Chapter One

Emily

I shouldn’t be here.

A heavy sigh escapes me as the makeup artist dabs foundation on my face, her hand moving with robotic precision. My heart races in my chest, pounding against my ribcage like it’s trying to escape, and I wonder if it shows on my face. The smell of powder fills the air, cloying and heavy, and I can’t shake the feeling that I’m suffocating. I glance at the mirror in front of me, barely recognizing the girl staring back. My skin is flawless, my hair teased and curled into perfect waves, and my lips painted a deep, blood-red. But it doesn’t feel like me. None of this feels like me.

Behind me, someone fusses over a rack of clothes, pulling out the skimpiest, most ridiculous outfits I’ve ever seen in my life. One by one, she holds them up, assessing me with a critical eye before tossing them aside like they aren’t humiliating enough. Each one looks worse than the last, and a sick knot forms in the pit of my stomach. My mouth is dry, but I force myself to swallow.

"Seriously? Do people actually wear this stuff?" I mutter under my breath, my voice trembling as I try to mask the fear. She holds up what looks like a string of fabric pretending to be a dress, and I feel my hands clench into fists in my lap. My palms are slick with sweat.

"Stop talking," the makeup artist snaps, her voice cold, sharp, and unyielding. She doesn’t even look at me as she continues blending the makeup on my face, her hands moving as though I’m just another doll to paint. I bite my tongue, the words dying on my lips, and stare straight ahead at my reflection. My mind is screaming at me to run, to get out, but my body feels frozen. I’m trapped, and the walls are closing in.

The girl picking out my clothes returns with another outfit, her eyes gleaming like she’s finally found something she thinks is good enough for this twisted show. This one’s slightly more... I don’t even know what to call it. It has more material, but just barely. She waves it in front of me, grinning like she’s proud of herself. I can’t help but raise an eyebrow, my stomach turning in disgust.

"Where’s the rest of it?" I ask, my voice flat, but underneath, my fear is bubbling, threatening to spill over. My hands shake as I take the outfit from her.

She doesn’t answer. Instead, she tosses it onto the pile of rejected outfits and goes back to rummaging through the rack, determined to find something even worse. I glance around the room, my pulse quickening. I’m not the only one here. The other girls—they’re all like me. Some look scared, others defeated, their eyes are dull, and their bodies are still as statues. Some look as though they’ve been here forever, resigned to whatever this nightmare is. I wonder if I’ll look like them soon. If I’ll give in like they have.

I try to remind myself to breathe, but the air feels thick, too heavy for my lungs. I was dropped off hours ago, but it is starting to feel like days. Time has stopped making sense in this place. My uncle—my uncle who promised me everything would be fine—brought me here in the dead of night without a word of explanation. His voice was cold when he told me, "You’ll be fine." Fine? Fine?! I’m standing here, about to be paraded in front of God knows who, and he thought this was fine ?

The woman handling my outfits returns again with something black, something tight, something that screams humiliation. It’s the kind of outfit that turns you into nothing more than a display, an object. I let out a small, frustrated sigh, but stand up anyway. My legs feel like jelly, barely able to hold my weight. There’s no use fighting it. I need to keep my head down and figure out what’s going on. Maybe then I can find a way out.

"Try this one," she says, shoving the outfit into my trembling hands.

I slip into it, feeling more exposed than I’ve ever felt in my life. The fabric clings to me like a second skin, barely covering anything, leaving me vulnerable. I glance at myself in the mirror again, and the girl staring back looks like a stranger. My heart races, and I can feel the bile rising in my throat. I blink hard, trying to keep it together. I can’t fall apart now. But how did I end up here? How did my life come to this?

It’s all because of my uncle. My hands grip the edge of the vanity as I think of him, of the way he casually brushed off my questions, the way he made it all seem so reasonable. After my dad died, he swooped in, taking control of everything. He said we had debts—debts I didn’t even know existed. "There’s no other way," he said. "We have to settle the accounts." He never finished his sentences, always leaving things unsaid. But the message was clear: this was my life now.

The makeup artist finally finishes, stepping back to admire her work. "Done," she says, her voice dripping with boredom. She’s done this too many times before. I glance at myself one last time. My face is flawless, like a doll, but my eyes—they give me away. I’m terrified. Lost. Trapped.

The woman with the clothes gestures for me to follow her, and I force myself to move, my stomach in knots. Every step feels like I’m marching toward my doom, the hallway narrowing around me, the dim lights casting eerie shadows. My chest tightens with every breath I take. The faint murmur of voices ahead sets my nerves on edge. What’s waiting for me behind those doors?

As we round a corner, I see them—the other girls. They’re standing in a line by a large door, their heads down, their faces pale. My legs nearly give out beneath me. I’m next. I can feel the fear radiating off of them, and it only feeds my own. I don’t know what’s happening, but every instinct in my body is screaming at me to run. But where? There’s nowhere to go.

The woman leaves me standing there, and I swallow hard, trying to keep my breathing steady. My palms are sweaty, my heart hammering in my chest. I try not to look at the other girls, try not to think about what’s behind that door. But I can’t stop the panic building inside me. I’m next. I’m next, and I don’t know what’s coming.

I think of my uncle’s voice, his casual reassurances. "It’s just one night." But one night could ruin everything. One night could destroy me. My hands shake as the door opens, and another girl steps through. She’s wearing practically nothing, her eyes wide, her body trembling. She doesn’t say a word as she disappears through the door, and the soft thud as it closes behind her echoes in my ears.

I can’t do this. I can’t—

Another girl is called in, and the line moves forward. My legs are jelly. I can barely breathe. I’m next.