To pay off my brother’s gambling debts, I sold myself to Damian Wren. For three years, I was at his beck and call, utterly without dignity. He hated nothing more than my “cheap bone” — my willingness to endure anything for money. On the third day of my kidnapping, the abductors discovered I was Damian Wren’s secret wife. When they called him, he was lavishly spending on his childhood sweetheart. The abductor spoke teasingly, “Mr. Wren, your wife is in my hands. No need for a hundred million, just ten dollars for shipping, and I’ll let her go. What do you say?” The entire room fell silent, broken only by Damian’s nonchalant chuckle. “Ten dollars? She’s not even worth that.” “Go ahead and kill her. It’ll save me the trouble of a divorce.” The call ended. The abductor looked at me with pity. I wiped the blood from my eyes, a serene smile on my face. “Boss, I have ten dollars. Can I have a knife? I’ll do it myself. Consider it the debt I owe Damian.” 1 The abductor froze, probably never having encountered a hostage requesting to end their own life. The rusty spring knife in his hand glinted coldly in the dim light. “Look, kid, don’t do anything crazy. That guy’s a jerk, sure, but your life is your own.” The abductor even began to plead with me. I stared at the knife, my gaze colder than its blade. “Give it to me.” I extended my hand, palm covered in dried blood and dust. The abductor hesitated for a moment, perhaps unnerved by the deadness in my eyes, and instinctively handed over the knife. The hilt was icy cold. The moment I grasped it, the thought that flashed through my mind wasn’t fear of death. It was Damian’s nonchalant comment: “She’s not even worth that.” Three years. For three years, I had wagged my tail like a dog beside him, swallowing every humiliation and grievance. Even when stomach pain left me drenched in cold sweat, a single call from him meant I had to crawl out of bed to make him hangover soup. Even when he equated me with the club dancers, I could only smile and nod. Because I needed the money. I had to save my gambling-addict brother, I had to keep this crumbling family from falling apart. But now, I didn't want to endure it anymore. Ten dollars. So, I, Eliza Blackwell, was worth less than ten dollars in Damian Wren’s eyes. “Damian, the debt is paid.” I whispered, my wrist twisting with sudden force. Thud. The sound of the blade piercing my abdomen was surprisingly dull. Excruciating pain exploded instantly, and warm liquid gushed out, staining my clothes. The abductor screamed, horrified, “Holy hell, you actually stabbed yourself! Call an ambulance! Don’t die here!” Before my consciousness faded, I heard police sirens. I awoke again to the sterile smell of disinfectant in a hospital room. The wound in my abdomen burned fiercely, a cruel reminder that I hadn’t died. The door to my room burst open. Damian Wren, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit, his face grim, was flanked by several bodyguards. He strode to my bedside, looking down at me. There wasn't a trace of pity in his eyes, only profound disgust. “Eliza Blackwell, you’ve grown bold, haven’t you?” He reached out and gripped my chin, his fingers clenching with enough force to shatter bone. “Playing at suicide? A pity ploy? You really went for it to force my hand.” I was forced to tilt my head back, gazing at the man I had loved for seven long years. At this moment, my heart was eerily still, like a stagnant pool. “You misunderstand, Mr. Wren.” I managed a strained smile, my voice hoarse and broken. “I just wanted to save that ten-dollar shipping fee. Didn’t want to bother you.” Damian’s pupils constricted. Then, as if he’d heard a hilarious joke, he let out a cold laugh. “Save money? A woman like you, who’d sell her dignity for cash, would actually be willing to die?” He flung my face away, wiping his fingers with a handkerchief in disgust. “Since you didn’t die, stop lying around in the hospital playing dead. Julian was startled by the kidnapping news; her heart isn’t feeling well. Go donate 400cc of blood to her, to help calm her nerves.” I stared at him in disbelief. My abdomen was still heavily bandaged; I had just come out of surgery. And he wanted to draw my blood to appease his darling? “Damian, I just had surgery.” “So what?” Damian cut me off, his gaze icy and piercing. “Your life is mine; I bought it. As long as you’re not dead, you obey me.” He turned to leave, his command utterly devoid of warmth. “In ten minutes, I expect to see you in the blood donation room. Otherwise, your gambling addict brother’s hand, you can forget about it.” 2 At the mention of my brother, my hand, which had begun to rise in protest, fell uselessly to my side. He was my weakness, and the most convenient chain for Damian to bind me with. I pulled out the IV needle from the back of my hand; blood immediately surged back, dripping onto the pale bedsheet. A nurse entered and gasped at the sight. “Ms. Blackwell, are you crazy? You just had twelve stitches. You can’t move like that.” “It’s fine.” I clutched my abdomen, my face ashen, my forehead slick with cold sweat. “I won’t die.” I shuffled, step by agonizing step, to the blood donation room. Julian sat comfortably on the VIP bed, her face rosy, showing no sign of being startled whatsoever. Seeing me enter, she dramatically clutched her chest, shrinking further into Damian’s embrace. “Uncle Damian, my sister’s face is so scary, like a ghost. I’m scared.” Damian gently patted her back. When he turned to me, his gaze instantly sharpened into a blade. “Still standing there like a statue? Get over here.” I gritted my teeth and sat down in the phlebotomy chair. The nurse, seeing the blood seeping through my abdominal bandage, hesitated to insert the needle. “Mr. Wren, the patient’s condition is extremely poor. She’s lost a lot of blood. If we draw another 400cc now, she might go into shock.” “Draw it.” Damian didn't even lift an eyelid, instead peeling a grape and feeding it to Julian. “She’s tough. She won’t die. Before, she used to drink until her stomach bled just for money and still went to work the next day. This little bit of blood is nothing.” The nurse dared not disobey. She sighed and inserted the thick needle into my slender vein. Blood slowly flowed out. I watched the red liquid travel through the tube into the blood bag, feeling my life force drain away, little by little. Dizziness washed over me, my vision blurring at the edges. Meanwhile, the two across from me were flirting. “Uncle Damian, is my sister angry? It was ten dollars, after all, and you said those things about her.” Julian’s sugary voice drifted over. “Angry about what?” Damian scoffed, his voice low but clear enough to pierce my ears. “When she sold herself to me, she was much cheaper than this. Ten dollars? That was an insult to her. You’re just kind, calling her sister. A woman who sells her body for money isn’t even fit to tie your shoes.” My heart felt as if it were being repeatedly sliced by a rusty, blunt knife. I closed my eyes, unwilling to see, unwilling to hear. 400cc. It was finally done. The moment the nurse pulled out the needle, I collapsed, utterly drained. “Alright, stop faking it.” Damian’s impatient voice cut through. He walked over and nudged my leg with his foot. “Julian wants the porridge from that place in Southside. Go get it. Remember, it has to be hot. If it’s cold, you can swallow it yourself.” Southside? We were in Northside. A round trip would take at least two hours. Outside, it was pouring rain. I had just donated blood, and I had a knife wound in my abdomen. “Damian, I can’t move.” I spoke weakly, trying to appeal to even a sliver of his humanity. “If you can’t walk, crawl.” Damian looked down at me, pulled a hundred-dollar bill from his wallet, and tossed it at my face. The red bill fluttered, eventually landing on the dusty floor. “The rest is your tip. Enough to buy medicine, isn’t it, Eliza, you gold digger?” Julian giggled from the bed. “Sister, that’s a lot of trouble for you, isn’t it? Remember to add extra sugar.” I looked at the money on the floor, then at Damian’s cold face. In that moment, I finally understood. In this man’s heart, I was never human. Just an object to be summoned and dismissed, trampled upon at will, as long as money was involved. I bent down, picking up the money. The movement pulled at my wound, making my whole body tremble. “Okay.” I whispered. “I’ll go buy it.” Damian, this is the last time I run an errand for you. Truly. 3 The rain poured heavily. I was soaked to the bone, my wound irritated by the rainwater, causing agonizing pain. By the time I returned with the porridge, two hours had passed. Clutching the insulated container, I dragged my heavy steps back to the hospital room door, only to hear laughter from inside. “Uncle Damian, you’re so mean, tormenting my sister like that. Will she hate us?” “Hate? What right does she have to hate?” Damian’s voice carried a hint of languor and disdain. “A person like her would eat dirt if you paid her enough. One hundred dollars for running an errand? She’s probably thrilled.” “True. I heard her brother owes another mountain of debt and is being chased to have his hand chopped off.” “Hmph. A family of leeches.” I stood at the door, the insulated container in my hand feeling like a thousand pounds. So, he knew everything. He knew my brother was being hunted by creditors, knew I desperately needed money. That’s why he so brazenly exploited it, trampling my dignity underfoot. I took a deep breath and pushed the door open. “The porridge is back.” I placed the container on the table, dripping water, which pooled into a puddle on the floor. Damian frowned at the water on the ground, taking a step back in disgust. “You dirtied the floor. Don’t you know to clean it up?” He then added, “Also, who let you in? You reek of dampness. What if you make Julian sick?” Julian covered her nose, a look of revulsion on her face. “Sister, why do you smell so… metallic? It’s disgusting.” It was the smell of blood. The wound in my abdomen had likely reopened, blood mixed with rainwater, dripping down. But I said nothing. I turned, picked up the mop, and silently cleaned the water from the floor. Each movement felt like a knife twisting in my abdomen. Just then, my phone rang. It was that exclusive ringtone—my brother’s creditor. My hand trembled, and the mop clattered to the floor. Damian raised an eyebrow, a mocking smile playing on his lips. “What, is the death warrant here?” I shakily answered the phone. “Eliza Blackwell, your useless brother was caught cheating at the casino. They’re going to chop off one of his hands. Bring five million dollars immediately, or prepare to collect his corpse.” Five million dollars. Where would I get five million dollars? In these three years, all the money Damian had given me had been poured into that bottomless pit. I looked at Damian, my eyes holding a final plea. “Damian, could you… could you advance me a year’s worth of my… services? Please.” Damian looked as if he’d heard the funniest joke in the world. He walked over to me, his slender fingers lifted a strand of my wet hair, then flung it away in disgust. “AdBlackwell? Eliza Blackwell, have you forgotten? Our contract expires in a month.” He scrutinized me from head to toe, his gaze like that of someone evaluating an expired product. “Do you really think this withered, decaying self of yours is still worth five million dollars?” He paused. “However, for the sake of that hundred-dollar porridge, I can point you in a direction.” He pointed to Julian. “Julian’s shoes are dirty. Lick them clean for her. One shoe, one hundred thousand. What do you say? Good deal, isn’t it?” Julian wore a pair of diamond-studded high heels, the tops of which had a few speckles of mud. She feigned surprise. “Uncle Damian, is that really okay? Sister is your wife, after all.” “Wife?” Damian scoffed. “She’s nothing more than a high-class prostitute.” He looked at me, his eyes cold. “Eliza Blackwell, are you doing it or not? If not, get out and let your brother die.” I bit my lip so hard that my mouth filled with the taste of blood. Fifty shoes. That meant five million dollars. Just fifty licks, and my brother would live. I slowly knelt. My knees hit the hard tile floor with a sharp crack. The mockery in Damian’s eyes deepened. “See, Julian? I told you she was cheap bone.” I crawled to Julian’s feet, looking at her shoes. Just as I was about to lower my head, the hospital room door was suddenly flung open. A person covered in blood burst in. “Eliza, run! They’re after me!” It was my brother. He only had one hand; the other sleeve was empty, still dripping blood. Behind him, several fierce-looking men were in close pursuit. “Run? Run where?” The lead thug grabbed my brother’s hair, forcing him to the ground. “Mr. Wren, apologies for the disturbance. This kid owes us money and won’t pay. We have no choice.” The thug clearly recognized Damian, and his tone was somewhat polite. Damian nonchalantly sat back on the sofa, lighting a cigarette. “Do as you please. Just don’t get my place dirty.” “Damian!” I shrieked, lunging forward to shield my brother. “Please, save him. I’ll be your slave, I’ll do anything you say.” Damian exhaled a plume of smoke. Through the haze, his face was terrifyingly cold. “Eliza Blackwell, I gave you a chance. You’ve brought this upon yourself.” The thug raised his machete. “No!” I screamed in despair, blocking my brother with my body. However, the anticipated pain didn’t come. The thug stopped, looking at Damian. Damian flicked his cigarette ash, then spoke softly. “Wait.” I thought he had softened, and a glimmer of hope sparked in my eyes. But then I heard him continue: “Julian’s kidneys haven’t been well lately; the doctor says she needs a transplant. Since your brother can’t pay his debt, then your kidney can settle it.” He looked at me, his eyes devoid of emotion. “One kidney, five million. Fair, isn’t it?”
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