Mei Lin woke up in a daze.
Her eyelids fluttered open sluggishly, lashes sticky with sleep. Her head felt heavy, as though submerged underwater for hours. A dull, pulsing throb echoed in her skull. She blinked several times, trying to clear the haze clouding her vision. Everything felt unreal. She didn't quite feel like herself.
Her breathing was shallow. Her lips were dry.
She stared blankly ahead, her eyes slowly adjusting to the soft, silvery light filtering into the room. The ceiling above shimmered faintly.
A chandelier.
Her brows drew together.
That wasn't right.
She turned her head slightly, wincing at the stiffness in her neck. Her gaze landed on heavy velvet curtains, drawn halfway over tall windows that framed the distant city skyline. Cold marble floors gleamed beneath the faint light. A pale nightstand stood beside the bed, crowned with a perfect vase of white lilies.
Nothing looked familiar.
Confusion swept in.
"Where...?" she whispered, her throat dry, voice hoarse.
She tried to sit up—only to gasp sharply and collapse back onto the bed.
"Ow—!" The cry tore from her lips before she could stop it.
A sudden, stabbing pain pierced through her lower body, deep, raw, and intimate. Her breath hitched. Her chest rose and fell in panicked, shallow bursts. Her trembling hand reached instinctively for the blanket, clutching the edge like a lifeline.
Something was wrong. Terribly wrong.
Her stomach twisted. Slowly, with her heart pounding, she peeled the blanket back.
Her breath caught. The world seemed to tilt.
She was naked.
Her skin was blotched with red marks, hickeys, fresh and dark, littered across her collarbone, her breasts, her inner thighs. Bruises shaped like fingers decorated her hips. Her thighs ached, her entire body felt used and hollow. And there, on the stark white sheets smears of drying blood.
Her chest caved in.
"No…" she whispered, the word splintering in her throat.
Tears welled in her eyes.
She stared at the evidence, the stains, the marks, the silence. No memories. No choice. No consent. But she didn't need anyone to tell her what had happened.
She wasn't a child.
Even without experience, even without a memory, she knew. Her innocence had been stolen.
Not given.
Taken.
Her body began to shake. She curled inward, clutching the blanket against her chest, shielding what little was left. She bit down on her trembling lip, trying to hold back the sob, but it surged past her anyway.
A broken whimper escaped her throat.
The shame. The pain. The confusion. The fear. All of it caved in at once, and she shattered.
She tried to stop, but the tears kept coming.
At first, soft gasps. Then harder. She clutched the sheets until her knuckles turned white. Silent sobs racked her trembling shoulders, shaking the bed beneath her.
What happened to me?
The question pulsed in her mind, louder than her heartbeat.
Her thoughts scrambled to make sense of it, desperate to reconstruct the hours she couldn't remember.
Then it came.
The party.
She saw him, her boyfriend, standing in front of her, smiling as he handed her a glass of wine.
She had refused, gently, as she always did. She had told him a hundred times, she didn't drink. He knew that. He always respected it. But last night, his smile had changed. There was pressure in it. People were watching.
"Just for me," he had coaxed. "Please, a sip will do. Just give me some face."
She hesitated.
She didn't want to embarrass him. So she gave in.
Just one sip.
That was all.
Then it started. A sudden, unnatural heat flooded her veins. Her body flushed, her head spun, her vision blurred. Her balance gave out beneath her. The room tilted sideways.
She remembered grabbing his arm.
"Something's wrong," she whispered.
He didn't ask questions. Didn't help. He just led her away, down a quiet hallway and into a room.
She had clung to him, scared, weak, unsteady. She begged him to stay. Told him she didn't feel right. But his patience had worn thin.
"Just lie down," he muttered. "Rest. I'll be back."
And then he left.
She remembered the sound of the door clicking shut behind him.
She waited.
But he never came back.
Time slipped. Her thoughts fragmented. Her body felt like it was on fire. Her skin tingled with strange sensitivity. Her pulse raced. Her breath came in ragged pants.
There was no desire in it. No pleasure. Just a foreign, overwhelming heat crawling beneath her skin, unnatural, urgent, terrifying.
She tried to rise from the bed but her limbs were heavy, like they'd been tied down with sandbags. Each step took everything she had. She stumbled toward the door, her hand shaking as she reached for the knob.
It turned. But the door didn't open.
Locked.
From the outside.
Her dazed eyes blinked at the door in disbelief. She twisted the handle again harder this time. Nothing. She knocked. Weakly. Then louder.
No one came.
She turned, heart pounding, legs shaking.
And then the door opened.
The memory returned like a knife.
The man. Older. Greasy. Shirt half-open. His eyes gleamed with something foul as they roamed over her defenseless body. The heavy stench of cologne and alcohol clung to the air around him.
He stepped inside with slow, deliberate steps. He smiled.
"Look at you," he murmured. "Just like he said. Soft and untouched."
Her skin crawled.
She tried to move. To run. Her muscles barely responded. Her arms shook violently as she tried to push herself away.
"Don't… touch me…" she choked, barely audible.
He didn't stop.
He touched her leg.
She slapped weakly at his hand, her voice trembling. "No… stop… please…"
But he climbed onto the bed, straddling her.
She screamed. Or tried to. Her voice failed her. Her hands clawed at his chest, her body fighting in vain.
He grew impatient. Annoyed.
And then he slapped her hard, very hard.
The world went black.
She didn't know if she passed out from the slap or from the drug.
Maybe both.
But the next time she opened her eyes he was gone. The room was empty.
And she was alone.
Naked. Broken. Ruined.
Reality rushed in like a flood.
And behind it, came betrayal.
Her boyfriend, the man she loved and trusted had handed her over to another man, an old man at that.
Just like that.
Mei Lin pulled the bloodied blanket up to her chin, curling into herself. Her body convulsed with sobs. Her throat burned. Her soul cracked open.
She had given him everything.
Her love. Her faith. Her loyalty. Even the inheritance her father left her, meant for her future, her dreams, she gave it to him. For his company. For his success. Because she believed if he rose, they would rise together.
But it hadn't been enough.
He wanted more.
So he sold her.
To an old man.
She had been loyal from the start. Faithful since high school. She had ignored every other man, every tempting offer. Her heart had always belonged to him.
And he destroyed her.
She let out a long, broken sob.
This wasn't just heartbreak.
It was devastation.
Because when someone you love becomes the one who ruins you—it's not just your heart that breaks.
It's your soul.