped in briskly. “Sir.” It was the same woman from the registration office. The manager handed her the file. She accepted it and left, only to return moments later with the file and a white document. Anastasia’s eyes lingered on the paper, assuming it held the answers she had waited years for. Mira handed it over and was dismissed. “Miss Willoughby…” The manager cleared his throat. “As we are both aware, you are here regarding your account.” Anastasia nodded, her attention fully fixed on him. “Well… according to our records, there is no money in your inherited account.” Silence. The words echoed in Anastasia’s ears as her mind went blank. “What?!” Her voice broke into the stillness. “How is that possible?!” Her heart pounded violently, each beat heavy with disbelief and pain. “Please, calm down. Take a deep breath, Mrs. Willoughby,” the manager said, attempting to steady the rising tension. Calm down? The words felt almost insulting. But she swallowed her anger. This was an office — she couldn’t afford to lose control. “Explain,” she said firmly. The manager adjusted in his seat. “When you look at the records, it shows that the money was withdrawn four years ago…” “Wait—what are you saying?” she interrupted sharply. “Sir, there must be a mistake. There has to be a logical explanation for this,” she insisted, her voice trembling with desperation. “This doesn’t make sense. For the past six years, I wasn’t even of legal age to access that money. It was left for me after my parents died.” The manager sighed slightly. “I… don’t know.” That was it. Something inside her snapped. “HOW CAN YOU NOT KNOW?!” she burst out. “TELL ME!” “Miss Willoughby, please calm down!” “HOW CAN YOU TELL ME TO CALM DOWN?!” she nearly screamed. The manager quickly continued, “According to the records, four years ago, two individuals came here claiming to be your authorized guardians. They had complete verification, and they requested that the funds be transferred to their account for your future use. We followed procedure and transferred the money accordingly.” He paused briefly. “I suggest you discuss this matter with your guardians.” “Aunt…” Anastasia whispered. Her expression hardened instantly, anger blazing across her face. Without another word, she stood up and walked out of the office. Her steps were fast and heavy as she moved through the hallway, past the reception, and straight out of the bank. She didn’t stop. She didn’t look back. She didn’t even say goodbye to Mira. Mira, however, didn’t mind. She had seen the storm in Anastasia’s eyes before she left. And besides, it was part of the job — some people said thank you, others didn’t. It wasn’t a big deal.