Possessive over my maid

Lucky day 2

MIA POV

Still in a flashback

I couldn’t process the words my uncle had just spoken. My mind went blank, and yet, my heart was hammering so hard I thought it might burst from my chest.

The unease crawling through me was more than fear—it was a premonition. Something was terribly wrong, but I couldn’t name it yet.

“I wasn’t able to get the cheque ready due to a small hiccup, but I have a better offer,” my uncle said, trying to sound casual.

“Mr. Anderson, stop beating around the bush and tell me straight,” Mr. Adkins replied, his voice sharp, impatient. “I have other business I need to carry out.”

My uncle hesitated, then his son, Matt, spoke with a nonchalance that made my stomach twist. “Okay… what Daddy wants to say is that we want to offer you this… beautiful girl… to clear our debt.”

I froze. The words hung in the air like poison. My vision blurred, my knees threatened to give way beneath me. I could hardly breathe. They… they wanted to offer me? Like some commodity? Like an object to be traded? The thoughts collided violently in my mind: slave… wife… p********e… sacrificial pawn… all at once.

I wanted to scream, to fight, to make them see the horror of what they were suggesting.

But no sound came out. I had lived my whole sixteen years in servitude, enduring insults, abuse, and endless chores. And now… this. I could not comprehend such cruelty from people I had called family.

“Mr. Anderson,” Mr. Adkins said, his voice low and dangerous, “I think you know one thing about me. I hate being played.”

“Oh no, Mr. Adkins,” my aunt chimed in, her voice smooth and chilling. “Trust what my husband says. We offer you this girl as compensation for the money you demand. She is… beautiful, and I am sure she will earn you a fortune.”

My blood ran cold. Each of them nodded or smiled in agreement, as if selling me were the most natural thing in the world. They were in full support of it. My own family was complicit in my destruction.

“Wow… wow,” Mr. Adkins said, rising from his seat and approaching me. My pulse spiked. His presence was overwhelming, commanding. His eyes lingered on me, calculating, intense, almost hungry. He circled slowly, inspecting me like I were property, his hand reaching out to brush a strand of hair from my face.

“No! Don’t touch me!” I shouted, pushing his hand away. The room fell into stunned silence, even the guards froze. His expression darkened, but I refused to shrink back. My body was the one thing in this world I still had control over, and I would not give it willingly to anyone—not even to the man sitting in front of me.

“How dare she shout at me?” he hissed, his voice cold as ice, scanning the room with fury.

My uncle chuckled uneasily. “So sorry, Mr. Adkins. She… sometimes acts stubborn.”

The words cut deeper than any slap. They weren’t protecting me—they were justifying my sale, normalizing it. I wanted to scream, to fight, to escape, but the heavily armed men surrounding the room made it clear that resistance would be futile.

Mr. Adkins picked up a pistol from the table, holding it casually across his body. My heart raced faster than ever. Was he going to shoot me? Part of me wanted it—anything to escape this nightmare—but then he bent slightly, leaning down so that we were at eye level.

“Her boldness makes her even more attractive,” he said smoothly, almost admiringly. “I am sure she will bring… a very good fortune.”

His words made my stomach churn. The rest of them smiled, satisfied. My uncle, my aunt, my cousin—heartless, greedy, self-serving. They thought only of profit, of debt, of their convenience. My life meant nothing to them.

Later, I was told, bluntly and without apology, that I was sold. My aunt’s words were like knives to my chest. They explained that I could either be sent to one of the rich clubs that catered to the elite, a place where my looks would be traded for money, or perhaps “lucky” enough to be purchased by someone who would use me for their personal pleasure.

This was business. Not morality. Not family. Business.

I felt utterly hopeless. My life had always been difficult, but nothing had prepared me for this. Based on the sheer security and the number of armed men around, escape was impossible. I cried, begged, pleaded with my aunt, uncle, and cousin. I promised to work harder, to do any chore, to endure any abuse at home,but they ignored me. Their smiles were cruel, their hearts cold.

I went to bed that night in a haze of fear, despair, and disbelief. My mind could not rest. I imagined what awaited me the rich, the powerful, the unknown horrors. I had survived sixteen years of torment, but this… this was something entirely different.

I closed my eyes, hoping to find solace in sleep, but even there, nightmares chased me. I could not call this life. I didn’t know what to call it. I had known hunger, abuse, insults—but I had never known a future so terrifyingly devoid of choice.

And yet, somewhere deep inside, a tiny ember of defiance refused to die. I had been powerless for too long. No matter what awaited me, I could not allow them to take every last piece of me. My body, my mind, my dignity—these were mine, no one else’s.

*

That night, lying on the hard mattress, I thought about my parents. About the life I might have had. About the family I had lost. And about the life I still had to fight for. They could sell me, trade me, try to crush me—but they could never take my will.

I didn’t know how I would survive. I didn’t know what the future held. But I promised myself one thing: I would endure, I would resist, and somehow, I would find a way to reclaim my life.

The mansion, the guards, Mr. Adkins, and the cruel smiles of my uncle, aunt, and cousin they all thought they had won. But they had underestimated me. And they were about to learn that Mia Anderson did not break so easily.