The day my family declared bankruptcy, I pulled my mother back from the ledge of the roof. I told her I would sell myself to Sebastian Hargrave to get the money to save us. "The price tag?" Sebastian asked, his voice cold as winter steel. "Two million dollars." He was silent for three seconds before letting out a low laugh. "Deal." Six months into our marriage, he brought his mistress home. Before I could even process what was happening, he threw the prenuptial agreement in my face. "Don't forget your place, Elena. You already sold yourself to me, didn't you? It's none of your damn business." I had no rebuttal. Not until the day of my acute appendicitis, when I was fourteen dollars short on the pharmacy bill. Over the phone, his voice dripped with mockery: "Didn't I already pay you everything upfront? What, getting addicted to being a kept woman?" He hung up. Then turned around and dropped fourteen million on a limited-edition Patek Philippe for his girlfriend. Facing the nurse's impatient stare, I forced a smile. "Cancel the surgery. Just discharge me, please." A marriage bought for two million dollars had finally reached its end. --- My phone buzzed against the hospital intake counter. A bank notification. Fourteen dollars deposited. The memo read: *For your surgery. Don't embarrass the Hargrave name.* I let out a bitter laugh that turned into a wince of pain. Fourteen dollars would cover the pharmacy co-pay. But not the $331 deposit for the actual surgery. I knew Sebastian wouldn't give me another cent. Not when he'd just spent fourteen million on a watch for Tiffany. So I swallowed my pride and texted my old friends, asking to borrow $317. Combined with what I had and his fourteen dollars, it would be just enough. The replies came fast. *Wow, the gold digger needs money? Blew through two million already?* *If you hadn't trapped Sebastian and broken his heart, you wouldn't be begging for pocket change now.* The cruel messages kept coming. I'd gone numb. Numb to Sebastian treating our marriage like a transaction. Treating me like a piece of property he'd bought for two million. Numb to his friends' endless mockery, calling me a gold digger in a thousand creative ways. Numb to the humiliation of an empty wallet, to stepping on my own dignity over and over, begging Sebastian for scraps. At first, I thought I could manage. I'm a grown woman with a degree and two working hands—I should be able to support myself. Maybe even save up two million to pay him back. But Sebastian cut off every avenue I had to earn money. "I already paid two million for the rest of your life. Your time, your freedom—they're mine now." He wanted to break me. To force me to come crawling to him for money. It was his way of punishing me for turning our love into a negotiation. For making him believe I'd been lying to him for three years—that it was always about the money. I tried to explain. So many times. But he never had the patience to listen. "What's the point of all these excuses?" "You're the one who asked for the money. We became this because of you." Another notification lit up my cracked phone screen. Someone had transferred $371 with a note: *Payment for letting me enjoy watching you suffer.* I wiped the dampness from my face and smiled at the nurse. "I can pay now. Please schedule the surgery as soon as possible." But I didn't have enough left for anesthesia. So I lay there on that freezing surgical table, wide awake and shivering. Cold sweat soaked through my hair and hospital gown. I could feel everything. The scalpel breaking skin. The instruments entering my body. The twisting, cutting motions inside me. When the tearing pain hit its peak, I thought of Sebastian. He used to hold me close in bed, fingers tracing patterns on my skin. "After we're married, let's have a baby. Boy or girl, I don't care. I'll love you both with everything I have." But when I actually brought up trying for a child six months into our marriage, he sneered: "You want me to give you my baby? So you can trap me forever with child support? In your dreams." I don't want it anymore, Sebastian. Not the money. Not the love. Not you. I don't want any of it. --- I don't know how long I endured that surgery. Finally, mercifully, it ended. As the instruments withdrew, sound slowly filtered back in. The nurse unstrapped my legs and helped me onto a recovery bed for a thirty-minute observation period. I stared blankly out the window at the dark Manhattan sky, tears sliding down my face. Suddenly, a firework shot into the air, exploding in a brilliant burst of gold and crimson. Then another. And another. Until the entire city was lit up like daylight. I stared at the sky, dazed. Nearby, I heard a few young nurses whispering enviously: "Did you hear? Mr. Hargrave set this off for his girlfriend! That Tiffany girl is so lucky!" "Wait, what girlfriend? Mr. Hargrave has a wife! Though I heard she's just some gold digger. Apparently she's lower than the household staff now."
On the way home, I dragged my freshly sutured abdomen step by agonizing step through the snow-dusted streets. A taxi pulled up beside me. The driver rolled down his window. "Where to, miss?" I waved him off weakly. "No thanks." I couldn't afford the fare. Not after spending everything on surgery. So I walked. Eight miles back to the Hargrave estate in Greenwich. All around me, people were still raving about tonight's fireworks show. "So beautiful! If someone did that for me, my life would be complete!" "Keep dreaming. You think you're Sebastian Hargrave's girlfriend? Look at that girl over there—pale as a ghost and no one cares." I glanced up at the two women whispering about me. They blushed and stammered that they didn't mean anything by it, asking if I needed help. I smiled and shook my head. What I wanted to say was: *I've had fireworks like that before.* Once upon a time, someone cared. It was the day Sebastian proposed to me. He knelt on one knee outside the Plaza Hotel, holding out a ring, eyes brimming with what looked like tears. "Elena Martinez, you're the most extraordinary woman I've ever met. I want to spend my life with you. Love you forever." "Will you marry me?" Behind him, fireworks even more brilliant than tonight's lit up the sky over Central Park. But that was also the day I'd pulled my mother back from suicide. Debt collectors were still at our apartment in Queens, using my mother and seven-year-old brother as leverage, demanding immediate payment. I had no choice. So I asked him: "Sebastian... could you lend me two million dollars?" His expression froze instantly. The love in his eyes drained away like water through a sieve. He stood up slowly, a mocking smile curling his lips. "Everyone said you were with me for my money. I didn't believe them." "Elena, you really know how to play the long game. Waiting until I proposed—until half of Manhattan was watching—before showing your true colors." He laughed coldly and signaled to stop the fireworks. Then he pulled a check from his tuxedo pocket and threw it in my face. "Fine. You're cheap enough, anyway." From that day on, everything changed. No matter how I tried to explain, I couldn't shake the label of gold digger. With Sebastian's silent approval, I became the biggest joke in the entire Upper East Side. Even the household staff earned $30,000 a month. But I had to beg him for three dollars for subway fare. I kept enduring. Waiting for the day his anger would fade. For a chance to explain about my father's gambling debts, my brother's medical bills, the loan sharks who threatened to kill my family. Until he brought his first girlfriend home. I lost it. But he just looked at me like I was pathetic and asked what right I had to be angry. He said he'd already bought out our marriage. That even if he brought home a hundred women, it was my own fault for being a whore who sold herself. My heart shattered. But I couldn't say a single word in my defense. --- Six hours in the freezing January wind. Finally, at 1 AM, I made it to the gates of the Hargrave estate. I pushed open the door to warmth and soft lighting. I was about to drag myself upstairs to the small bedroom I'd been relegated to when I heard Sebastian's voice from the living room. "You're finally back. Where is it?" I stared at him, sprawled across the couch with Tiffany draped across his lap like a cashmere throw, and asked blankly: "Where's what?" "Playing dumb? Didn't I text you to pick up condoms on your way home?" Sebastian looked me up and down with contempt. "I spent all that money on you. Can't even handle a simple errand?" My phone had died hours ago. I hadn't seen any message. I bit my lip and forced out: "Buy them yourself." Maybe my cold tone set him off. He shot up from the couch, his six-foot frame towering over me, eyes blazing. "What, you want more money? I just gave you fourteen dollars. That's enough for a box, isn't it?" "Go buy them now. If you don't come back with them, don't bother coming back at all."
I stared at him in disbelief. This wasn't the first time Sebastian had spoken to me like this. I thought I'd gone numb to his cruelty. But my chest still throbbed with a dense, suffocating pain— It was barely above freezing outside. Even through the windows, I could hear the wind howling. It was past 1 AM. Where the hell was I supposed to buy condoms? When I didn't move, Sebastian let out a cold laugh. "Why are you still standing there? Need more money?" He pulled a hundred-dollar bill from his wallet and tossed it on the marble floor without even looking at me. "There. Is that enough?" He paused, his eyes narrowing. "You called me earlier asking for fourteen dollars for medicine. Where is it?" "Elena, you're really shameless now. Scamming me for fourteen dollars?" Anesthesia? The surgery was already over. What would be the point of explaining? Before I could answer, Sebastian waved over his security guard. They shoved me out the front door into the freezing night. Through the heavy wood, his voice turned even colder. "If you don't come back with condoms, stay outside all night." Then came the sound of kissing. Giggling. Followed by something far more obscene. I instinctively wanted to walk away. To get as far from those sounds as possible. But I didn't even have the strength to stand. I slid down against the door and sat on the cold stone steps. The freezing wind cut through my thin jacket. And froze whatever warmth was left in my dying heart. --- At some point—I don't know how long I'd been sitting there—I heard the door open behind me. Then Sebastian's frantic cursing: "Elena, are you insane?! You couldn't find somewhere warm?!" "Is this little guilt-trip act fun for you?!" A familiar scent of expensive perfume hit me. It must be a hallucination, I thought. Sebastian hates me now. He wouldn't care if I died. When I opened my eyes, Sebastian's face was ashen with what looked like fury. "Done pretending? I just asked you to buy condoms. Was it really worth this pathetic performance?" "What, you want the media to find out you nearly froze to death outside the Hargrave estate so you can extort more money from me?" I tried to speak. But my throat burned, raw and painful. Sebastian looked away, refusing to meet my eyes. "Where the hell is the family doctor?! Why isn't he here yet?!" "Don't let her die on my property!" Tears slid silently down my frozen face. Sebastian, what do you even want from me? You hate me enough to wish me dead. But now you're terrified I actually will die. I closed my eyes, my voice barely a rasp: "Sebastian. Let's get divorced."
He whipped around like I'd told a joke. "Divorced? Fine. Pay me back the two million first." He paused, then let out a bitter laugh. "Oh, I get it. You think threatening me with divorce will get you another payout, right?" "So tell me—how much this time? Two million? Five?" I couldn't hold back anymore. "Our marriage is already—" But before I could finish, a loud, exaggerated panting came from inside the house. Tiffany appeared in the doorway, wrapped in Sebastian's shirt. The family doctor arrived right behind her. After a quick examination, the doctor hesitated before speaking carefully to Sebastian: "Mr. Hargrave... Mrs. Hargrave appears to have just had surgery. Appendectomy. Without anesthesia, based on these sutures." He paused, clearly uncomfortable. "She needs immediate rest and monitoring. The cold exposure could cause the incision to—" "Fine. Take her to the guest house." Sebastian cut him off, not even looking at me. "Make sure she doesn't die. That's all." --- The recovery period was brutal. But what came after was worse. Because once I could walk again, Sebastian found new ways to punish me. It started with Tiffany. She'd moved into the main house full-time now. And Sebastian made sure I knew my place. One morning at breakfast, Tiffany casually mentioned wanting truffle risotto for lunch. Sebastian turned to me, his face blank. "Didn't you hear what Tiffany said?" I stared at the scrambled eggs already on the table and said nothing. He smiled. That cold, cruel smile I'd come to know so well. "Oh, you want money for groceries? Fine. I'll pay." "Deal?" I finished my last bite and walked to the kitchen without looking back. Once I left, I heard Tiffany's sugary voice: "Babe, aren't you worried humiliating Elena with money will make her, like, snap or something?" Sebastian snorted. "Don't worry. As long as there's money involved, she'd sell her soul." This time, he was right. As long as it helped me scrape together two million to pay him back, I'd do anything. From that day on, I became Tiffany's personal servant. Making her coffee? $30,000 per week. Running her errands? $50,000. Sometimes, when Sebastian wanted to humiliate me further, he'd make me sit in the corner of their bedroom while they had sex. $80,000 per session. At first, I felt sick. Degraded beyond recognition. But after enough times, I went numb. I could even hand Tiffany a glass of water mid-session without blinking. But Sebastian's expression grew darker each time. Until one day, he couldn't take it anymore. He knocked the water glass out of my hand and grabbed my face violently. "Elena, do you have no shame?!" I looked into his eyes, calm and detached. It was almost funny. In just six weeks, I'd saved $1.6 million. Only $400,000 left. Then I could pay him back and divorce him. Then I'd be free.
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