I blinked, my vision unsteady, the world shifting like ink bleeding through water. Each breath came slow and heavy, the air thick with cheap perfume and stale smoke—so different from the crisp, floral scent that used to surround me.
Home.
The thought slipped through my mind, fragile and distant. When I tried to hold onto it—silver wolves, towering halls, fire—pain split through my skull, sharp enough to make me wince.
"New home?" I repeated, my voice rough. "What do you mean, new home?"
I pushed myself up, but the ground seemed to tilt beneath me. A surge of dizziness forced me back down, my knees hitting the wooden floor with a dull thud.
"Easy, Flora. You haven't healed yet," the woman in black said calmly.
I frowned. "Flora?"
The name felt foreign, like something forced onto me.
"That is your name," she replied, lowering herself to my level. Her expression was gentle, but something in her eyes didn't match it. "You must have lost your memory during the war. It happens. But you're safe now."
War.
The word settled uneasily in my chest. Nothing about this felt right, yet the harder I tried to make sense of it, the more my thoughts slipped through my grasp.
Before I could question her further, she straightened and turned toward the other girls.
"Enough crying. Get ready," she snapped, her voice suddenly sharp.
The shift was jarring.
Then, just as quickly, she smoothed her expression and glanced back at me. "You will call me Madam Coco."
She left without another word.
The room erupted into hurried movement. Girls rushed to fix their hair, their hands trembling, their faces pale with urgency.
"We need to be ready before she comes back," one of them whispered.
"Where are we?" I asked, but no one answered. It was as if I hadn't spoken at all.
One by one, they filed out, leaving me alone.
Silence settled heavily around me, pressing in from all sides. Sitting still felt impossible. I needed to understand what was happening.
I stepped into the hallway, steadying myself against the cold stone wall as I moved. The space stretched on endlessly until a heavy velvet curtain caught my attention.
I hesitated, then pulled it back slightly.
Noise crashed over me.
A crowd.
Loud, restless, eager.
Below, men filled a large hall, their faces flushed, their attention fixed on a stage.
"Welcome to Madam Coco's most famous brothel!" a voice boomed.
The word hit me harder than anything else.
Brothel.
My stomach tightened.
"Today, we begin with the auction!"
Girls were led onto the stage, each marked with a number, placed on raised platforms that slowly turned. They moved stiffly, like objects on display rather than people.
"Let the auction begin!"
"No…" The word slipped out under my breath.
This wasn't right.
I stepped forward instinctively, something deep inside urging me to stop it, but a hand caught my arm and pulled me back.
"Where do you think you're going?" a girl asked, her voice low.
"They're selling them," I said, struggling against her grip. "I have to—"
"You need to listen," she cut in, her tone firm. "That's why we're here. All of us."
The words sank in slowly.
"Including me?" I asked.
She nodded once. "Not yet. You're still young. You'll be prepared first." She studied me for a moment before adding, "You should be grateful. If Madam Coco hadn't taken you in, you wouldn't have survived."
Grateful.
The word felt wrong, but I didn't have the strength to argue.
She let go and disappeared back into the crowd, leaving me alone in the shadows, watching as the auction continued.
I didn't understand what Madam Coco was.
A savior.
Or something far worse.
I wouldn't get an answer.
Not then.
Not in the years that followed.
Three Years Later"You need to get dressed for the event, Flora."
Lina's voice pulled me from my thoughts.
I met my reflection in the mirror before looking at her. "What event?"
She smiled faintly. "You're eighteen today."
The reminder settled quietly between us.
She left soon after, the door closing behind her with a soft click.
I remained where I was, my gaze drifting to the dress laid out on the bed. It was elegant, carefully chosen, meant to impress.
For three years, Madam Coco had treated me differently. Softer. Kinder.
Almost like family.
But standing there now, it became impossible to ignore the truth.
Comfort didn't change what this place was.
And tonight, whatever illusion I had been allowed to keep would end.
The change came quickly.
"I'm not going out there," I said, pushing the fabric away. "I won't do it."
Lina reached for me, her expression strained, but the door opened before she could speak.
Madam Coco entered, and the warmth I had grown used to was gone. There was nothing gentle left in her gaze.
"Enough," she said sharply.
"You said I mattered to you," I replied, my voice shaking. "You said—"
The slap came without warning.
Pain flared across my face, snapping my head to the side. For a moment, everything went quiet except for the sharp ringing in my ears.
I tasted blood.
"I invested in you," she said coldly. "Don't confuse that with affection."
I stared at her, something inside me going still.
She turned to the guards. "Dress her. If she resists, handle it."
They didn't hesitate.
The process was quick, impersonal. By the time they were done, I barely recognized the girl standing there.
Then they dragged me out.
The noise hit me immediately—louder than before, heavier.
I was pushed onto the center platform, the wood turning slowly beneath my feet. The lights were harsh, the crowd impossible to ignore.
"Let the bidding begin for our prize jewel—Flora!"
Voices rose instantly.
Numbers.
Shouts.
Laughter.
I kept my gaze low, my mind racing, searching for any way out. The distance to the edge. The guards. The timing.
There had to be something.
The platform turned again, bringing a man into view.
Old.
Watching me too closely.
Something cold settled in my chest.
I couldn't stay here.
I shifted slightly, testing my balance, calculating—
Then everything stopped.
The noise.
The movement.
Even the air seemed to change.
A presence filled the room, heavy and commanding, pressing down on everything at once.
"One million dollars."
The voice cut cleanly through the silence.
I looked up.
A man stood at the entrance, composed, unmoving, his authority unmistakable.
He wasn't smiling.
He wasn't interested in the spectacle.
His gaze was fixed on me with unsettling focus.
"Sold!" the announcer shouted, breaking the stillness. "To the Alpha King!"