Owning Her Body

"I'll do what you want!" I said to the man before me. "Can you really do whatever I want?" he asked. I nodded. "Yes, I do." "I want to own your body!" After that day, I sold my body to him because that body was no longer mine, but was Lucas Morrison. He owns my body. One week ago Life was unfair, but if you were rich and powerful, society would rally to ensure justice for you. With a single word, everything could be resolved. When did I realize this? It was through working in places where the wealthy and powerful frequented. I am Victoria, a regular university student who could only access places where the wealthy went, as a waitress or servant. I preferred being ordinary because I didn't want to be like the phony people around me. However, I couldn't avoid working due to the injustices that troubled people. As I served drinks to people, I had the opportunity to observe them. Fake smiles, insincere conversations, people who clearly disliked each other. They gathered together, but there was no genuine care among them. Tonight, a very important awards ceremony was taking place. Ordinary individuals couldn't attend the ceremony. They would either be waitresses like me, or watch it on television with snacks in hand. I was interrupted from my thoughts by the stern voice of our manager. "I don't want a single mistake tonight. Some very important guests will be arriving. Anyone who shows disrespect will be shown the door." We all chorused, "Okay, Sir." As our manager warned us, truly powerful people were expected to arrive. After emphasizing multiple times that we should treat everyone with respect, he gave us the go-ahead to begin service. As I circulated with a tray of drinks, attempting to be pleasant to the guests who seemed to overlook me, I felt somewhat dehumanized. While this situation sometimes saddened me, there were times when I realized I might have been overly sensitive. Setting a drink down on the table, I offered, "Enjoy." Seated at the table was a brunet woman of middle age. She smiled at me and responded, "Thank you. Good luck with your work." I was pleasantly surprised by her kindness. It seemed there were good people among them. "Why do you look surprised? Is nobody thanking you?" the woman inquired. "Well, no," I answered. As I was about to smile and move on, a tall, dark-skinned, middle-aged yet strikingly handsome man, who exuded charisma even in his casual attire, approached. He addressed the woman, "Hi, Nora darling," and embraced her waist. While discreetly observing them, I left another drink in front of the evidently affectionate couple. Nora, as I learned her name to be, glanced at my name badge. "Thanks again, Victoria." Feeling appreciated, I smiled once more as I walked away. When the manager signaled me with a nod, I made my way over to him. "Victoria, after serving the drinks, go upstairs and bring the snack boxes." If you were a waiter, your gender didn't really matter. Who cared if the boxes were heavy? I shook my head. When the drinks were finished, I walked towards the stairs. Just as I was going up, I heard a shout. It sounded like someone was screaming in pain. My legs moved towards the sound involuntarily, almost as if my heart was compelling me to go there. With my heart racing, I widened my eyes to see what was happening behind a slightly open door. What was happening there? There was a man in a suit, very muscular, around my age, dark-skinned, and had a stubble. His facial features were harsh. Beside him were three similarly dressed men with headsets, who I assumed were bodyguards. Two of the guards had a young man who looked sweaty and stressed, kneeling down while they applied pressure to his shoulders. The man in the suit grabbed the young man's chin and squeezed it tightly. The pain was evident in his eyes. The man showed no mercy. As I watched in horror, I heard the man ask, "Who are you? What is your name?" "Gavin..." "Gavin, why did you follow us here?" the man asked the young man. Despite his calm demeanor, his movements indicated otherwise. Gavin swallowed nervously. It was clear that he was afraid of the man before him. Gavin shook his head. "Sir, why would I follow you? My life is important to me." The man let out a cold laugh. Then, he approached Gavin and spoke sternly, "Are you really Gavin, or are you lying to me? Did you think I wouldn't figure it out?" "Wow! Do you think you have the right to make me follow you? You've got it all wrong." "Stop lying! You have two minutes. Tell me now who you work for or things will get ugly! You know!" the man said to Gavin. His menacing tone sent shivers down my spine. When Gavin remained silent, the man warned, "Time is running out, Gavin!" And when Gavin continued to stay silent, the man gestured to his guard who stood nearby. "Check his body! He might be hiding something!" When the man ordered this, Gavin's eyes revealed visible fear. While his body was being examined, the man discovered something that I couldn't see. It seemed to greatly agitate him. There must have been some evidence that Gavin was tailing him. "Gavin, do you know what I do to liars?" the man inquired. As I watched with my hand over my mouth, barely breathing, he delivered a hard punch to Gavin. As Gavin fell to the ground, the man commanded, "Get this scumbag up!" he shouted. As Gavin was lifted, I saw blood trickling from the corner of his lips. He struck him again. "Gavin, you may not talk here, but I have a special place where I can get you to talk," he said, drawing his gun from his waist. Was he going to kill him? At that moment, I stumbled and, as I started to retreat, I accidentally knocked over a vase in the hallway. I'm not sure why. As the vase crashed to the floor, drawing everyone's attention to me, I gulped when I found myself face-to-face with the armed man. He stared at me with a furrowed brow. Victoria, run! My heart was pounding in my chest as my legs finally responded, propelling me to leave quickly. Please don't come near me! You're foolish, Victoria! Why are you watching these men? I sprinted towards the stairs, too afraid to glance backward as I rapidly ascended the steps. My heart raced so intensely that it drowned out all other sounds. When I reached the stairwell, a hand grabbed my arm. They caught me! I was done for. I found myself pinned between the wall and the man wielding the gun. There was barely any distance separating our faces. As I prepared to scream, he covered my mouth firmly with his large hands. My heart constricted. Tears welled up in my eyes immediately. Fear consumed me completely. His eyes, darkened with anger, bore into mine as I began to struggle. "Stay calm!" he warned, gripping my waist with his other hand. I pleaded with my eyes, but there was no hint of mercy in his. I didn't anticipate any after what I had just witnessed. He was so near that his scent enveloped me. It was distinct. He was in close enough proximity to smell me as well. "Now, I'll remove my hand. If you scream, it won't end well for you!" I nodded in agreement as he spoke. It was only natural for me to fear him. He held a gun. I was a young woman who had never encountered a firearm up close in my life. My father was a simple factory worker, and my mother was a homemaker. He released my mouth but remained in close proximity. His gaze dropped to my neck, lingering there as he examined my face. With my hair pulled back in a ponytail, my neck was exposed, and his scrutiny there puzzled me. Why was he studying me so intently? He lifted his eyes to meet mine once more, and I felt a wave of fear wash over me. I wanted to explain, but my words failed me. In a tremulous voice, all I managed to say was "I-I..." My stuttering prevented me from continuing, and I fell silent as he gave me a stern look. His gaze then fell to my name badge. "Victoria..." It felt like the first time my name had been uttered so distinctly. What was I thinking? He placed his hands on either side of me, and I observed him with a trembling body. Despite my nerves causing me to shake down to my eyelashes, I was surprised to find myself distracted by thoughts of the man's handsomeness, even in this tense situation. "What did you see just now?" he asked firmly. I vigorously shook my head. "I-I didn't see anything." He brought his face closer. As his breath brushed against my lips, he said, "Don't lie! What were you doing there? Whose man are you?" he asked. "I am nobody's man. I was just going upstairs. I have not seen anything." He examined my face once more. "Why were you going upstairs?" he inquired in a more subdued tone, less severe than before. "I'm working as a waitress here tonight. I was going out to get the snack boxes," I explained. He suddenly erupted in anger. It was clear he had a temper issue. "Then why were you watching us? Who sent you? Who do you work for? Stop lying!" Why didn't he believe me? What was I missing? Victoria, you were caught watching the man! "I'm not lying. I don't work for anyone." "You're still lying! I despise liars!" he declared. I shook my head. "I don't even know you." It was the truth. I genuinely had no idea who he was. He arched an eyebrow and gazed at me mockingly. Did I unknowingly offend someone important? I wasn't acquainted with celebrities. "You don't recognize me, do you?" He spoke confidently, emanating importance through and through. "No, I don't. I swear, I'm just a simple waitress. Just doing my job. I didn't witness anything," I insisted. "Why am I finding it hard to believe you, Victoria?" What could I do? This man seemed poised to take action. His possession of a gun signified strength. Was he contemplating harming me? My father had always warned me against working night shifts. I couldn't help but reproach myself for ignoring his advice. "Please, let me go!" He fell silent and continued to scrutinize me. Did my pleas appease him? Just as I was about to implore him anew, someone called my name. "Victoria!" We turned to the caller—our manager, shouting. His astonishment at finding me in that predicament with the man was evident. The man distanced himself from me. "Be cautious, Victoria." That was very threatening. The manager adjusted his jacket. "Sir, did Victoria do something to upset you? If there's an issue..." he trailed off, heading downstairs as I remained in place. The man placed a hand on the manager's shoulder, his expression revealing his boredom. "She didn't do anything wrong. She was simply showing me the sink, but there seems to be a problem," he explained with a pained tone. "Why? Let me address it right away." Placing a hand over my heart, I leaned against the wall, still replaying the incident I had witnessed earlier. "What's that woman doing here?" the man questioned the manager. The manager responded, prompting the man to speak again. "What's the point of having women carry boxes? You pay for this!" I was taken aback. After recently threatening me, he was now upset with the chief for assigning me the task of carrying a box. Was this man good or bad? "I-I, sir." "Stop mumbling! Do your job properly!" he commanded, delivering a forceful hit to the manager's shoulder before departing. The manager cast a brief glance in my direction before leaving as well. I hurried to the bathroom, repeatedly splashing water on my face. Leaning against the marble counter, water dripped from my face to the ground. Despite this, my heart felt constricted, and my face burned with emotion. Unable to bear it, I washed my face once more and stared at my reflection in the mirror. "Calm down, Victoria." If the chief noticed my absence, he would surely reprimand me. At least I managed to compose myself somewhat. Returning to the kitchen, I noticed a group of girls chatting amongst themselves. I refrained from joining them as I wasn't very sociable and had never had a close friend. My father had always cautioned me against putting my trust in people, while my mother tended to view things negatively, always anticipating the worst. As I observed the girls, the manager approached. "Victoria, continue serving the guests." I complied with his instructions. I was surprised by the absence of any words directed at me, leaving me perplexed. "Come on, Victoria!" When the manager shouted, I arranged the drinks on the tray and headed to the living room for service. My eyes involuntarily scanned the room for that man, but he was nowhere to be found. I took a deep breath. It seemed he had left. My tension eased slightly. Walking back and forth between the kitchen and the living room, a well-known model took the stage and greeted, "Welcome to our eighth awards ceremony!" As she spoke, I stepped aside. All eyes were fixed on the stage now, and a few people sought drinks. "We have esteemed guests joining us tonight. We will be presenting significant awards," she announced, but I was watching her with a vacant expression. I had gotten no sleep the previous night, and the terrifying encounter I had just experienced earlier added to my exhaustion. Encountering such a scene when I was already fatigued was daunting. My body began to tremble once more. As the man approached the stage, I noticed all the young women turning to look at him. He strode forward without acknowledging anyone, drawing attention to his dark skin, stubble, and commanding presence. His stern expression was intimidating. While I followed his movements while serving drinks, he approached a woman on stage who expressed gratitude and kissed her cheek. They exchanged words before I tried to discern their connection. Suddenly, we stood face to face. I swallowed nervously. His eyes blazed with anger. I averted my gaze immediately. Dizzy with nerves, I clutched the tray tightly, keeping my head down to avoid his gaze. The woman on stage announced, "Now, our next award is the businessman of the year award." Intrigued, I lifted my head to listen. "The businessman of the year award goes to Nicolas Morrison, recognized for his exceptional work!" As the model made the announcement, I glanced to see who it was. When the man beside him joined him on stage, he even applauded. Was Nicolas Morrison his father? They certainly bore a resemblance. The man regarded me with disdain after I claimed not to know who he was. Who were they, exactly? Setting the tray aside, I retrieved my phone from my pocket. With trembling hands, I searched for Nicolas Morrison. My eyes widened at what I found on the first page. Renowned mafia boss Nicolas Morrison. Mafia? I swallowed nervously. My hands were shaking, and my vision was blurry. My mouth felt dry, and I longed to moisten my lips. I continued scrolling through the news headlines. Mafia boss Nicolas Morrison, also known as Darkness, resurfaces. Nicolas Morrison transferred ownership of the famous Dark nightclub to his son, Lucas Morrison. When I clicked on the news article, a photo of him popped up. His name was Lucas Morrison. As I gazed at the photo, I felt a breath on the back of my neck. Unable to look back, my phone slipped from my grasp. The breath drifted from my neck to my ear. "What's my name? Who am I?" "L-Lucas Morrison!" I whispered. He was the son of mafia boss Nicolas Morrison, also known as Darkness.