Chapter 3 The Replacement
"The cameras are for your protection."
Seraphina's eyes snap open. Wrong ceiling. Wrong light. Silk against her skin instead of paper. The drugs are still thick in her bloodstream but panic cuts through, sharp, clarifying. She's not at Willowbrook anymore.
A woman sits in the chair by the window. Forties. Elegant suit. Perfectly styled hair that probably costs more than Seraphina's entire college wardrobe. She holds a tablet. Stylus poised. Like this is a business meeting.
"Where…" Seraphina's throat is sandpaper. "Where am I?"
"Somewhere better." The woman's smile is warm. Practiced. The kind that probably works on most people. "I'm Margot. I'll be overseeing your transition."
"Transition to what?"
"To your new situation." Margot sets the tablet down. Crosses her legs. Everything about her screams competent professional. Therapist. Life coach. Someone you'd trust with your trauma. "I know you must have questions."
Seraphina sits up. The room swims. Steadies. She's wearing different clothes. Soft cotton nightgown. Someone dressed her while she was unconscious. Someone touched her while she couldn't consent. Again.
"I want to leave."
"That's not possible."
"Then call the police."
"Seraphina." Margot leans forward. Concerned. Gentle. "Let me explain what's happened. I think you'll find it's actually quite…"
"I'll scream."
"This room is soundproofed."
She says it so casually. Like she's mentioning the thread count. Seraphina's eyes dart to the door. Locked probably. The windows are three stories up at least. Maybe four. City skyline visible but not one she recognizes. Where did they take her? How long was she out?
"The cameras." Margot gestures to corners Seraphina hadn't noticed. Hidden in crown molding. Behind decorative fixtures. "They ensure no one can hurt you. That you're safe during this adjustment period."
"Adjustment to what?"
"Your purchase."
The word lands wrong. Takes a moment to arrange itself into meaning. Even then it doesn't make sense. Can't make sense. Because people aren't, that doesn't happen in rooms with silk sheets and crown molding and women who look like NPR hosts.
"I don't understand."
"You've been acquired." Margot picks up the tablet again. Taps through screens. "Your family…well, your former family…they've terminated their legal relationship with you. Conservatorship dissolved. All documentation of your identity has been... adjusted."
"Adjusted."
"You no longer legally exist as Seraphina Vale."
The room tilts again. Not drugs this time. Just the floor opening up beneath her feet. Swallowing her whole.
"That's not possible. You can't just…people don't just disappear in America. There are systems, there are…"
"Systems." Margot smiles. Kind. Patient. Like she's explaining compound interest to a child. "Yes. And systems can be navigated by people with resources. Your father has considerable resources."
"He sold me."
"Technically, your stepmother handled the transaction. But yes. In essence." She says it the way someone might say Technically, your insurance doesn't cover that. Unfortunate but administrative. "I know this is difficult to process…"
"Difficult?" Seraphina's on her feet. The nightgown is too long. She nearly trips. Catches herself on the bedpost. Mahogany. Probably antique. Probably worth more than a human life apparently. "This is…this is trafficking. This is kidnapping. This is…"
"This is reality." Margot's voice loses some of its warmth. Not all. Just enough. "And the sooner you accept it, the easier things will be. Believe me, Seraphina. I've seen girls who fight. It doesn't end well."
"Girls." Plural. How many? How long has this been happening?
"Fighting leads to punishment. Punishment leads to damage. Damaged merchandise…" She stops. Recalibrates. "I apologize. That was crude. What I mean is, we want you to stay healthy. Safe. Resistance only hurts you."
"You want me to just... accept this?"
"I want you to be smart." Margot stands. Smooths invisible wrinkles from her skirt. "You have options within your situation. Limited options, yes. But options nonetheless. Work with us and you'll be treated well. Your buyer is very selective…"
"Buyer."
"...he's known for being... civilized. Many girls in your position would be grateful…"
"Grateful." Seraphina laughs. It sounds like breaking glass. "You want me to be grateful that whoever bought me might not…what? Might not beat me? Might not…" She can't say it. Can't name the things her mind is already cataloguing. All the ways this gets worse.
"He paid a premium." Margot checks her tablet. "Far more than expected. That suggests he values quality. Wants to preserve what he's purchased."
Preserve. Like she's a museum piece. Something to maintain in pristine condition.
"I'm a person."
"Of course you are."
"Then let me go."
"That's not within my authority." Margot moves to the door. Unlocks it with a key card. So it is locked. Of course it's locked. "I'll have food sent up. You must be hungry."
"I'm not eating anything."
"Hunger strike?" Margot pauses. Turns back. That smile again. Sympathetic. Pitying. "That's resistance, Seraphina. And resistance is…"
"Self-harm. You said." The phrase from Willowbrook. The reframing of autonomy as pathology. They're doing it here too. Different building, same language. "So if I refuse to eat, you'll…what? Force-feed me?"
"We prefer not to. But yes. If necessary." She opens the door wider. Someone's standing in the hall. Security. Silent. Watching. "Your buyer expects delivery in good condition. We honor our commitments."
Delivery. Like she's a package. Something ordered online and shipped overnight.
"How much?" Seraphina's voice sounds distant. Detached. Like she's asking about someone else's sale. "How much did he pay?"
"That's confidential."
"How much am I worth?"
Margot hesitates. Studies her. Some calculation is happening behind those professional eyes.
"Enough that everyone involved wants to ensure this transaction proceeds smoothly."
"Who is he?"
"You'll meet him soon enough."
"Is he…" What? Old? Young? American? Foreign? Sadist? Killer? "What does he want?"
"That's between you and him." Margot steps into the hallway. "I suggest you rest. Eat when the food comes. Shower. The bathroom has everything you need. Tomorrow we'll…"
"Please." The word tears out of her. Humiliating. Desperate. "Please, I'll do anything. I'll sign whatever my father wants. I'll leave the country. I'll never speak about what I saw. Just…just let me go. Please."
Something flickers in Margot's expression. Almost like sympathy. Real sympathy, not the professional kind. Then it's gone.
"Those negotiations concluded when the transfer was finalized. You're no longer a Vale problem." She starts to close the door. Stops. "For what it's worth, Seraphina…you got lucky. This buyer, whoever he is, outbid someone else. Someone whose interests are... less benign. Try to remember that when you're adjusting."
"Lucky."
"Perspective matters."
The door closes. Lock clicks. Seraphina stands in the center of the room, which is a cage disguised as luxury. She looks up at the cameras. Someone is watching. Right now. Cataloguing her reactions. Her fear. Her…
She forces herself to breathe. To think. There has to be a way out. Windows, she crosses to them. Locked. Reinforced. She can see the mechanism. Industrial grade. The kind that doesn't break even if she found something heavy enough to try.
The bathroom. She checks. Marble and gold fixtures. Expensive soaps. Towels are softer than anything she's ever owned. No razors. No glass bottles. Nothing that could be weaponized or used to…
She stops that thought. Not there yet. Won't go there.
Back to the bedroom. She searches systematically. Dresser drawers, empty except for more clothes in her size. How did they know her size? How long were they planning this? Closet, more clothes. Evening gowns. Cocktail dresses. Things for display.
Her hands are shaking again. She sits on the bed. Silk sheets. Wrong. Everything wrong. She should be at Georgetown. Should be in her apartment with her roommate arguing about whose turn it is to buy groceries. Should be anywhere but here.
The door opens again. Different person. Younger woman. Early twenties. She carries a tray. Sets it on the table without meeting Seraphina's eyes.
"Wait." Seraphina moves toward her. "Please, what's your name?"
The woman flinches.
"I'm not supposed to…"
"I won't tell anyone. Please. Just…are you like me? Are you…"
"I'm staff." Quick. Rehearsed. "Just staff."
"Then help me. Call someone. Tell them…"
"I can't." She's backing toward the door. Terrified. "I'm sorry. I can't."
"Please…"
The door closes. Lock clicks.
Seraphina stares at the food. Some kind of pasta. Bread. Fruit. Her stomach twists. She's not hungry. Won't eat their food. Won't play along with…
But she's already losing weight. Can feel it in how the nightgown hangs. How long has it been since her father's study? Three days? Four? Time is breaking apart. If she doesn't eat she'll get weak. Too weak to run if an opportunity comes. Too weak to fight if…
She eats. Hates herself for it. But eats.
The pasta tastes like ash and survival.
Hours pass. Or minutes. The light outside changes. Afternoon to evening. Someone brings dinner. Different person. Same silence. Same fear. Seraphina doesn't try to talk this time. Understands now. Everyone here is complicit or captive. No allies.
Night comes. The cameras blink red in the darkness. Watching. Always watching.
She doesn't sleep. Can't. Every sound might be the door opening. It might be him. The buyer. Coming to inspect his purchase.
But the door stays closed.
Morning light filters through the curtains she didn't draw. When did she fall asleep? She doesn't remember. Just the cameras and the fear and…
The lock clicks.
Margot enters. Fresh suit. Fresh smile. Carrying a different tablet.
"Good morning. I trust you rested?"
Seraphina doesn't answer.
"We need to go over some things before the auction viewing." Margot sits in her chair. Same one as yesterday. Like this is routine. Weekly meeting. Performance review. "Presentation, expectations, behavior standards…"
"Auction."
"Poor choice of words." Margot waves dismissively. "The viewing is private. Just your buyer reviewing his acquisition via live feed. Very discreet."
"When?"
"Tonight."
"And then?"
"And then you'll be transferred to his care. The facility here is just a temporary holding."
Holding. Like she's cargo awaiting shipment.
"How many others?" Seraphina's voice is steady. Surprising. "How many girls have you done this to?"
Margot's smile tightens. Just slightly.
"We're very selective. Quality over quantity."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only answer you're getting." She taps her tablet. "Now, about tonight's viewing. You'll wear what we provide. You'll sit where we position you. You'll look at the camera when instructed. Anything else will be seen as…"
"Resistance. I know." Seraphina stands. Walks to the window. City stretching below. Lives are happening normally while hers ends. "What if I refuse?"
"You won't."
"You're very confident."
"I've done this before." Margot's voice softens. Almost gentle. "You're not the first girl to ask these questions, Seraphina. You won't be the last. And they all eventually understand…cooperation is survival."
"Or what? You kill me?"
"Of course not. But there are worse things than death." She stands. Moves to the door. "Much worse. And your buyer, selective as he is, won't tolerate damaged goods. So we'll make sure you arrive intact. By whatever means necessary."
The threat hangs. Unspecific. Terrifying in its vagueness.
Margot opens the door. Pauses. Looks back with something almost like kindness.
"You weren't the original girl. But you'll do.”