Selling Her Body

Lydia's pov

The heavy oak door clicked shut behind Mr. Vargas, leaving the sprawling office in dead silence. I stared at the empty space where he had just stood, my mind reeling. I sit here day after day, balancing illegal books for a ruthless criminal and selling my body to clear a debt. I asked myself for the thousandth time if I made the right decision by listening to Vargas.

My thoughts dragged me back to the exact moment this nightmare began. Gideon, the massive mafia enforcer, had stood in the center of my cramped living room. He came to collect the money or our lives, but instead, he surprisingly spared us. He reached into his tailored jacket and handed me a sleek business card.

"Get this job at any cost," he warned me, his deep voice edged with a strange, genuine concern. "Otherwise, you can't pay this loan. Don't make me come back here, Lydia. It's my job. I have to kill both of you. If I won't kill you, then he will kill me."

I was desperate, blindly grateful for that tiny sliver of hope in the middle of our despair. "Thanks for giving me this chance, Gideon," I whispered, clutching the small piece of cardstock. He smiled a brief, grim smile, telling me I didn't deserve this mess, before leaving with his armed men.

I took that card to this very towering office building the next day. After two agonizing hours pacing in a cold waiting room, I was finally ushered in to see Mr. Vargas.

He sat behind a massive mahogany desk, his graying hair and sharp glasses making him look more like a strict high school principal than a dangerous mafia associate. He pushed his glasses up his nose, carefully scanning my academic paperwork. "Gideon told me about your case," Vargas muttered. "First time he seemed concerned. He was requesting me to help you. You are lucky."

"Sir, please," I pleaded, leaning forward in the leather chair, my hands gripping the armrests. "It's really important to me. It's a question of life and death."

"You should have been dead by now," Vargas stated bluntly, his eyes devoid of sympathy. "You have good marks, Lydia, but you are a fresher. I don't think I have a suitable job for you right now."

"I am very good at accounting, I assure you," I fired back, desperation clawing at my throat. "I have worked as an intern. I just don't have a reference letter yet."

Vargas decided to test my desperation and skills right then. He grabbed a thick stack of personal account ledgers and tossed them across the desk. They landed with a heavy thud. "Tell me what's wrong in these files, and I will think about hiring you. You have two minutes."

I practically lunged for the heavy binders. My eyes raced over the rows of printed numbers, drawing on every late-night college study session. I flipped through the pages, my heart pounding in my ears. Within seconds, the mathematical discrepancy screamed at me. I pointed a trembling finger at the columns.

"Sir, there is a glaring mistake in the tax payments," I answered honestly, looking him in the eye. "If we compare it to the standard income tax law, the amount is doubled. It is impossible to pay income tax twice on these specific margins. Whoever is handling this account is stealing money from you."

Vargas hummed, his eyebrows raising as he registered my quick intellect. "Good," he said smoothly. He offered me the position on the spot. He promised an astonishing ten to twenty thousand dollars a month. My heart leaped into my throat, but before I could even exhale, he crushed it.

"But even if I hire you, do you really think you can pay this loan?" Vargas asked. "My Chief has given you only four months. You have to pay back the one million dollar loan in four short months."

My stomach plummeted straight to the floor. I stared at him, my silence thick with crushing despair. Even at twenty thousand a month, it was impossible to reach a million. The interest alone would bury us long before the deadline. There was no way out.

Vargas sighed softly, his expression darkening as he watched my face fall. "Don't be sad, Lydia. I have one more job for you."

"I am ready to do it," I blurted out instantly, assuming he meant more ledgers, more audits, endless overtime locked in a cubicle analyzing data.

"Listen to me first, and then decide," he warned, his tone shifting into something heavier. "It's not what you are thinking. Chief needs a girl to satisfy his physical needs."

All the warm color drained from my face. The room spun. "Mr. Vargas, I am not a prostitute," I stammered, shaking my head so hard my neck ached. "I am sorry, I can't do it."

"I know," he said gently, observing my panic. "I can see you are not like that. I can easily give this job to someone else. Girls are waiting for just one call. You must have heard about Lucian Castello."

"I don't care who he is!" I cried out, hot tears stinging my eyes. The terrifying name meant nothing to me compared to the destruction of my dignity.

Vargas leaned back, his voice firm but calm. "Think about it. This is your only way to pay this massive loan. I have spent my whole life in this business, Lydia. I have seen people do anything to survive. Sleeping with a man is the last thing you should worry about. Don't kids your age have one-night stands? It's just like that."

"Hookups are different from selling your body for cash," I argued, frantically wiping the tears spilling down my cheeks. "I don't do those kinds of things. I can't do it, Mr. Vargas. Please, just give me the accounting work. I will manage the rest."

Vargas handed my documents back, telling me I could start the accounting job in two days, but urged me to reconsider making things easier for myself. I walked out of that building clutching my pride, foolishly believing hard work could somehow save me.

But harsh reality was waiting to beat me down mercilessly. Over the next three days, I scrambled to gather cash. I sold my dead mother's jewelry for a fraction of its true worth. I pawned my laptop. I begged a few relatives for help, but every single one of them shut the door in my face.

Then, the other angry creditors arrived at our house. They did not wear sharp suits like Gideon, and they possessed zero patience. They were screaming thugs who kicked our front door. They threatened to burn our small house to ashes with us locked inside. They wanted their money before Gideon's boss killed us.

I emptied my pockets, giving them the pathetic stack of bills from the pawn shop. They snatched the cash and left, but the message was clear. I was left with empty hands once again.

I turned to my adoptive father, demanding answers about how many people he owed. He shrank into the corner of the living room, trembling like a coward, offering nothing but empty apologies and broken promises. My anger boiled over, but looking at his frail frame, I realized I could not abandon him. He took me in when I was a nameless orphan with nowhere to go. I owed him my life, and I was ready to stand beside him.

God closed every single door, locking me in a burning room. Vargas's indecent, degrading proposal was the only window of escape left.

The very next morning, I returned to Vargas's imposing office. The heavy doors felt like the iron bars of a prison cell. I stood before his desk, my eyes glossy with defeated tears, my soul hollowed out.

"I am ready for it," I whispered, surrendering my body and my life.

Now, sitting on this leather sofa in the present, the soreness throbbing between my thighs serves as a brutal reminder of my surrender. I look down at my hands, shaking over the balance sheets. The constant, suffocating guilt gnaws at my insides. I am deeply ashamed of what I do.

Lucian terrifies me. He is far too rough, ruthless, and indifferent to my emotional and physical pain. Every time he forces me onto his bed, every time he shoves his hard cock deep into my vagina, he strips away another piece of my humanity. He doesn't care if I bleed. He doesn't care if I cry when his semen coats my skin. I am just a warm hole to him, a transaction to clear a ledger.

I have miraculously managed to survive these dark days in his bed. I count the calendar marks obsessively. Only fifteen days remain until the debt is cleared. Fifteen days until I am supposedly free.

But I know the undeniable truth deep in my bones. There is no normal life waiting for me after this. I can never just erase this trauma and start over. My mind remains permanently trapped on my very first night with him.

I remember the paralyzing fear as I lay helpless on his massive bed. I remember the tearing, blinding pain when he breached me, taking my virginity without a second of hesitation or mercy. He ripped something incredibly precious from me while I stared blankly at the ceiling, unable to fight back, unable to do anything to stop the violation.

That night is my nightmare.