SCARS OF THE MOON

The kidnapping

I have no more tears to cry. Mom always prophesied that Dad would destroy our family because of an addiction. I think that, after so many prayers, God took her early to spare her from what happened. Saying that my father lost me in a poker game sounds too cruel, doesn’t it?

I’m twenty years old. Heaven, I should be in university by now, just like I always planned. But Dad insisted so much that I spend the summer with him. And in the end, he betrayed me, just as he destroyed what was left of our family.

They took me from home, without warning, and brought me here. I have no idea where I am or how I’m going to get out. The room they put me in has an enormous bed and looks like it’s straight out of a decorating magazine, with everything meticulously in place. It’s the kind of setting used to sell a perfect lifestyle. But here I am, not knowing who brought me.

I could only imagine that the person behind all of this must be an impeccably dressed psychopath, obsessed with order but with a mind ravaged by chaos. The cruel irony of it all was that, in the end, the innocent always pay for the sinners.

I prayed to God to intervene, but He seemed so distant. The crushing silence was pierced by a few vague sounds, but nothing happened. Part of me still fantasized about the police breaking down the door to rescue me. But I knew it was just a distant dream. If I kept going without eating or drinking, soon all of this would turn into a macabre delirium—and that would be the end.

The image of my mother floods my mind. It's been almost a year since she left. They said she didn’t feel pain at the end, but how could she not feel pain with cancer devouring every part of her body? She tried so hard to stay here. I remember her fragile smile, saying everything would be okay, even as the pain consumed her.

She asked me to be strong, even in the midst of suffering. I guess that’s what I’m trying to do now.

Damn Dad, who couldn’t even give her a proper funeral.

“You have to be strong!” I whisper to myself, like a reminder. My head is spinning, and the heavy air in the room feels like it’s about to suffocate me at any moment.

I think I’m no longer in London. I don’t even know if I’m still in my own country. There’s a purple bruise below my right breast—maybe I hurt myself during the trip. The only thing I remember is my stomach churning, hands holding me up so I wouldn’t fall, the metallic taste of blood in my mouth... and then, absolute darkness.

Dad was addicted to gambling, and last week, one of the collectors took our house. He promised he’d come back. And he did—but not to take something, rather to take me.

I don’t know what happened to my father after that. I remember seeing him trying, minimally, to pull me from that man’s hands. But he stopped as soon as the collector made the proposal: all debts would be cleared if he let me go.

He let me go. Cowardly, without fighting, without lifting a finger to save me. His problem vanished. And I disappeared along with it.

I tried to get up, but the pain below my breast, in my ribs, made me groan softly. The sound almost got lost in the air, and I wondered if anyone would miss me. Over the past year, I distanced myself from everyone. No one wants to stick around when someone’s life is falling apart. Mother dead, father sunk in gambling, owing everything, and me just trying to survive.

Now, I don’t even need to do that. All that’s left is to wait and see what happens.

I’ve seen this scene in movies, books, even comedies. But when it’s happening to you, it feels impossible. There’s that absurd thought that someone will burst in and say it’s all just a prank. But it wasn’t. It was real.

Standing, in one last attempt, I walked to the door and knocked hard, my hands desperate, as if begging for help or at least trying to say that I was there, trapped.

I couldn’t even say goodbye to my mother. The pain of that was consuming me more and more.

I looked at the trays of food that were piling up. No one appeared while I was awake; they were left when I blacked out, trying to recover. This could only mean someone was watching me, maybe through cameras or something like that.

My captivity had food, comfort... and a watcher.

“What kind of place is this? Why won’t anyone come to get me out of here?!”

My head spins suddenly, and the sound of the door unlocking echoes through the room. I turn quickly and see the door slowly open. It takes me a moment to grasp the figure entering.

For a second, I try to understand what I’m seeing. The enigmatic figure before me observes me from head to toe, and I feel vulnerable, standing there in dirty, wrinkled clothes. There’s no doubt—that’s the person responsible for my being here.

And then, the truth hits me. My devil doesn’t wear red or have horns. He isn’t a grotesque and terrifying creature.

My devil wears a suit. He’s elegant, imposing, and devours me with his eyes, like a beast lyi.

My heart was racing, pounding so hard that I had to lean on the bed, keeping a cautious distance. In my mind, a wave of terror spread, fed by the fear of the unknown. I remembered my mom's warnings about bad men and how they could take advantage of a vulnerable woman. Now, that image was materializing in front of me.

The panic intensified as he took a few steps toward me. Every movement of his seemed charged with unshakable calm, as if there was nothing wrong with keeping a girl captive against her will. He stopped, hands in his pockets, and watched me with a gaze that seemed to dissect every nuance of my expression and situation.

The tension in the air was palpable, and I felt increasingly crushed by the sense of ruin and despair. All I wanted was to get out of there, to escape this nightmare and return to a place where I felt safe. But in front of Jason, all I could see was a wall of unyielding control that made my desire to flee even more desperate.

"You must be Melina," he said, his deep, controlled voice resonating through the space. "My name is Jason Magno. I regret that our first impressions are under such circumstances. I understand this situation is uncomfortable," he said, still maintaining his impeccable posture. "However, there are certain things we need to discuss and resolve. Your cooperation will be essential."

My heart was pounding so intensely that I had to lean on the bed, fearing my legs would fail to support me, even if I tried to run. His imposing presence, his size, and the grave tone of his voice made the situation all the more terrifying. He seemed capable of breaking me in half with a simple movement.

"What do you want from me?" my voice trembled, a whisper of despair and confusion.

That man unbuttoned his suit with a meticulous gesture and sat on the edge of the bed, as if he were evaluating a valuable item. His eyes wandered around the room indifferently until they landed on the untouched trays of food, as if the sight of them confirmed the state I was in.

"I understand this situation is hard to grasp," he began, his voice calmly controlled. "The truth is, you’ve been chosen for a very specific purpose. You are here because you need to bear a child of mine. It’s a requirement that stems from a very particular need, and although it may seem cruel, you were chosen because of certain... qualities in that pretty little body of yours. Your role is crucial to the fulfillment of an ancient and important agreement for me and my family.”

“What?”

He paused, letting his words sink in.

“When your role is complete, you’ll be free to go. I don’t intend to keep you here indefinitely. But until that purpose is fulfilled, your cooperation will be essential. That’s why you’re here, young lady.”

The tone of his voice left no room for doubt: his proposal was an order disguised as a promise. My mind spun with the terrifying reality of his revelation, as the weight of his words crushed every hope of escape.

“What you’re saying is that my freedom is tied to something I don’t even fully understand?” my voice came out almost in a whisper, fear and disbelief mixing with every word.

That man leaned forward slightly, his eyes still fixed on me, with a gaze that seemed to penetrate beyond the surface of my panic.

“Yes,” he confirmed, with a tone that blended precision with cold calculation. “You are going to bear a Magno child.”

The pain in my body seemed to grow unbearable, and a tear slid down my face as I backed away, stumbling further and further from that stranger. He stood as he saw me in this state, his imposing presence dominating the room.

“You look awful. What happened to you, girl?” His voice, filled with a mix of disdain and curiosity, made me question his age. I looked directly at him, my gaze filled with fear and confusion.

His image, an elegant and ruthless figure, was disturbing and undeniably threatening. A chill ran down my spine, and within seconds, my world collapsed. I could no longer stand, and I fell—but the floor did not greet me.

Instead, something caught me. It was an enveloping presence, with an intense fragrance and a body that radiated warmth, almost scorching. It felt as if I was being wrapped by an aura that seemed to burn, his closeness a mix of unsettling comfort and palpable threat.

He held me with a care that contradicted the coldness of his presence. His arms, strong and firm, surrounded me, and I could feel the heat of his body seeping into my skin, intensifying the feeling of helplessness and confusion. The combination of his scent and the warmth of his touch was almost oppressive, making fear and powerlessness intertwine into one overwhelming emotion.

“Calm down,” he said, his voice now soft, but still carrying an underlying command. “We’ll figure this out.”

I remained there, trapped between fear and the desperate need to understand what would happen next, while he continued to hold me, his unrelenting touch and inescapable presence pressing down on me.