THE PRICE OF A GIRL
1059 Words
The night Aveline was sold, the rain was cruel.
It did not fall softly or with mercy. It crashed from the sky in heavy sheets, beating against the rusted tin roof of the small house as though the heavens themselves were furious. Water slipped through the cracks and dripped onto the cracked cement floor, collecting in uneven puddles that reflected the weak yellow light of a single flickering bulb.
Aveline stood in the middle of the room, barefoot and silent.
She was nineteen years old, yet her eyes carried the exhaustion of someone much older. Her thin blue dress clung to her fragile frame, worn at the seams and faded from years of washing by hand. It was the only decent dress she owned. The one her uncle had told her to wear tonight.
Her hands were clenched so tightly at her sides that her nails cut into her palms, but she did not cry out. She had learned long ago that pain was easier to endure when no one knew you felt it.
Voices came from the next room.
Men’s voices. Low. Calculating.
And her uncle’s voice rose among them, eager and oily, filled with false respect and desperation.
“She is a good girl,” he said. “Quiet. Obedient. She will not cause problems.”
Aveline’s throat tightened.
She did not need to hear the rest to understand what was happening.
Her parents had been gone for six years. Six years since illness had taken them both within months of each other, leaving her with nothing but grief and a house full of debts. Six years of being passed around between relatives who never truly wanted her. Six years of being reminded that she ate too much, cost too much, and owed too much.
Her uncle had never looked at her with kindness. Only calculation.
She had known, deep down, that one day he would decide she was worth more sold than kept.
The door creaked open.
Aveline lifted her eyes slowly.
The man who stepped inside did not belong in this house.
He was tall, broad shouldered, and impossibly composed. His black suit was tailored to perfection, untouched by poverty or compromise. Rain clung to his coat, glistening faintly under the weak light, while his polished shoes stood on the cracked floor like an insult.
His face stole the air from her lungs.
Sharp features. A strong jaw. High cheekbones. Lips that looked as though they had never spoken kindness. His dark hair was slicked back neatly, and his eyes were a piercing shade of silver grey, cold and assessing.
He looked at her as if she were an object already owned.
“This is her?” he asked.
His voice was smooth, controlled, and deadly calm.
“Yes, Mr Valenno,” her uncle replied quickly, bowing his head slightly. “Aveline. She is healthy and young. She has been raised properly.”
Aveline flinched at the sound of her name on a stranger’s lips.
Valenno.
Her heart stuttered.
Everyone knew that name.
Dante Valenno was not just a rich man. He was power itself. A man whispered about in fear. A man whose wealth was built on blood, deals, and bodies that were never found. A mafia boss who ruled from the shadows with elegance and brutality.
She had never imagined someone like him would ever look at her.
Dante stepped closer.
The air changed as he did.
With every step he took toward her, Aveline felt the room grow smaller, tighter, harder to breathe in. He stopped directly in front of her, towering over her slight frame. She could smell rain and leather and something dark and expensive that did not belong to her world.
“Look at me,” he said.
Her chin trembled, but she raised her head.
The moment their eyes met, something inside her shattered and reformed all at once.
Her heart slammed violently against her ribs.
A strange heat bloomed in her chest, followed by an ache so deep it frightened her. It felt as though something ancient had recognized him, even as her mind screamed in terror.
Dante’s gaze sharpened.
For the briefest second, his composure cracked.
Something flickered in his eyes. Surprise. Irritation. Recognition.
He did not like it.
“She is thinner than I expected,” he said coolly, walking around her slowly. “Does she eat?”
Her uncle laughed nervously. “Food has been scarce, sir, but she is strong. She works hard.”
Dante stopped behind her.
Close enough that she could feel his presence like a weight against her back.
Aveline’s breath caught as heat spread along her spine. Fear tangled with something far more dangerous. Something warm. Something that did not belong here.
He leaned down slightly, his voice low enough that only she could hear it.
“You are not special,” he said softly. “You exist because I allow it. If you displease me, I will discard you without hesitation.”
Her legs trembled.
Yet somewhere deep inside her, beneath fear and humiliation, something stubborn refused to break.
“I understand,” she whispered.
Dante straightened.
Satisfied.
He reached into his coat and removed a thick envelope, handing it to her uncle without another glance at her.
“This transaction ends tonight,” he said flatly. “She leaves with me. You will never seek her out again.”
Her uncle nodded eagerly, clutching the money as though it were salvation.
“Of course. Of course.”
Dante turned and wrapped his hand around Aveline’s wrist. His grip was firm, not painful, but utterly unyielding.
She did not resist.
The rain swallowed them as they stepped outside. Thunder rumbled overhead as she was guided into a sleek black car, its interior smelling of leather and wealth she could not comprehend.
The door closed with a final, heavy sound.
As the car pulled away, Aveline hugged herself tightly, her body shaking despite her efforts to remain composed. The city lights blurred past the window, and the house she had known disappeared into darkness.
She had been sold.
She was terrified.
And yet, deep within her soul, something whispered a truth that made her chest ache.
This man would hurt her.
This man would own her.
And somehow, impossibly, he was the one her soul had been waiting for.
- Writer
- chap_listContents
- likeADD