Chapter 2
Sofia's POV
The basement air reeked like rotting corpses.
Tony threw me onto the cold concrete floor like garbage. My knees slammed against the ground, sharp pain shooting through me instantly. FUCK!
A dim bulb swayed overhead, casting shadows that made the chains and torture devices on the walls look like demon fangs.
My heart pounded wildly. I was screwed. Really screwed this time.
"Get up." Tony's cold command.
I struggled to my feet, legs shaking. I'd seen this godforsaken place too many times—other girls dragged in, many never coming out alive. Dried blood stained the walls, a sickening brown under the dim light.
SHIT, my turn now.
Two guards were already waiting, faces twisted in cruel grins. Marcus on the left—one of Viktor's most brutal animals—held a cattle prod, blue sparks crackling in the air. The one on the right gripped a whip, black leather still stained with the previous victim's blood.
They looked at me like I was meat.
"Boss says to give this little bitch a lesson she'll never forget," Marcus grinned, showing yellow teeth. "But don't kill her. She can still make money."
The first shock from the cattle prod hit my ribs hard.
"AHHH!"
Pain tore through my nerves like lightning. I screamed and collapsed, my body convulsing uncontrollably.
These bastards!
Before I could recover, the whip cracked across my back.
The burning agony of torn flesh nearly made me pass out.
"This is what happens when you deceive the Boss's son!" Marcus roared, spit flying in my face. He lived for these moments, eyes gleaming with sick pleasure.
Shock, whip, shock, whip.
I lost track of time, only knowing my voice had gone hoarse and my tears had long since dried up.
"Please!" I sobbed. "I really didn't know he was Viktor's son! Please stop!"
"Shut UP!" Marcus kicked me in the stomach, making me curl into a ball.
My consciousness started fading. I thought I was going to die. Then Tony suddenly spoke:
"Enough." His voice remained cold but firm. "Boss said to preserve her sanity."
Marcus reluctantly stopped, the cattle prod still buzzing.
"DAMN, just when it was getting fun," Marcus complained, licking his lips.
"Get out." Tony's tone brooked no argument.
They packed up their instruments and left reluctantly. Tony looked down at me lying in a pool of blood, his face expressionless.
"Remember this lesson."
Then he left too, abandoning me alone in the darkness.
I closed my eyes, consciousness drifting. Memories flooded back like a tide, dragging me to that damned beginning...
Sunlight streamed through the windows onto my notebook in Berkeley's library.
I was researching trauma psychology for my thesis, surrounded by other serious students. Birds chirped outside, basketball sounds echoed in the distance. Everything was so beautiful, so normal.
FUCK, how naive I was then.
"Sofia Rodriguez?"
A blonde woman in designer clothes approached me.
"I'm Helen Carter from the California Mental Health Foundation." She smiled and handed me a business card. "We've heard about your trauma psychology research."
My heart raced. Someone had noticed my work?
"We have a special project," Helen sat beside me, "specifically helping victims of human trafficking and sexual assault with psychological recovery. We need talented researchers like you."
My eyes lit up. "This project could help so many people overcome trauma! When can I start?"
Helen smiled warmly. "Soon, dear. A car will pick you up tomorrow to take you to our recovery center."
"Amazing! I can finally really help those victims!"
If I could go back to that moment, I'd grab that idiot and shake her awake. Tell her the world was ten thousand times darker than she imagined.
But there are no do-overs.
"Stand straight! Shoulders back! SMILE! I want to see fire in your eyes, not tears!"
Madame Chen tapped the massive mirror with her crystal-studded rod. Twelve other girls and I stood in a line, being inspected, trained, molded into perfect bait like merchandise.
This wasn't a recovery center. This was a hell factory for manufacturing predators.
Mirrors everywhere reflected countless desperate faces. Makeup tables loaded with expensive cosmetics, racks hung with seductive outfits. False luxury couldn't hide the truth—this was hell.
"Sofia," Madame Chen approached me, lifting my chin with her rod. "Smile. Sweeter. Imagine a rich fool standing before you. You need him to fall in love, go crazy for you, empty his wallet."
I gritted my teeth and forced out a stiff smile.
"Good. Now practice your story. Remember, you're a psychology student writing about victims. Make them pity you, protect you, worship you. Then..." Her smile turned cruel. "Destroy them."
I stared at myself in the mirror—carefully made-up face, expensive clothes, perfect disguise. Sofia Rodriguez was dead. What remained was just a predator named Sofia.
"Remember, your tears are worthless. Only success keeps you alive," Madame Chen coldly surveyed us. "Failure means death."
The girl next to me started crying, tears mixing with mascara, leaving black trails. She looked nineteen, still a child.
Madame Chen glanced at her coldly and gestured. Two guards immediately rushed over and dragged her from the room.
Her screams echoed in the hallway, then stopped abruptly.
We never saw her again.
From then on, I learned not to cry. Learned how to drive men crazy, how to find their deepest fears and desires, how to weave traps like a spider.
Pain dragged me back to reality.
I lay on the cold floor, wounds still bleeding. But my mind was clear, clearer than ever before.
Alexei. The target I'd spent three weeks seducing.
I remembered first seeing him. It was in an upscale coffee shop after I'd completed my last assignment—making an oil tycoon lose half a million in stock investments. Tony watched from a distance, ensuring I wouldn't do anything stupid.
I was about to leave when I saw him.
A young man sat in the corner, focused on his laptop. Brown hair, blue eyes, clean white shirt. He looked... different.
Not like those other rich assholes who only thought about money and sex. There was something pure in his eyes, rare in this filthy world.
Perfect target. Young, obviously wealthy (judging by his Rolex and tailored suit), and seemingly naive.
I deliberately knocked over his coffee.
"God! Sorry!" I feigned panic. "I'm so clumsy!"
"It's okay," he said gently, those blue eyes showing only innocent kindness. "Accidents happen."
For a moment, I almost forgot my mission. I hadn't seen that kind of look in a long time.
But I still began my performance.
For three weeks, I played a psychology student struggling with her dissertation. Told him I was researching trauma victim recovery, invented false hardships to gain his sympathy.
I never knew his last name. Never knew whose son he was. To me, he was just Alexei—another rich target to be drained.
He believed it. Completely.
He accompanied me to the library, bought me expensive dinners, listened to my fabricated painful stories. He told me his dream was becoming a documentary filmmaker, using cameras to expose society's dark side.
The most damning part was, he was genuine. Every word, every promise, every gentle embrace.
When he softly kissed my forehead and said he wanted to protect me, something inside me shattered.
But I kept deceiving him. Made him spend money, lots of it. To "support" my research, to "help" my studies. Tony monitored every transfer from the shadows, ensuring I completed my mission.
Every time I received his money, guilt washed over me. He trusted me so much, genuinely wanted to help, while I exploited his kindest nature.
Now thinking back, that guilt seems ridiculous.
He was Viktor Petrov's son. The spawn of the demon who destroyed my life.
If I'd known you were his son from the start, I would've completely destroyed you.