Chapter 1 CHAPTER 1

The atmosphere in the room felt thick enough to choke her. Diane Morel stood frozen near the long mahogany table, a smooth polished surface that had witnessed decades of the family’s power, secrets, and greed. Tonight it would witness something darker. Something she still could not believe was real.

The Morel estate smelled of roses and old money, the kind of scent that masked rot and decade of evil.

Diane morel, young, beautiful, headstrong and last child of the morels, stood near the long mahogany table, her heart hammering beneath her ribs as voices overlapped around her. The air was thick with expensive whiskey and tension. Her family, her own blood spoke in calm, measured tones, the way businessmen negotiated a merger, for her sales.

“Two hundred thousand,” Ethan said, his voice steady, almost bored. “And not a cent less.”

The taller of the two men seated opposite him, strangers in dark suits, their eyes sharp and watchful, inclined his head. “Our client does not bargain. She pays for quality. The girl will be well… positioned.”

The word positioned struck Diane like a blade. She stepped forward, trembling. “Ethan, please, what are you doing?”

Her brother didn’t look at her. “This is for the best, Diane.”

“You have been a constant, embarrassment to this family”

“The best?” “An embarrassment?” Her voice cracked, laced with tears. “You’re selling me!”

Her mother exhaled softly, as though Diane’s words were an inconvenience. “Stop being dramatic, darling. You’ve always been so emotional.” “Always been against the ways of this family, always fighting us over every decision we make”.

Across the room, Lydia, Diane’s best friend clutched her hands together, tears pooling in her eyes, “Mrs. Morel, please,” she whispered. “You can’t do this. She’s your daughter.”

But Mrs. Morel didn’t answer. Her gaze was fixed on the contract before her, on the fountain pen her husband now poised above the line. Her father, Anthony morel, tall, composed, his expression hard and controlled, signed with a flourish.

“There,” he said quietly. “It’s done.”

Diane’s breath hitched. “Dad, how could you?”

Her father finally met her eyes. There was no guilt in his gaze, only resignation. “You’ve brought too much shame, Diane. Too much attention, you have always been a constant pain to this family. It’s time you learned your place.”

“My place?” she echoed, her voice a trembling whisper. “You mean gone?” “How could you do this dad?”  “Is this because I threatened to go to the police with the evidence of what Ethan had done to that girl? Dad, if somebody did something like that to me, how would you feel? She may be the cook’s daughter, poor, illegal immigrant, and dirty but she is human and deserve our respect”.

Diane broke down completely, crying silently, tears streaming down her face mixed with snot as she begs her family not to sell her.

Ethan turned toward her then, his smile practiced, empty. “It’s nothing personal, sister. Consider it… a change of scenery. And moreover, your so called “human” Clair begged for it, with her wearing those short skirts and tight top, I couldn’t help myself. I didn’t rape her; I only had sex with her.”

Lydia moved before the men could, stepping between Diane and the men. “You can’t take her!” she cried. “This isn’t right!”

The shorter of the two mercenaries, the one with a scar cutting down his cheek, reached into his coat, revealing a folded envelope. He slid it across the table. “Madam Seraphine’s payment, in full.”

The soft hiss of paper against wood was louder than thunder to Diane.

Ethan picked it up, thumbed through the crisp bills, and smiled. “Pleasure doing business.”

Diane lunged forward then, gripping her mother’s arm. “Mom, please. Say something, stop them. Please!”

Her mother’s hand twitched, not in comfort, but in irritation. “Diane, stop making a scene.” “Everything is not always about you”. “Maybe you will learn to follow rules when you get there” she said. Her voice cold and hard.

Tears blurred Diane’s vision. “How can you sell your own daughter mother?” she choked. “How can you just let them take me?”

But her mother didn’t meet her eyes, didn’t care. None of them did.

A gloved hand closed around Diane’s wrist, firm, unyielding. The man’s voice was low, professional. “We leave now.”

Lydia screamed her name as they pulled her toward the door. Diane twisted, struggled, her fingers scraping the marble frame. “No! Ethan, don’t do this! Please.”

Ethan’s smile was cruel and cold for a moment,   and then it was replaced by a stern face. “Goodbye, Diane.”

The front doors opened, spilling cold night air into the hall. The scent of roses was replaced by rain and earth. The world outside looked the same, unchanged, life seems to move on as if her world is not about to change.

As they dragged her down the steps, Diane’s sobs caught in her throat. The estate loomed behind her,  the house that had held her laughter, her childhood, her trust, now a monument to betrayal.

She looked back one last time, hoping to see her mother in the doorway, hoping for a flicker of remorse. But there was nothing. Only silhouettes against night light, that was the last thing Diane saw before a needle was injected into her arm and she lost consciousness.

The car door slammed shut, sealing her fate.

Rain began to fall, steady and cold, streaking down the tinted windows as the engine roared to life.

Inside the house she had called home, her family poured another round of whiskey, celebrating their victory once again, the paperwork folded neatly into a secrete safe where other illegal documents are being kept. Business concluded.

And somewhere behind the sound of tires on wet pavement, a voice echoed in her sub-conscious mind, her own voice, breaking.

Mom, how can you just watch?

No one answered.