Mark entered my life like a storybook prince. He moved me into a stunning high-rise apartment and showered me with designer clothes and expensive jewelry. But the fairy tale turned into a horror movie in a single day.
"You're just perfect," I told Mark, taking a long drag from my cigarette.
"That's not true. You're the one who's divine," he whispered, kissing my shoulder tenderly.
"Have you had a lot of girlfriends?" I asked.
"Does it really matter?" he grunted, clearly annoyed.
He seemed offended. He stood up and began to pace the room nervously.
"Hey, I'm sorry, please," I said, walking over to wrap my arms around him. "You know how curious women can be."
"Curious to a fault," he replied, suddenly breaking into a laugh.
I felt relieved. It was a good thing the man of my dreams was quick to forgive and couldn't stay mad for long. Still, I had played the fool again.
Women's magazines constantly warn that you should never ask a man about his exes. Naturally, I had completely forgotten that advice. I just wanted everything to be perfect. I felt like we were made for each other. He was the best man I had ever known.
"I don't like this new guy of yours," my best friend used to say.
Then again, she was a total buzzkill. She'd go on about how no one knew what he did for a living, how he was always off on "business trips," and how he definitely had someone else on the side.
But I trusted Mark. I figured my friend was just jealous or possessive. She wanted to ruin my happiness! Mark even suggested I stop talking to her. He was a real-life Prince Charming. He'd rescued me from the diner where I worked as a waitress and moved me into a fantastic apartment—furnished with incredible pieces and equipped with every high-tech gadget imaginable. I never wanted for anything.
I was dressed in the trendiest, most expensive labels from the best boutiques in the city, smelling of expensive French perfume and dining exclusively at five-star restaurants. We'd only lived together for a month, but it felt like I'd known him for a year.
And the chemistry? It was extraordinary. I used to be fairly conservative, but Mark opened up a whole new world for me. I felt completely fulfilled.
"I've planned a very interesting trip for us this weekend," he said one day. "Pack your sexiest outfits. Let's have some fun."
"Oh, that sounds amazing! Where are we going?"
"Don't ask. It's a surprise."
I actually don't like surprises. Or rather, I love them, but I die of curiosity while waiting for them.
For the next few days, I tried to imagine where we might be going. A boyfriend of one of the other waitresses back at the diner once took her to a cabin by a lake for a fishing trip, but Mark was far too elegant for something like that. He was a serious businessman; I was absolutely certain we'd be staying at some luxury resort.
A week prior, he had bought me breathtaking lingerie and a couple of evening gowns, then took me to a high-end spa: tanning, manicure, pedicure, facial, hair... the works.
It was silly to doubt his wealth—he spent a fortune on me without blinking. The story wasn't new, of course, but I was still constantly amazed that a prince could fall for a Cinderella like me. Mark asked me not to tell my friends about him, claiming they'd only get jealous and try to sabotage us.
"You know how women are better than I do," he'd say.
It was true. I'd seen how catty people could get, especially when a girl like me—a small-town girl with no degree, a waitress, the daughter of struggling teachers—finally caught a break.
To be honest, I'd always felt that even someone like Julia Roberts would look like a plain Jane standing next to me. So, in my mind, it all felt quite fair.
***
We set off on Friday afternoon. Keeping my promise, I tried my best not to ask where we were headed, though I was bursting with curiosity. I thought it would be somewhere nearby, but we drove for hours. Eventually, I fell asleep and only opened my eyes when the car stopped. It was pitch black outside. Ahead, I could make out the dark silhouette of a modest-looking building.
"Honey, where are we?" I asked sleepily, reluctantly climbing out of the warm car. "Where did you bring me?"
"We're in the mountains," he said, picking me up and carrying me over the threshold. "It's a friend's vacation home."
We had dinner, finished a bottle of wine, and spent a long time in bed. The next morning, I woke up in a wonderful mood. I looked out the window and saw the peaks. It was breathtaking. The sun was shining bright, the mountains were capped with snow, and a large hawk was soaring high in the sky.
Mark was gone. There was a note on the table: "Be back soon, darling. Take your time getting ready. M."
I dutifully showered, did my makeup, and put on the most provocative lingerie I owned, with a sheer lace robe over it. I looked in the mirror. I looked damn good. But I wondered where my husband-to-be had gone.
I imagined Mark walking through the door with a bouquet of wildflowers.
An hour later, I started to feel uneasy. Strangely enough, the front door was locked from the outside.
What if something happens to him and he can't get back? I worried. No one even knows I'm here!
He returned thirty minutes later. But he wasn't alone. Two unpleasant-looking men followed him into the house.
"Honey, finally! I was so worried!" I rushed toward him. "Why were you gone so long? And why did you take the keys?"
Mark's demeanor had shifted.
"Shut up and sit on the couch!" he hissed. "Don't get in my way."
He walked away to talk to the men he'd brought. Confused and hurt by his rudeness, I obeyed. But I didn't like what was happening. Especially when one of the men, a short, bald guy, stared at me hungrily.
"Yeah, she's a fine specimen. Everything's in the right place. Great curves... are those real?"
"What, you want to check?" Mark asked with a sickening smirk.
"Later," the man said. "There's time for that."
The joke was over. I looked helplessly from my boyfriend to the two visitors, still hoping this was just a cruel prank.
"Alright," said the second man—a huge guy who looked like a gorilla. "Standard price. You made sure no one's looking for her?"
"Don't worry, there's no one to look. Anyway, I'm out. I'll come by for the cash tomorrow." Mark grabbed his jacket, preparing to leave.
"Mark! You're not leaving me here... with them?"
"Of course I am," he said.
"No, you can't do this to me! You love me!"
"Get off me, you brat!" He twisted my arm and shoved me so hard I lost my balance and fell.
"Mark!" I screamed in terror, clutching his knees. He struck me across the face.
"Hey, don't bruise the merchandise, or the price drops," the short one cackled.
Mark walked out, slamming the door behind him. That was the last time I saw him. I lunged for the door, but the big man caught my arm effortlessly.
"And where do you think you're going?" he asked with the gentle smile of a psychopath.
What followed was a living nightmare. There was nothing left of my fancy robe or my lingerie.
They grabbed me with their filthy hands, leering and telling each other exactly what they were going to do to me. I fought back as hard as I could—screaming, biting, even trying to punch them—but they just laughed.
What can a twenty-year-old girl really do against two strong, grown men? I ran through the house in a panic, trying to find a way out, while they seemed to enjoy the game of cat and mouse. Eventually, the "mouse" was caught and tied to the bed.
Then they gave me an injection, and I gratefully lost touch with reality.
***
I don't know how much time passed. I tried to wake up several times, but I couldn't feel my body. I couldn't gather my thoughts. I didn't know where I was. I finally came to in a strange, half-empty room. An unfamiliar girl was rummaging through my suitcase.
"Nice clothes," she sighed enviously. "Get up, we're getting dressed."
The girl forced me into an evening gown, applied heavy makeup to my face, and made me put on high heels. I didn't have the strength to resist.
I and several other beautiful, zombie-like girls were led downstairs and loaded into a large covered truck. I was in such a state of shock that the transport didn't even surprise me.
We drove for a while, and then we were told to get out. We were in a wooded clearing, dimly lit by a pale autumn sun. A crowd of men stood around. They were exchanging crude jokes and reaching out to touch us. It felt surreal—as if I'd been dropped into the past, at some ancient slave market.
Suddenly, a voice boomed from the trees: "Nobody move! Police!"
Chaos erupted. Men in suits screamed and scattered, trying to run. I stood there helplessly, unable to move, not even able to feel happy about being rescued.
The other girls and I were taken to a hospital. A few days later, the doctors allowed the police to interview us. It was grueling. But as soon as I felt a bit better, I asked the officer:
"How did you find us?"
"We've been tracking this ring for a while," the young detective replied. "But then a woman in a nearby house called in about a truck full of women in evening gowns... we got there just in time."
"Women are curious," I remarked.
"And it's a good thing, too," he said. "Thanks to that, we're actually able to save someone every now and then."
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