City lights bounced off the glass towers, casting a beautiful shimmer across the skyline — ironic, for a girl whose life had just been auctioned off.

Tasya stood before the door of a luxury suite on the thirtieth floor. The sheer dress they'd forced on her felt like a taunt, transparent enough to trace every trembling curve of her body.

Behind her, her uncle's fingers dug into her arm.

"Uncle, please..." Tasya's voice shook. "Don't do this. I'll work — anything. I can help with the company—"

"Shut up!" her uncle snapped.

Her aunt crossed her arms, face devoid of guilt.

"The company nearly went bankrupt because of your parents. Now you're the payment," Milan said.

Merlin, their daughter, smiled coldly.

"Besides, you're just an adopted kid. You should be grateful someone's willing to pay six million for you."

Inside the room, an old man sat in a plush chair near a glass table. His hair had gone white. His smile was revolting. A contract lay neatly on the table before him.

"Bring her in," he said casually.

Tasya thrashed. "Please! Don't!"

But a needle pierced her arm. Cold liquid flooded her veins. Her vision blurred as the door was shoved open and her body was thrown inside.

The door slammed shut, locked from the outside. Footsteps retreated without hesitation.

"Uncle! Aunt! Please open the door!" Tasya pounded on it, her hands weak from the drug.

No answer. When she slowly turned around, the old man was already standing. His eyes crawled greedily over her body through the sheer dress that now felt like a punishment.

"I paid six million dollars for you," he said, his voice thick and hoarse. "And the partnership contract will save your uncle's company. You should feel honored."

Tasya backed away.

"Don't come any closer..."

The man chuckled and stepped forward.

Tasya bolted across the room. Her heart hammered. The sedative made her stumble, but terror gave her strength. The old man lunged for her. His hand nearly caught her shoulder, but—

CRASH.

Tasya's fingers closed around a crystal vase on the table and she swung it with everything she had. It connected with the side of his head.

The impact rang through the suite. His body crumpled. Blood trickled from his temple. Tasya froze, hands shaking.

"I didn't — I..." Her breath came in ragged gasps. But there was no time for regret. With trembling fingers, she searched his jacket. A hotel key card and an unmarked black card fell to the floor.

She snatched them up, wrenched the door open, and ran.

But at the end of the hall, her uncle and aunt still stood there — as if making sure the transaction was complete.

Tasya froze. There was no way past them.

Panicking, she spotted a room with the door slightly ajar. A man in a black suit had just stepped out and was walking briskly toward the elevator.

The room must be empty, she thought. Without hesitation, she slipped inside and eased the door shut.

The lights were dim. She pressed her back against the door, trying to steady her breathing. But the sharp bite of alcohol hung thick in the air. Slowly, Tasya turned toward the bed — and the blood seemed to drain from her body.

A man lay there, unconscious.

Outside the room, the guard who had stepped out was merely doing a corridor check. No one knew that a panicked girl had just entered his master's suite.

On the king-size bed, the man she'd assumed was unconscious began to stir. A large, veined hand clawed at his tie as though it were strangling him. Heat radiated through the room — not from the temperature, but from something deeply wrong.

Tasya slowly turned her head, and the world seemed to stop.

The man had pulled himself half upright. His frame was powerful, broad-shouldered. His white shirt hung open at the chest, revealing hard, defined muscle. Dark tattoos wound from his forearms to his wrists.

But to Tasya, everything was a blur. Her vision swam from the sedative still coursing through her — the drug Merlin had jabbed into her arm minutes ago.

Her head was leaden, the room spinning. She pressed her fingertips to her temple.

"I have to... go..." she murmured.

On his side, the man had sensed a stranger in his room. His gaze was wild, but he fought to stay conscious, his jaw clenched tight.

Someone had drugged him after an important meeting tonight — a meeting that had forced him into public view for only the second time in his thirty-two years.

He rarely showed his face. He rarely put a face to his name. And tonight, he too had become a victim.

"Who... are you..." His voice was low and strained, pinned beneath a consciousness that was slipping away.

Tasya flinched.

"I — I'm sorry... wrong room," she said quickly. "I'll go."

She turned, reaching for the door handle. But before her fingers touched it, a powerful grip locked around her wrist.

Tasya gasped. The man had moved fast despite his fading awareness. In one motion, he pulled her toward him and pushed her down onto the bed.

Tasya's breath caught in her throat.

"Let me go!" she cried weakly, struggling to break free.

But neither of them was in control. The drug in Tasya's system made her movements sluggish. The drug in his had shattered his reason.

His eyes traced her face — a hazy outline in his failing vision.

"Who sent you..." he rasped.

Tasya shook her head frantically.

"Nobody... I just—"

Her words died as her head grew heavier. Everything dissolved into shapes and shadow. She could no longer tell what was real.

The man closed his eyes for a moment, trying to fight the poison in his blood. But his body burned, his mind fractured, his instincts ungovernable.

Their eyes met — neither fully conscious. Both trapped by the chemicals coursing through them.

Tasya tried to rise.

"I have to go..." she whispered, her voice breaking.

But his grip was too strong. His strength dwarfed her body, already weakened by the sedative. Every movement she made was slow, leaden, as though her body no longer belonged to her.

He raised his hand and touched her face.

The contact made Tasya flinch.

"Don't..." she breathed.

Her vision blurred. The face above her was nothing but a dark outline — a hard jaw, heavy breath, warm skin that burned against hers. She couldn't see who he was.

He leaned down, his breath brushing her skin. There was something inhuman in the way he moved. A feral drive born not from conscious will, but from something far darker.

Tasya fought back. Tears began to fall.

"Let me go... please..."

But her cries couldn't reach whatever was left of his mind. The poison warping his thoughts had erased the boundary between right and wrong. Distorted instinct made him act as someone he was not.

He wasn't conscious. He wasn't himself. But for Tasya, that changed nothing about the fear.

Pain spread through her body. She tensed, sobbed, begged, pushed — but her strength drained away, bit by bit.

Her cries were swallowed by the thick walls of the luxury suite. Outside, Berlin stayed frozen, indifferent to two people who had both been betrayed by those closest to them.

"Please stop... it hurts, you're hurting me," Tasya pleaded, but the man gave no sign of hearing.

And he, trapped in fractured consciousness, seemed lost in a darkness that whispered of power and conquest — as though he saw an enemy to be subdued, not a defenseless girl.

Mama... Papa, Tata has failed... Tasya whispered in her heart. Begging and struggling were useless now. The man had already taken something precious from her. Something she had guarded with everything she had.

Tasya woke before dawn to pain that cut through every inch of her body. It took several seconds for full consciousness to return. The sky beyond the curtains was still dark. The dim room cast long shadows along the walls.

She turned her head. The space beside her was empty.

Tangled sheets were the only proof that last night hadn't been a dream. But the man was gone.

Her heart beat faster.

Did he leave?

The question died unanswered when the sound of running water reached her from the bathroom.

Tasya froze. He was still here.

Her mind snapped fully awake. She scrambled out of bed, but the searing pain nearly dropped her back onto the mattress. Her knees buckled. Her body felt like it no longer belonged to her.

She held her breath, forced herself through the agony, and stood.

"I have to go..." she whispered.

Her eyes searched for her clothes. The sheer dress from last night lay crumpled on the floor, torn in several places. Impossible to wear out of a hotel without drawing every eye in the building.

With no other option, Tasya grabbed the man's shirt draped over the chair. She pulled it on with shaking hands. The white shirt swallowed her frame, falling to mid-thigh. It was enough to get her out of this room.

The water was still running. She didn't have much time. Tasya moved toward the door — then stopped. A realization hit, more painful than her body.

She had no money. Not a cent. She couldn't get far without it — couldn't even afford a cab.

Holding her breath, she looked back into the room. Her gaze swept to the small table near the sofa. A black wallet sat there.

She crossed quickly, her hand hesitating before she opened it. Inside: unmarked cards and a few euro bills.

She counted fast. Two bills. That was it.

Tasya almost laughed despite the panic.

"Staying in a suite like this and you only keep two bills in your wallet..." she muttered.

Frustrated, but practical. She took the cash — cab fare, nothing more. She didn't touch the cards. She didn't want to leave a trail any longer than the one she'd already left.

The water in the bathroom slowed to a trickle. Without looking back, Tasya eased the door open. The hotel corridor was silent in the predawn cold of Berlin. With steps held short by pain and a chest full of equal parts fear and resolve, she walked away.

She didn't say a word. She didn't leave a note. She carried only two stolen bills, invisible wounds, and the decision to vanish as far from this night as she could.

The elevator doors opened at the ground floor.

The moment Tasya stepped into the hotel lobby, warm air hit her — a sharp contrast to the cold lodged inside her chest.

Several pairs of eyes turned.

Her appearance was impossible to miss. An oversized white men's shirt, an unsteady gait, tangled hair, a face drained of color.

Tasya didn't care. She had no energy left for shame. She just wanted out. Moving quickly, she scanned left and right for an exit. Reception desk. Guest sofas. Revolving glass doors leading to the street.

She headed for the doors without stopping.

Berlin's predawn air touched her skin as she stepped outside. Cold, biting — but somehow more comforting than that hotel room. Several taxis idled at the curb. Without overthinking it, Tasya opened the door of the nearest one and slid into the back seat.

"Wohin?" the driver asked curtly.

Tasya gave him her uncle's address. Her voice was quiet but firm.

The car pulled away. The streets were still dark, the city lights muted, most shops shuttered. Berlin at three in the morning — a city not yet alive.

Inside the moving car, Tasya stared out the window.

Tears fell without a sound. She had never imagined the people she called family — the people who had raised her after her parents died — could sell her like property.

The tears broke loose, and she buried her face in her hands.

"Why does my life have to be like this?"

Minutes passed in silence. The driver asked no questions. He glanced at the rearview mirror now and then — perhaps wondering, but choosing not to interfere.

Tasya drew a long breath and forced herself to steady. She had to go back to her uncle's house.

Everything she owned was there. Her backup passport. Documents. The small savings she'd hidden away. If she was going to truly leave Germany — to return to Indonesia, maybe — she had to grab it all tonight.

The car turned into a quieter residential neighborhood. Tasya's tears dried, replaced by a resolve slowly hardening inside her chest. She might not be able to undo what happened tonight. But she could still choose what came next.

The taxi stopped in front of her uncle's large house.

The garden lights still glowed faintly, but the grounds looked deserted. No car in the driveway. No noise. No sign of life.

Tasya paid with the two bills from the hotel room. Her hands still trembled — not from fear this time, but from the determination taking shape inside her.

She stepped out.

The gate was cracked open. The security guard stared at her in surprise.

"Miss Tasya?" He looked her over, bewildered by her appearance. "You're just getting home?"

Tasya flinched slightly, then forced herself to stay composed.

"Are my uncle and aunt up?" she asked quietly.

The guard shook his head.

"They haven't come back yet, Miss. You all left together yesterday afternoon. They still haven't returned."

Tasya was silent for a moment, then let out a bitter breath.

Of course. They were probably celebrating the success of the transaction. Living it up with the money they'd earned by selling her.

She had nearly lost everything, while they were likely laughing at some expensive restaurant.

"Fine," Tasya said shortly.

She walked inside without waiting. The house felt foreign even though she'd lived there for years. Walls she'd once considered shelter now felt like a cage.

She went to her room and pushed the door open. Everything was still there. Closet, desk, the small suitcase in the corner. Without wasting time, Tasya pulled the suitcase out and started packing — only essentials.

She opened the desk drawer and took out the savings she'd hidden: money from part-time work and what remained of her late parents' modest inheritance, untouched all these years.

When everything was ready, Tasya sat briefly on the edge of the bed. She turned on her phone and booked the first available flight to Indonesia. A predawn departure to Jakarta was still open.

She booked it without hesitation.

Once she reached the airport, she'd print her boarding pass and go. No room left for second thoughts.

Minutes later, Tasya wheeled her suitcase out of her bedroom. She walked the hallway of this house for the last time.

As she passed the guard's post, he called out again.

"Miss Tasya, where are you going this early?"

Tasya paused.

"I'm leaving," she said calmly.

The guard looked confused. "Leaving? You mean..."

"If my uncle and aunt ask whether I came home," Tasya continued, her gaze fixed straight ahead, "please don't say anything."

The guard fell silent. He could only nod.

Tasya didn't look back.

She stepped through the gate of the house she'd once called home.

Meanwhile, inside the hotel room, the last of the shower water struck the marble floor before falling silent.

The man stepped out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his hips. A thin veil of steam still hung in the air, but the heat coursing through his body hadn't fully subsided. His skull throbbed — residual poison from whatever had hijacked his mind the night before.

He raked a hand roughly through his wet hair. The moment he entered the main room, his steps halted.

The bed was empty. The sheets were still tangled, and no one was there.

His jaw tightened. He walked the room slowly, scanning everything. His gaze dropped to the floor — his wallet lay there. He snatched it up, flipped it open.

The cash was gone.

A quiet scoff escaped him, and his eyes darkened.

"Came for the money..." he muttered coldly.

His gaze swept the room once more. The shirt he'd been wearing last night was also missing.

A knock at the door.

"Enter," he said sharply.

A man in a black suit stepped in and bowed his head.

"Mr. Alex — your change of clothes, sir."

The name hung heavy in the air. The man was Alex Roman Vasillo.

Alex took the garments without lingering and dressed with a calm that seemed almost unnatural for someone who had just discovered what had happened in his room.

Once dressed, he buttoned his shirt and finally turned his gaze on the bodyguard.

"Find the woman who was in this room last night." His tone was low — and unmistakably dangerous.

"Find her wherever she is." Alex stepped closer. "She has ruined everything I've protected."

The bodyguard bowed deeper. He understood this was about something far greater than missing cash. His master was not a man who let women touch him.

Unlike the elder Vasillo patriarch, who had lived freely and indulgently, Alex had grown up different. He kept his distance. He kept control. Even in the dark world he navigated, he never mixed personal vulnerability with weakness.

He was accustomed to solitude — because in his view, the filth he handled in his work was burden enough. He refused to carry chaos into the one space he considered his own.

But now, someone had breached it.

The bodyguard also knew that Alex's return to Germany had not been sentimental. For years, Alex had exiled himself to Egypt — building his own network, distancing himself from the family's center of gravity.

He had only come back when word reached him that the Vasillo patriarch had fallen ill, attacked by old enemies.

His return was not nostalgia. It was war. It was retribution.

Alex stared through the hotel window at the Berlin sky, pale and brightening.

"Find her before sunset," he said coldly.

Because for a Vasillo, no one entered his domain without consequence.

Meanwhile, the plane began its slow crawl down the runway. Tasya sat by the window, both hands clasped tightly in her lap. Her breathing still hadn't fully steadied, but for the first time since last night, she felt something close to safe.

The cabin lights dimmed. The engines roared — low at first, then building to a crescendo. Berlin shrank beyond the glass. When the wheels left the ground, the weight in Tasya's chest lifted with them.

Tears gathered again, but this time they weren't born from fear. Not from pain. They came from a relief so deep it almost hurt.

She stared out the window. The city dissolved behind white clouds. The tall buildings, the luxury hotel, her uncle's grand house — all of it sank below.

"I'm free..." she whispered.

She didn't know what life in Indonesia would look like. She didn't know where to begin. But at the very least, she had chosen to live.

Tasya leaned her head against the seat. Her body still ached. The wounds inside her hadn't healed. Shadows from the night kept trying to slip back into her thoughts.

That afternoon.

Berlin felt cold despite the bright sun. Inside the luxury hotel suite, the air was colder still.

Alex Roman Vasillo stood before the floor-to-ceiling window, gazing out at the city with dark, unreadable eyes. The freshly donned black suit was immaculate and expensive, but the aura surrounding him cut sharper than any fabric ever could.

A soft knock sounded at the door.

"Enter."

Mario — his personal assistant and most trusted right hand — stepped inside with measured steps.

"Mr. Alex," he said respectfully. "We've reviewed all the hotel's CCTV footage."

Alex didn't turn. "And?"

Mario swallowed. "The woman's face isn't visible. Her hair covers most of it. But from the way she moved... she appeared to be under the influence of some kind of drug."

The room seemed to grow quieter.

Mario continued. "It's very likely she was also drugged by someone. Her movements were unstable. It appears she entered your room without knowing where she was."

That small detail only made Alex's jaw harden further.

"A strange woman," his voice was low and lethal, "who dared to enter my room."

For another man, it might have been a mistake.

For Alex, it was a violation.

His domain was never to be touched. His life was too dangerous to be entered by a stranger uninvited. His dark gaze finally shifted to Mario.

"Where are the guards who were on duty last night?"

"They've been detained for questioning, sir."

"Negligence." Alex scoffed coldly. "Punish them."

Mario understood immediately. There was no room for tolerance in the Vasillo organization. The smallest error could constitute betrayal.

"Understood, sir."

But before Mario could turn to leave, Alex's voice cut through again — sharper than before.

"And if that woman comes seeking accountability..."

Mario froze.

"Kill her."

The order was delivered without emotion. Without hesitation. Without mercy.

Mario knew his master well. Alex Roman Vasillo never made empty threats.

Mario only nodded. "Understood, sir."

When the door closed again, Alex stood alone.

But for the first time in his life, something nagged at the edges of his mind.

Not the missing money. Not the violated room.

A pair of eyes — hazy, barely glimpsed — that he hadn't seen clearly but couldn't seem to forget.

He clenched his fist.

"Don't let me find you," he murmured quietly — less a warning than a promise of something far more dangerous.