Sweet Love Life
- Genre: Romance
- Age: 18+
- Status: Ongoing
- Language: English
- Author: Cole Haan
I blinked my eyes, gradually adjusting to my surroundings. It was a dimly lit room, with a faint light emanating from a corner. As I tried to sit up, I accidentally hit my head on a metallic surface, causing me to wince in pain. Confusion clouded my mind as I wondered where I was and why there was an obstruction in my way.
Bits and pieces of recent events rushed through my thoughts. I remembered encountering a man dressed in a black hoodie and jeans who had approached me for directions. Before I could warn him to stay away, something struck my head forcefully, causing excruciating pain. After that, everything went dark.
Realization dawned on me — I had been kidnapped. Panic surged through me, my heart racing faster than usual. I found myself on a lower bunk, having hit my head on the upper bed’s frame.
Just then, the sound of a door opening broke the silence, snapping me back to reality. A woman in her fifties, accompanied by a man in his thirties, entered the room. I immediately sensed that I was nothing more than prey in their hands.
The man approached me, scanning me with his brown-orbed eyes. His dirty blonde hair was neatly gelled back, giving him a sleek appearance. In a deep, husky voice, he remarked, “This will do. Dress it up to make it more appealing, even if it’s sold at a cheap price.”
My eyes widened in disbelief and horror. They were planning to sell me. Within a few hours, I would be put up for sale. Determined to fight back, I mustered all my courage and yelled, “No! You have no right to sell me. What you’re doing is illegal and criminal. I’ll report you to the police if you don’t release me immediately!”
The man appeared taken aback by my sudden outburst, his eyes turning dilated and pure black with anger. In an instant, he lashed out and slapped me hard across the face. Pain surged through my cheek, and I tasted the metallic tang of blood — a busted lip.
He grabbed my chin forcefully, causing me to whimper in agony. Tears streamed down my face as he asserted, “I own everything here. When I say something, no one dares to oppose me. And when I say ‘no one,’ I mean absolutely no one! Got it?”
I nodded, my voice reduced to small sobs.
“Good. Now follow this woman and make yourself presentable, at least for once in your miserable existence,” he commanded before releasing his grip and storming out of the eerie room. I looked at the woman who had been observing me with utter disgust. She, too, was a lady, but why would she involve herself in such heinous acts?
“Walk behind me, and don’t even think about escaping, or you’ll be the first one to be sold,” she threatened, leading the way out of the room.
Despite the dizziness caused by the blow to my head and the lingering pain, I followed her. She guided me through a hallway painted in black and emerald, adorned with creepy pictures. The windows seemed shut, casting the corridor into darkness.
We stopped at a door at the end of the hallway. As she opened it and stepped inside, I hesitantly followed suit. The room resembled a spa, with sections for manicures, pedicures, hairstyling, and makeovers.
Fear clenched my heart as I realized that all this care and preparation were merely to maximize their profits.
“Get yourself ready, and then report to the auction, which starts in half an hour,” she stated coldly, slamming the door shut before departing.
In the room, I noticed three women who gazed at me with unexpected sympathy. One of them, with emerald eyes and blonde hair, spoke up, “Come, let’s start by treating your bruised lips.”
“We understand how lost and frightened you must feel,” added the second woman, her short raven hair contrasting with her brown eyes. The third woman, with blonde hair and blue eyes, guided me to a chair.
The first woman returned with a first aid kit in her hand and gently tended to my injured lips, removing all traces of blood.
The three women divided their tasks among themselves. One of them applied makeup to my face, another worked on my pedicure and manicure, and the third one styled my wavy light brown hair into curly locks.
As I spent more time with them, I learned their names: Carissa, the first woman who spoke to me; Laura, the one who seated me down; and Vendetta, the last one. They treated me with a certain level of kindness despite the circumstances. They handed me a black lace gown that was unusually short, revealing more cleavage than I was comfortable with.
Looking at myself in the mirror, I saw a girl who seemed desperate for attention. It was hard to recognize the person I had become.
“I’m sorry, Miss, but it’s time for you to be taken to the auction arena,” Carissa said with a hint of sadness in her voice. She was clearly trying to hide her emotions. Tears welled up in my eyes as I thought about the life I had been thrust into.
I nodded, following Laura as she led me toward the auction arena located in the basement. We walked in silence, and at one point, Laura broke it by asking my name.
“Blessing Jordan,” I replied.
She nodded and opened a door, revealing a staircase leading downward. This must be the way to the basement, I presumed.
“Go ahead from here,” she said, leaving me to descend the stairs alone. I nodded and began my descent.
“Blessing!” Laura called out suddenly. I turned to look at her, waiting for her next words.
“Don’t try to run away, Blessing. Drake has guards everywhere. They will shoot you on sight. The same fate awaits us if we try to escape,” she warned, her voice filled with resignation. Then she slammed the door shut. It seemed even the women working here were trapped and unable to leave.
As I made my way down the stairs, the echoes of my red-bottomed heels filled the air. I stopped in front of a door marked with bold letters: “BUYING ARENA.”
Laura’s words echoed in my mind: “Drake has guards everywhere,” “Don’t try to run away,” “Instantly shoot you down.” I knew that any attempt to escape would result in my death.
The door swung open, and the aggressive woman from earlier grabbed me forcefully, pushing me into a line of other girls who were dressed even more provocatively. Towering men stood guard, preventing any attempt at rebellion.