The sound of footsteps broke through my thoughts. My body tensed as the steps grew louder, nearing the door. I scrambled back, pressing myself against the damp wall, my eyes locked on the jiggling knob. My breath came in shallow gasps until the door creaked open.
It wasn’t Renat or Artur, but Matvet, who stepped in. Behind him, an unfamiliar woman followed, carrying a box and a bag.
“You have ten minutes to prepare her,” Matvet said, his voice cold. He glanced at me before turning to the woman. “Get it done.”
And just like that, he was gone.
Confused, I stared at the woman as she approached. She dropped the box on the floor with a thud, opened it, and began unpacking its contents. There were makeup brushes, foundation, eyeshadows, and many others. From the bag, she pulled out two dresses: one white lace, the other blood red.
“What’s going on?” I whispered.
She ignored me at first, focused on her task. “Which one do you prefer?” she asked.
“Why?”
“I’m doing my job,” she replied, without looking at me. Her tone carried no sympathy. “You need to be ready in ten minutes. Cooperate, or you’ll regret it.”
“What kind of trouble am I in?” I pressed, my stomach knotting tighter with every word.
Now that she was closer to me, I noticed she was older,probably my mother’s age. But she carried herself with an air of confidence. Her tailored pants and vintage blouse spoke of elegance. And her black hair sat twisted in a perfect bun.
She looked me over, her eyes narrowing. “Don’t worry,” she said, rummaging through her kit. “I’ll take care of the bags under your eyes.”
I flinched as she swiped a cleansing wipe across my face. Her touch was clinical, as though I were some object they’d tasked her to polish.
“Your hair’s decent,” she remarked. “Just a little retouch, and it’ll do.”
“Retouch for what?” I asked, dread pooling in my chest. “Am I leaving here?”
“Yes.”
Her response made my breath hitch, a flicker of hope lighting in the darkness. But before I could hold on to it, she extinguished it.
“No. Not the way you’re thinking,” she said. “You’re being auctioned. But you might get lucky, maybe you will get along with your buyer.”
The wordauctionedhit me like a punch to the stomach. Clara was right. This wasn’t an escape. It was another prison, a transfer from one set of chains to another.
My throat tightened as the lump I’d been holding back rose, choking me. I let her finish her work in silence. She styled my hair into an elegant bun and applied makeup to my face with precision. When she was done, she handed me the white lace dress.
I put it on with trembling hands. My reflection in the tiny mirror she pulled out was unrecognizable. The girl staring back at me looked polished and pristine, a porcelain doll dressed for display. But beneath the surface, I was crumbling.
The woman knocked on the door, and Matvet entered. His gazeswept over me, and his eyes lingered for a while.
He didn’t speak, not even when he fastened a blindfold over my eyes. I didn’t resist. What was the point? Matvet followed orders, nothing more. His grip on my arm was firm as he guided me out of the room. I had no sense of direction, no idea where we were going. The journey stretched on. The hum of the car engine and the occasional crunch of tires on gravel were the only clues that time was passing.
When the car finally stopped, I felt the cold rush of air as the door opened. My shaky hands clutched my knees as though that could ground me. Someone grabbed me, steadying me as they pulled me to my feet.
Low music hummed in the background. Blindfolded, I stumbled. The person leading me was patient, tugging me forward until I could walk on my own.
The blindfold came off as abruptly as it was put on, and I blinked against the dim light, inhaling sharply. We stood before a guarded door, two men dressed in black suits exchanging silent nods with Matvet. One of them pushed the heavy door open, releasing a pungent wave of cigarette smoke and stale alcohol.
Inside, the dim lighting cast everything in an eerie half-light. Velvet sofas lined the walls, each occupied by men who radiated power and danger. Women draped themselves over them, their faces painted with seduction. Some swayed to music while others pressed their hands against broad shoulders, murmuring in low voices.
The men looked up as I entered, their eyes piercing through the haze of smoke. I shrank toward Matvet, hoping the dim light would swallow me whole, but their stares burned.
Whistles and murmurs cut through the air, low and predatory.
“Fuck, look at her.”