The first time they touched her, it was like ice water. A cold, clinical detachment that numbed every nerve. She had always been a woman of warmth, of laughter, of life. Now, she was a commodity, a thing to be owned and used.

It started with debt, a monstrous thing that crept into her life like a shadow. A business venture gone wrong, a sick parent, and suddenly, the world was closing in. There was no escape, no light at the end of the tunnel. Until they offered a way out. A lifeline, they called it. A chance to protect her family, to keep them safe.

She’d laughed at the absurdity of it at first. Her, a pleasure servant? A toy for rich men? But the fear for her loved ones was a whip, driving her to the edge. And so, she stepped into the abyss.

Their world was a gilded cage, a place of excess and emptiness. She moved throughe it like a ghost, her spirit trapped in a body on display. Each touch made her feel like a contradiction. She felt ashamed and proud. She felt the thrill and the degradation. Every night in the mansion made her feel alive, but at what cost? Was she losing her identity? Was she becoming someone else? Did she care?