FROM THE ROCK BOTTOM TO THE HIGH SOCIETY

The location was a Large Mansion, Valerie stopped at the entrance taking a deep breath before stepping inside. 

She looked around with awe before meeting the gaze of a man wearing an expensive robe. 

"Excuse me," She bowed. 

The man’s voice was sharp, cutting through the heavy silence of the darkened room. “So, this is how low they’ve stooped. You’re the ‘comfort’ they sent me? The call girl?” 

Valerie froze. The accusation hit her like a slap. “Call... girl?” she whispered, her voice cracking. Tears blurred her vision. “I’m not—” She hesitated, her voice trembling. “Are you... dying?” 

He exhaled slowly, his tone cold and detached. “Yes. You don’t seem like someone who took this job willingly. Regrets?” 

Valerie clenched her fists. “No,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. She couldn’t afford regret—not when her mother’s life was on the line. Yet something about him didn’t fit the image of a dying man. His voice held strength, and his presence felt imposing, almost predatory. 

As the hours passed, the man fell asleep, his grip on her loosening. Valerie slipped from his grasp, heart pounding, and fled into the rain-soaked night. 

By the time she reached the Hathaway Residence, it was nearly midnight. Exhausted and drenched, she banged on the massive doors. “Let me in! I did what you asked—please! I need the money for my mother!” 

The door creaked open just enough for someone to toss a framed photo at her feet. Rain splashed against the glass, revealing her mother’s face. 

“She’s dead. The money doesn’t matter anymore,” a cold voice said before the door slammed shut. 

Valerie stared at the photo, disbelief washing over her. Her knees buckled as she collapsed into the mud, clutching the frame. “No... Mother!” she screamed, her voice breaking. The rain drowned her sobs as she pounded on the door again. 

“You lied!” she yelled, her voice raw. “You promised to save her! I’ll make you pay for this!” 

Her cries faded into the storm. Exhausted, she collapsed, her body giving out under the weight of grief and despair. 

When she woke, three days had passed. Feverish and weak, she found herself back in the prison infirmary. She was moved to her cell, where whispers and jeers greeted her. 

“She’s back already?” one inmate sneered. 

“Guess she wasn’t enough to keep them happy,” another muttered. 

The gang leader approached, smirking. “Poor little Valerie. Got bailed out just to come crawling back. Let’s see what you’re good for here.” 

Before the leader could grab her, a sharp voice interrupted. “That’s enough!” 

A correctional officer stepped forward, glaring at the group. “036, step forward!” 

Valerie obeyed, her voice flat. “What now?” 

“You’ve been acquitted,” the officer said briskly. 

Valerie blinked, stunned. “What?” 

Moments later, she was standing outside the prison gates, confusion swirling as freedom sank in. Tears streamed down her face as she whispered, “Mother, I couldn’t save you. But I’ll find you. I’ll make them pay for this.” 

A sleek black car pulled up. A man in a sharp suit stepped out, his tone curt. “Miss Bridge, come with me.” 

Before she could respond, he opened the door, revealing a shadowed figure inside. “Young Master Victor is waiting.” 

Inside, the man’s cold gaze pinned her. “You’re mine now, Valerie,” he said with finality. “I don’t leave debts unpaid.” 

Valerie was found herself lost for words. 

Victor didn’t glance at Valerie. “You heard me,” he said coldly. 

Valerie fidgeted with the hem of her tattered clothes. “This isn’t funny,” she murmured, her voice barely audible. 

Victor scoffed, his tone sharp. “Didn’t you plan to marry me all along?”