Ava's POV
I jolted awake, shivering and drenched in cold sweat. My heart pounded in my chest, and I wiped the moisture from my forehead, wincing as a sharp headache pulsed behind my eyes.
"It's okay, Ava," Oliver murmured, her voice soft as she stroked my back in comforting circles. Her touch helped ease the panic that still clung to me. "You're safe. You'll be fine."
Oliver was my best friend-the only person who had stayed by my side when my world fell apart.
Life hadn't always been this way. I used to be the cherished daughter of William Garcia. As his only child, I was supposed to have everything-love, toys, sweets-all the things that made life sweet. My parents adored me, spoiling me with gifts. We weren't rich, but we were happy. Or so I thought.
My mother, Patricia Glory Garcia, was everything I aspired to be-beautiful and elegant, with a heart full of love for my father, despite his ordinary looks and modest income. Our home had been filled with warmth and affection, and I had always felt lucky to be their daughter.
But that all changed one day.
I was only ten years old when everything shattered. It was the day I lost my mother... and the day I lost my father, too, even though he was still physically there. The man I once called Dad turned into a monster, blaming me for the tragedy that tore our family apart. He became the source of my nightmares, the reason I cried myself to sleep every night. His cruelty was endless, and he never let me forget that, in his eyes, I was the reason for his misery.
"Get your ass down here, you bastard!" his voice boomed through the house, sharp and cold as ever.
Another day, another round of torment. My body still ached from yesterday's beating, but I forced myself out of bed, wincing with every step. Even after years of this, I could never get used to the pain. Every bruise, every cut felt fresh, like a wound that would never heal.
"Are you deaf?" he snapped when I hesitated at the top of the stairs. "I said run!"
Fear surged through me, and I rushed down the stairs as quickly as my trembling legs could manage. It didn't matter that I was weak, that my body was screaming in pain. Disobedience would only makes things worse.
"Father…" I whispered as I reached him, my voice shaking.
"How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that?" His hand shot out, gripping my face so hard it felt like my skin might tear. "Tell me why you deserve to be my daughter after killing my wife!"
Before I could answer, he threw me to the floor, my head slamming into the edge of a wooden chair. Pain shot through my skull, and I let out a hiss as blood began to trickle down my forehead. But he didn't stop there. His fists came down hard, one after another, each punch sending shockwaves of agony through my already battered body.
I didn't fight back. I never did. Rebellion meant death. I learned that long ago. By the time he finished, I was lying in a pool of my own blood, my body a patchwork of bruises and cuts.
He sneered down at me, his face twisted in disgust.
"Good thing you're still alive," he said, his voice dripping with malice. "You're still of use to me. Killing you would be a waste."
I barely had the strength to lift my head. My entire body throbbed with pain, but his words hit me harder than any blow ever could. I knew what was coming next.
"Go clean yourself up," he ordered. "Mr. Drake is coming to pick you up soon."
I froze. My heart sank as the full weight of his words hit me. No, it couldn't be… not this.
"Please, no…" I choked out, crawling toward him. "Please, Father, don't do this. I'll be obedient. I'll do anything. Just don't sell me."
He roared with laughter, the sound chilling. "How many times do I have to tell you? I'm not your father!" He hurled a stick at me, hitting me squarely in the side. "You said you'd do anything, didn't you?"
"Yes!" I cried, my voice cracking. "I'll do anything!"
"Then it's time to make good on that promise," he said, his grin turning sinister. "I owe Mr. Drake a lot of money, and I can't pay him back. So, I'm selling you to him. He promised to pay me handsomely for you, and given how pretty you are, I'm sure you'll fetch a high price as a sex slave."
My world collapsed. "N-No…" I whispered, shaking my head in disbelief. "Please, don't.. don't sell me as a sex slave!"
"Shut up!" he bellowed. "Didn't you say you'd do anything for me? Well, you don't have a choice. Just dress up and look nice. You'll make me a lot of money, just like your mother did with her beauty."
I sobbed uncontrollably, my cries echoing in the empty room. But nothing I said mattered. My father-no, 'this monster'-had made his decision. My pleas, my promises… none of it made a difference. My father was a gambler. I worked my tail off just to pay his debts, yet it was never enough. He wanted to sell me off as a sex slave.
Oh, mother, I should be the one on the other side. Why did you make my life a living hell? Why did you save me? You destroyed me. My tears were falling unrestrained. I was trembling and clawing at my father's feet, pleading and promising him that I would get more jobs and work hard to pay off his debts, but all he did was kick me and sneer at me.
He kicked me aside, sneering as I clung to his feet, begging him to reconsider. "I've already received the payment," he said coldly. "It's done."
I crumpled to the floor, utterly defeated. No one could save me. Not now. Not ever. I crawled back to my room, my heart heavy with despair, and waited for my fate to arrive.