The cell reeked of sweat, rust, and despair. Elira sat on the cold stone floor, her hands clasped tightly together as she whispered silent prayers for justice — for freedom. Around her, women huddled in silence, their faces pale and their eyes hollow. It had only been a day since she'd been taken, yet every second dragged like a lifetime.
Her gaze wandered through the dim cell and beyond the bars, where more women crouched on the other side — some emaciated, others heartbreakingly young, perhaps no older than ten or twelve. Elira's stomach churned. What kind of world could cage even children like this?
"Hi… my name's Bea," said a soft, trembling voice. "It's sad, isn't it — that you're one of us now."
Elira turned. Bea's hair was black and straight, her eyes dark as pitch, freckles dotted across her cheeks. She wore a ragged grey dress stitched crudely at the sides, her smile weak yet strangely kind — a faint light in the endless dark.
"Hi… I'm Elira," she said quietly. "Do you know where we are?"
Bea's gaze fell to the ground. "This place is called Pleasuring Me Bar — the most infamous den in the Lust District. They call it the jewel of Highthorne's filth, where the richest men buy the most 'beautiful' women."
Elira's heart thudded. "Why have they taken us?"
"Because we'll be sold… we're nothing more than pigs to them," Bea muttered, her voice flat and weary. "Mr Morgan owns this place. Once he decides, we belong to whoever pays."
She leaned her head against the wall, her eyes dull and lifeless. Elira could see the faint tremor in her hands — the kind born from fear that had long turned into numbness.
"So you were taken too?" Elira asked softly.
Bea shook her head faintly. "No. My mother was one of them — one of the women here. She served Mr. Morgan for years. When she caught syphilis from one of her clients, she died. I was left behind. Mr. Morgan said I was too plain to replace her, so now… he plans to sell me instead."
Bea gave a hollow laugh — bitter and tired. Elira's chest ached. She wanted to comfort her, to say something kind, but the words caught in her throat.
The silence stretched until a metallic rattle broke it — the jangle of keys. A heavy thud followed, boots echoing through the corridor. Every woman froze. The air turned thick with dread.
A large man appeared, his shoulders broad and his face carved with cruelty. The torchlight flickered against his scars as he strode past the cells, his eyes sharp as knives. Elira's pulse raced. The man stopped before the cell opposite theirs.
"You," he barked, pointing at a woman crouched in the corner. "Come here."
The woman shook her head violently, tears already spilling down her cheeks. "No! Please — I don't want to!"
The guard's expression hardened. He unlocked the cell, stormed in, and seized her by the hair. She screamed as he dragged her across the floor, her nails scraping against the stones, leaving faint trails of blood.
"Don't take her! Please, don't!" another woman cried, clutching the bars until her hands turned white.
Elira's breath hitched. Her whole body trembled as she watched — the woman's face twisted in terror, her cries echoing down the corridor while the man hauled her away as if she were nothing more than a sack.
"Please! Someone help me! I don't want to go!"
Her voice faded into the distance as the cell door slammed shut. Silence swallowed the room.
Elira sat frozen, eyes wide, chest heaving. She could still hear the faint echo of the woman's screams ringing in her ears. Slowly, she turned to Bea — who sat still, her back against the wall, her expression blank, as though she'd witnessed this horror too many times to react.
"W-Where did he take her?" Elira whispered, her voice shaking.
Bea exhaled, a faint smirk ghosting her lips. "Either to be sold… or to the Lusting Room."
Elira swallowed hard. "The Lusting Room?"
Bea nodded. "That's where they send the women — a chamber filled with men who'll devour them alive, piece by piece. Few ever come back. Those who do… are never the same."
The words hit Elira like a blow. Her stomach twisted; tears blurred her sight. She covered her mouth, her body trembling. Around her, the other women sobbed quietly — broken souls waiting for their turn.
Why must the poor always suffer? she thought bitterly. Why do the rich hold all the power — to buy, to hurt, to destroy — and never face the same pain?
Bea whispered faintly, "We've already lost hope, Elira. Whether we live or die, it makes no difference anymore."
But Elira turned sharply, crawling closer until she knelt before her. Her eyes, red and wet with tears, burned with determination. She grasped Bea's cold hands tightly, her voice breaking yet fierce.
"Don't lose hope," she said. "We'll escape this place. Together."
For the first time, Bea's eyes softened. She gave a trembling nod, a tear sliding down her cheek — and for a fragile moment, hope flickered like a dying candle in the dark.
Evening had settled over the small house, the sky darkened to a deep indigo as Sylas made his way downstairs to the modest living chamber. He was preparing to set forth, determined to rescue Elira from the infamous Pleasuring Me Bar. His attire was simple yet purposeful — a dark blue shirt beneath a worn brown vest, black trousers tucked neatly into sturdy boots, and a pair of brown gloves that matched his leather belt, where a sword was securely sheathed at his waist. Every movement bespoke readiness, a man poised for action.
Nearby, Cassian and Mrs. Joana watched him with concern etched into their faces. Worry weighed heavily on them; Sylas would face this peril alone. Cassian could not accompany him — to be seen in the Lust District would risk exposure and scandal, for whispers and recognition might reach ears that would twist his name in shame.
"All set," Sylas murmured, tugging his brown coat into place.
"Sylas, be careful," Mrs. Joana said, her hands resting gently on his biceps, her touch both tender and anxious.
"I will, mother," Sylas replied, his gaze briefly meeting Cassian's. Even in the dim light, the worry in his friend's eyes was unmistakable.
"Cassian… I will save Elira," Sylas said, his tone cold yet resolute, every word weighted with determination.
"You better," Cassian replied, a subtle sting of concern lingering in his expression.
Sylas strode from the house, a figure of resolve against the night sky. Though darkness had fallen, the streets remained alive, bustling with activity. Sylas planned to take advantage of the lively evening, hoping to glean information about the bar before his arrival. With a firm grip on the reins, he spurred his horse onward toward the Lust District.
Inside the house, where Mrs Joana busied herself with preparations for supper, Cassian lingered in Elira's room. The faint scent of her lingered, and every corner seemed to hold her presence. His steps carried him past her small vanity table, where a hairclip — a gift he had given her when they had been in the heart of the capital — rested untouched. A pang of nostalgia struck him as he remembered how happy she had been when she wore it.
"Blast it… I cannot simply stand here and do nothing!" he muttered, clenching his fists tightly. Anger and frustration churned within him. He longed to aid in Elira's rescue, yet prudence held him back; the risk of rumours reaching the Empress could bring punishment not upon him, but upon her.
Though Sylas had already informed their father of the situation at the bar, easing some of Cassian's worries, guilt and helplessness gnawed at him. With a heavy heart, he left Elira's room, his face set with grim determination as he returned to his own quarters.
Meanwhile, Mrs Joana, Silvia, Luke, and Lucien were gathered downstairs, attending to the supper table.
"I hope nothing befalls Sylas… especially Elira," Mrs Joana murmured, placing a dish of fish upon the table.
"Nothing to fear, mother," Silvia replied, distributing plates to Lucien and Luke. "Father has received Sylas's letter."
Lucien offered a reassuring smile he signed: Sylas is strong, mother. Trust in him… and let us pray that both he and Elira remain safe.
Mrs Joana returned the smile, though her heart still churned with unease. Sylas ventured alone, facing dangers that even she could scarcely imagine.
"Mother… may I see Aunt Elira again?" Luke asked, his young eyes wide with concern. The boy had grown fond of Elira, who had always been kind and joyful with him, like an elder sister. Silvia patted his head gently.
"Do not worry, my love… Uncle Sylas will bring her back safely," she said, offering a smile to comfort him.
Yet one was still absent from the table — the Crown Prince himself, Cassian.
"Wait… should Cassian not eat?" Silvia asked, glancing about.
"I cannot say. I shall see," Mrs Joana replied, rising from her seat, only for Lucien to halt her with a hand.
"Mother, remain seated. I will fetch him," he signed.
With a nod, Mrs Joana returned to her seat, and Lucien climbed the stairs to Cassian's chamber.
He knocked. Knock. Knock.
No reply.
He tried again. Knock. Knock.
Still silence. Lucien sighed and slowly pushed open the door. The room was empty — not a trace of Cassian remained.
Back From where Elira is. The air outside the cells was thick with the muffled sounds of the bar — laughter, music, and the clinking of glasses — a grotesque celebration that mocked the misery within. Elira and Bea had spent hours preparing their plan. If the gatekeeper came in to fetch another woman, Elira would offer herself as bait. Once the man was close, she would strike, using the heavy stone she had concealed, and seize the keys. Bea hesitated at first, but Elira's steady gaze and determination convinced her to follow. Bea knew the layout; their escape depended on her guidance.
The cell doors opened onto two passages: one leading to the bar, the other to the exit. Fortune favoured them — only the gatekeeper was on duty, and Mr Morgan remained occupied with the bidding. None of the other women dared attempt escape while the giant man prowled.
Hours crawled by. At last, the gatekeeper stepped into Elira's cell. Her heart raced — fortune had, for once, sided with them.
"You! Come here, it's time for you to get dressed," he barked, pointing at Bea. She flinched, startled, but obeyed swiftly. The man bound her hands and turned away.
BOOGSH!
Elira struck with all her strength, swinging the rock at the gatekeeper's head. He crumpled to the floor, dazed, blood and grit mingling across his face. Still, they could not linger; his consciousness could return at any moment.
"Hurry!" Bea urged.
Elira snatched the keys from the belt of the incapacitated man. Ten cells lay before them, each containing terrified women. First, she unlocked Bea's restraints, then moved from cell to cell, freeing each prisoner. Bea guided the liberated women toward the exit, whispering urgently:
"There's no guard by the door. Run. As soon as you're free, report to the palace. Run as fast as you can."
The women nodded, terror gripping their limbs, yet they followed, clinging to hope. Many trembled, their bodies still haunted by the abuse they had endured in the Lusting Room.
Finally, the last cell revealed a woman who could scarcely stand, her body broken and trembling. Gently, Bea and Elira supported her, steadying her for the long escape.
"I… I'm sorry," the woman whispered, weighed down by the burden of her weakness.
"Hold still," Elira urged, pressing them forward, urgency in every movement.
Suddenly, a voice roared.
"HOLD THERE!"
The gatekeeper had regained his footing, looming over them, his massive hand seizing Bea's hair.
"Kyaaaaa!" The women screamed in terror.
"Bea!" Elira cried, lunging to pull her friend free.
"Ack!" Bea shrieked as the man yanked her hair violently. The injured woman collapsed to the floor, sobbing in panic.
Elira's eyes darted to the key lying on the ground. Seizing it, she drove it into the gatekeeper's left eye. He howled, releasing Bea instantly.
"Bea, move! Go!" Elira shouted, hauling the struggling women toward the exit.
But the gatekeeper's hand lashed out, grabbing Elira's hair. She was pulled back, almost prevented from fleeing.
"Eliraaa!" Bea screamed, torn between helping Elira and supporting the frail woman in her arms.
Elira met Bea's gaze, her eyes fierce. "RUN, Bea! SAVE HER! Don't worry about me! RUN!"
Bea had no choice. With tears streaming down her face, she urged the women onward, out the door, into the night, leaving Elira behind.
"I promise! I will call for help, Elira! Just hold on!" Bea whispered between sobs. And with that, she disappeared into the darkness, carrying the terrified women to freedom, their hearts heavy with fear for the friend they were forced to leave behind.