"So this is it?" Elara's voice came out smaller than she meant it to. "You're selling me?"
Her mother lifted her head. Tears tracked through the dust on her cheeks. "We're saving you. You'll be safe there. You'll have food, comfort. Maybe even love."
Elara laughed—a bitter sound that didn't belong in her throat. "And a husband I've never met."
"You'll understand one day." Her mother looked away, toward the rain streaking down the window. "The world is cruel, my child. Sometimes we do what we must to survive."
The chair scraped as Elara stood. "No. You do what you must. You're the ones giving up."
Her father's fist slammed the table. The half-empty soju bottle jumped. "Enough! You think this was easy for us?" His voice cracked. "You think I sleep at night knowing what I've done? I did what I had to for all of us."
Elara's throat tightened. The man who used to call her his pride couldn't even look at her now.
Rain hammered the roof. It had been falling for hours, heavy and mean, finding every crack in their small house. The power was out again. A single oil lamp flickered on the table, throwing shadows that made her parents look like strangers.
Her mother wrung her hands. She'd been doing that all evening, twisting her fingers until the knuckles went white. "The man said he'd be here after dark."
"What man?" Elara had asked, though part of her already knew.
Her father didn't answer. He poured another shot of soju, hands shaking.
Then headlights cut through the rain. A black car rolled to a stop outside their gate.
Elara's stomach dropped. "Who is that?"
Her mother rushed to the door without answering.
"Mother."
"Just… be respectful. Please."
The door opened. A tall man in a dark suit stepped inside, rain beading off his shoulders. His shoes were too clean for their muddy floor. Everything about him—the pressed collar, the cold watch on his wrist, the way he looked at their house like it might contaminate him—spoke of money they'd never see.
"Good evening." He didn't bow, didn't smile. "I believe we have an arrangement."
Her mother nodded quickly. "Yes, sir. Please, come in."
His eyes swept the room and landed on Elara. He studied her the way someone might study livestock. "This is the girl?"
"Yes." Her mother's voice trembled. "Our daughter, Elara."
"She's eighteen?"
"Just turned."
He gave a short nod, already reaching into his coat. "Then we can proceed."
Her father finally spoke, his voice rough and slurred. "You said we had until next month. You said we could still pay."
The man pulled out a folded document. "I said no such thing. Your payment was due two weeks ago. My employer has been more than patient."
He laid the papers on their table, next to her father's glass. "You signed the agreement yourself, Mr. Dane. Your daughter as collateral. Ten million won."
The word hit Elara like cold water. Collateral. She'd heard it whispered over the past few weeks, but not like this. Not so final.
"Please." Her mother's voice broke. "She's only eighteen. Give us a little more time. My husband will find the money."
"Mrs. Dane." The man's tone didn't change. "The master's son is twenty-three. Unmarried. His father believes a wife might bring him stability." He glanced at Elara again. "Your daughter will be well cared for. Comfortable. And your debt will be cleared." He paused. "I'd call that generous."
Elara found her voice. "You're talking about me like I'm not here."
He looked at her directly for the first time. "You are here. That's the point."
"I won't go."
"You don't have a choice."
Her mother dropped to her knees, clutching at the man's coat. "Please, sir. Have mercy."
"Enough." He stepped back, adjusting his jacket. "A car will come for her at dawn. She should pack only what she needs." He moved toward the door, then paused. "I suggest you use the time to say your goodbyes properly."
The door closed behind him. The sound of the rain swallowed his footsteps.
Silence filled the room after he left. Not the comfortable kind. The kind that pressed down on your chest and made breathing feel like work.
Elara stared at her parents. Her mother was still on her knees, face buried in her hands. Her father sat frozen, the glass trembling in his grip.
"So it's true." Elara's voice was steady, though her hands weren't. "All those whispers. The closed doors. The way you both stopped looking at me." She stepped closer. "This is what you've been hiding."
Her mother looked up, eyes red and swollen. "We were trying to protect you."
"Protect me?" Elara felt something twist inside her. "You let me hear pieces. Enough to know something was wrong, but not enough to fight it. Was that on purpose? Keep me confused until it's too late?"
"We thought we could fix it," her father muttered. "I thought I could find the money."
"From where?" The words came out sharp. "You can barely afford rice. Where were you going to find ten million won?"
He flinched like she'd slapped him.
"We had no choice." Her mother stood, wiping at her face. "They were going to take the house. Take everything. We would've been on the street—"
"So you sold me instead."
"We're saving you!" Her mother's voice rose, desperate. "You think living here is better? You think watching us starve is a future? At least there you'll have food. A roof. You'll be safe."
"Safe?" Elara laughed, and it hurt coming out. "I'm being sold to a stranger. How is that safe?"
Her mother reached for her. "You'll understand when you're older."
Elara jerked away. "Don't. Don't touch me."
"Elara, please."
"Did you even try to say no?" She looked between them. "Did either of you even try?"
Her father finally spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. "What do you think I've been doing?" He set the glass down, and his hands were shaking so badly it nearly tipped. "You think I wanted this? You think I don't hate myself?"
"Then why.?"
"Because I'm a coward!" The words exploded out of him. "Because I'm weak and I failed and I couldn't protect you or your mother or this godforsaken house!" His voice cracked. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. But it's done."
Elara felt tears burn behind her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. Not here. Not for them.
"You should've let them take the house," she said quietly.
Her mother sobbed. "My child."
"I'm not your child anymore." Elara turned toward her room. "You made sure of that."
She walked away before either of them could respond.