The blue dress lay across the bed like a warning.
Naiara stared at it without touching it, as if one single gesture could make it real.
The fabric shimmered beneath the warm light, elegant and thin, too beautiful not to hide something terrible.
The three blonde women stood by the door, identical in every detail. Same hair, same blank expression, the same way of breathing. One of them stepped forward and spoke in a flat, lifeless tone: "The master wants you to wear it. It's better not to make him angry."
Naiara looked up, her voice trembling but firm.
"I don't care what he wants. I'm not going anywhere."
The woman didn't answer.
The three of them exchanged a brief glance, then silently left the room, closing the door behind them.
Naiara sat down on the edge of the bed, her fingers tangled in her hair. Her temples throbbed, the blood pounding in her ears.
She thought about everything she had lost, and everything she could no longer tell apart.
About Leo. The way he looked at her like she was home.
About Damian, though she didn't even know his name.
That confusion that ate away at her soul: who had she really loved? Two identical faces, two opposite truths.
She thought of her mother, of the smell of coffee in the morning, of that voice warning her never to trust anyone completely.
And she thought of her father, his false smile, the way he managed to sell everything, even her.
She stood up. She wanted to smash the mirror, destroy the room, erase that poisonous blue.
But she didn't have time.
The handle turned slowly.
The Grey entered.
His presence filled the air like a dangerous perfume. Tall, elegant, his suit flawless, every movement deliberate.
He was beautiful in a way that didn't comfort, it terrified.
He walked toward her without slowing down.
Naiara stepped back, then again, until she hit the edge of the bed.
"Why me?" she asked, trying to hide the tremor in her voice.
"Look at you, you could have any woman you want."
His smile was slow, thin, and terrifying.
He leaned close enough for his lips to graze her ear and whispered,
"Because I'm bored, little strawberry."
The way he said it froze the blood in her veins.
Before she could react, he gripped her throat, not tightly, but enough to remind her who was in control.
"Now get ready," he said, voice low and precise. "I hate waiting. Don't make me angry."
She looked at him, fear rising in her chest like a scream she couldn't release.But she decided to challenge him: "I'm not hungry," she whispered.
He chuckled softly.
"You're not afraid for yourself, are you, little strawberry? I've already taken care of that."
She blinked, confused.
"What do you mean?"
His smile widened, poisonous.
"Get dressed. Otherwise, your sweet mother will become shark food."
The world stopped.
"What?" she whispered, her voice cracking.
Then louder, trembling with rage: "You're a monster!"
He tilted his head, that cold, lifeless smile never fading.
"Oooh, such harsh words… I'm much worse than a monster. You'll find out soon enough. Now get dressed."
He left.
Naiara stood frozen, her mouth open, her body trembling.
Then she crumpled to the floor and cried.
She cried harder than she ever had before.
For her mother, for herself, for everything she could no longer understand.
When the three women returned, she didn't resist. She let them dress her, fix her hair, paint her face. Every gesture felt mechanical, empty, as if she were no longer a person but a doll.
One of them looked at her and whispered,
"You're beautiful. The master will be pleased. That's good for everyone."
They led her out, down a hallway lined with mirrors and gold light. Every step echoed like a heartbeat.
The dining hall was enormous. Light. Silver. Candles.
Luxury so perfect it became obscene.
He was already there. Sitting at the head of the table, his grey suit perfectly matching the shade of her blue dress.
When he saw her, he stood.
"Come closer."
She obeyed, slowly. Every cell in her body screamed for her to run, but her legs refused to move. She sat down.
He remained beside her, looking at her the way a collector admires a rare prize.
"It's been a long time since I've seen beauty like yours," he said, voice low and cutting. "But it's your fire that excites me."
Naiara didn't respond. She stared at the crystal glass in front of her, her hands trembling in her lap.
He leaned in slightly.
"You don't have to worry about your mother. If you behave, nothing will happen to her. In fact, she'll be treated kindly. Certainly better than your father ever treated her."
A smile curved his lips. "I'm a man of my word."
Naiara slowly lifted her eyes, anger blazing through the fear.
"Tell me about my father."
The smile vanished.
"Your dear daddy," he said softly, "was planning to sell you to another organ trafficker. Organs, little strawberry. He would have handed you over alive, and you would've been dead within a day."
He paused, studying her face.
"But I can give you a new life."
She didn't move.
The word life echoed in her mind like an empty promise.
A new life, built on the ruins of her freedom.