The room reeked of metal, sweat, and fear. Around her were six other girls-some younger, some older. No one spoke much. What was there to say? They were all just merchandise now. Property. Forgotten.
"New York," whispered the girl beside her, a blonde with trembling hands and a voice like broken glass. "That's where they're taking us."
Anastasiya stiffened. "New York?" she whispered back.
The girl nodded. "To a man... they call him the Devil in Silk. A billionaire. A mafia boss. Some say he only buys the ones who look too pure to survive."
Anastasiya looked down at her pale, delicate hands. Her name was once whispered in fine Russian homes. Anastasiya Romanova-last of the Romanova bloodline. But that name meant nothing now.
Here, she was just Lot #19.
And yet, she still held on to one thing...
Hatred.
She didn't know who sold her.
She didn't know why.
But one day, she would find out.
And they would pay.
---
A loud bang echoed through the basement. The steel door creaked open, letting in a tall man in a suit. His accent was American, his voice smooth yet sharp. "Load them up. The boss wants to see the new stock."
Whispers spread like fire. Girls began crying again. Anastasiya didn't.
Instead, she stood slowly, eyes cold, back straight. If she was going to die, she'd die standing.
---
At the Castellano Mansion – New York City
Damien Castellano hated this part of the job. He didn't enjoy watching people suffer. Not visibly, at least. But trust was poison, and his empire was crawling with rats.
Someone had betrayed him.
And he needed answers.
He adjusted his cufflinks as his black Lamborghini came to a stop outside his private estate-a fortress hidden in the hills of Long Island. His jaw tightened. He didn't have time for this.
"Mr. Castellano," his assistant Mateo greeted him, holding a folder. "The new shipment arrived. Six girls. One of them-Lot #19-there's something... off about her."
Damien raised an eyebrow. "Off?"
Mateo shrugged. "She doesn't cry. She doesn't beg. She watches. Like she's not afraid."
Damien said nothing. He just walked past him, his long coat billowing behind him like a storm.
---
In the Holding Room
The girls all froze when Damien walked in.
He didn't speak. He didn't need to.
His presence screamed power.
Black suit. Dark eyes. Scar over his right eyebrow. No emotion. No soul.
His gaze passed over each girl until it landed on her.
Anastasiya.
Their eyes locked.
She didn't blink.
Didn't flinch.
Didn't bow.
He stepped closer. "What's your name?" he asked quietly.
She remained silent.
Mateo stepped forward. "She doesn't talk, sir. We think she's mute."
Damien tilted his head. "No. She's just smart."
He stared at her for another long second before turning to Mateo. "Bring her to the mansion."
Mateo blinked. "The mansion, boss?"
Damien nodded. "She's not for sale. Not yet. I want to know who she really is."
---
As Anastasiya was led out of the room, she glanced back at the others. Some looked relieved. Others jealous. But she knew better.
She wasn't being saved.
She was being watched.
---
Later That Night – In the Mansion
Anastasiya stood in a luxurious room with velvet curtains, marble floors, and gold accents. It looked like a palace.
And yet... she felt more like a prisoner than ever.
A knock on the door. Damien walked in, holding a glass of wine.
"No guards. No cuffs. No chains," he said. "But don't mistake that for kindness."
She looked away.
"I know you understand me," he continued, stepping closer. "I've seen your file. You speak five languages. Russian. English. Italian. French. And..." He leaned in. "You're not supposed to be here, are you?"
She said nothing.
He nodded. "Good. Keep your secrets. I'll find them anyway."
Then he turned and walked out.
But just before the door shut behind him, he paused.
"Oh... and Anastasiya?" he said, using her real name.
Her heart stopped.
"How did you-"
But the door was already closed.