Chapter 3

Miranda stared at her naked reflection in the body-length mirror and hated everything she saw. Everything—her eyes, face, hair, arms, legs—she hated her entire body.

She felt ugly.

There was really nothing wrong with her appearance. She had developed a skewed image of her body due to her wicked family's barrage of negative comments. Her mother and sisters had picked clothes for her to wear to the marriage meeting. The clothes were carefully selected, not too casual and not too formal, to suit the taste of the man they would be selling her to.

Of course, they had hurled insults at her as they picked out the clothes. Why would the man want a cow like her? Maybe he feels pity for her. What kind of clothes are these? Do you think we should dress her up sexily? Not that she has anything to show. She's so flat and dull.

She had to swallow all her bitterness and try to ignore the sharp, stabbing pain in her chest as she listened to all the degrading remarks. Her parents never gave her money to buy anything new. Should it come as a surprise that her clothes were old and plain? No. But they insulted her all the same.

Nonetheless, they had put together the clothes and left her to shower. They would come back and style her hair in whatever manner they deemed acceptable. Miranda took it all in stride. There was no need to try and exercise freedom in something as trivial as her outfit choice when she was being forced to getting married and would spend the rest of her life—or at least, her husband's life—trapped.

Sighing and on the verge of tears, Miranda picked up her towel from the floor and wrapped it around her hated body. She walked to the bed and observed the clothes chosen for her. They had even picked out the underwear she was to wear.

Picking them up, she began to dress, her limbs heavy with unhappiness. She walked to her dresser to put her contacts in before remembering her mother's order to wear glasses instead. They felt it made her look nerdier and, thus, more innocent. It seemed many millionaires were into that sort of thing—anything to increase her market value.

She hung her glasses on the collar of her sweater shirt, not ready to wear them yet, and tucked the contacts into the pocket of her blue jeans. She took a deep breath and unlocked the door of her room. Her mother and sisters would soon return to take care of the finishing touches, and so, she sat at the edge of her bed waiting.

Her mother entered first. "Stand up. Let's see you." Miranda obliged, standing. "Turn around," her mother snapped. Miranda once again obliged, turning. With her back to her mother, she heard others entering the room. She crooked her neck to see her entire family in her room for the first time ever.

If an outsider peered into the room, they would see a loving family sending their first daughter off to meet the man she loved. That would seem like the only reasonable conclusion. After all, everyone in the room seemed so concerned about the woman in the center. Touching her clothes and hair, asking her to fix her posture; they seemed so worried.

Only a discerning eye would have seen the truth.

The harshness with which they spoke, the disgust in their faces, the mockery in their mannerisms.

Miranda was pushed into a chair and had her hair dragged and pulled in different directions. They were trying to style it in an unassuming way, but their actions could have been less painful. Miranda didn't mind as she knew it would be over soon.

Her sisters took a step back to examine their work and nodded with a satisfied huff.

Her father stepped in front of her chair, grabbed the arms, and leaned in until they were almost face-to-face. "Now, listen, girl. Make sure you don't do anything that would displease him. Do you hear me?" Her father spat. "If he asks you to open your meaty thighs, then that's what you'll do. You let him touch you any way he wants. Do you understand?"

Miranda swallowed and nodded. She couldn't speak. If she tried to, she would start crying again, and she didn't have to wonder how her family would react to that. It was hard, but she had to accept that she was about to become a prostitute.

Her father leaned back, and Miranda could see the expressions of the other members of her family. They all had the same expression on their faces—a sort of harsh determination. There was no doubt she wouldn't have a home to return to if she failed today.

She watched her father rummage around in his pocket and fish out some dollar bills. He thrust them at her. "Take a taxi straight to the restaurant."

Her mother shook her head at the suggestion. "A taxi is more expensive. Let her take a bus to the last bus stop and walk from there. The meeting is at 7 pm. It's 6:20 now. She'll make it in time."

"What of the traffic?" Her immediate younger sister asked. "The traffic can be heavy at this time. A taxi is more expensive, yes, but at least she'll make it in time."

The youngest nodded. "Yes, and it's humid. We don't want her to start sweating like a pig. Let her take the taxi. We'll get the money back and much more later."

The family all laughed and rubbed their hands gleefully at that. Yes, they thought to themselves, they had to start thinking rich. The taxi fare was nothing.

Miranda watched as her family's faces contorted with greed, but she didn't say anything. There was nothing to say. She simply stretched out her hand to collect the bills from her father. "Thank you."

"Hurry up and get out. Remember, if you misbehave, you're homeless."

As if she could ever forget.

As she walked out of the house and onto the main street, Miranda squeezed her hands into fists, feeling her heart thump loudly behind her chest. She stopped and looked up at the beautiful sunset with teary eyes. If there was a God up there, then she hoped he heard her silent prayer. Help. She needed help.

Miranda stepped out of the taxi and onto the street. After settling the fare, she turned and gazed at the restaurant. The outside looked classy and straightforward. Once she entered the building, however, she had to take a moment to catch her breath. It was the first time she had ever been in such a place. The interior was so luxurious; it made the air she inhaled feel expensive. The marbled floor and walls reflected the light off the golden chandeliers. Silver drapes and silver tables completed the affluent look of the restaurant.

Miranda was so engrossed in the beauty that she didn't notice a server trying to get her attention. It was only when the server stepped in front of her and blocked her view that she saw the woman.

"Excuse me, ma'am. You're blocking the entrance."

Miranda immediately blushed beet red. She had barely taken a step into the restaurant before she had been struck by its splendour. "I'm sorry," she said, hastening to the side.

The waiter smiled. "It's completely fine, ma'am. Do you have a reservation, or are you waiting for someone?"

Miranda nodded. She gave the waiter the name of the millionaire she was here to meet. The waiter showed no outward reaction, turning smoothly and leading her to a more secluded restaurant area. They entered a hallway with rooms on either side.

"This is the room reserved under that name," she said, gesturing to a room near the end of the hallway. "You can enter."

Without warning, Miranda's heart rate shot up. The restaurant's grandeur and embarrassment of being caught staring had distracted her a little from her purpose here. She was doing this. She was really doing this.

Her hands began to shake and sweat. "Uhm, I'd like to go to the bathroom. Where can I find it?"

The look the waiter gave Miranda was sympathetic, like she knew what was going on in her life. The waiter pointed further down the hall. "The bathrooms are down that way. You can take your time."

Miranda rushed down the hall and into the bathroom, feeling extremely nauseous. She took off her glasses and slumped down onto the sink. She held her head in her hands, willing her tears not to come out. The last thing she needed now was puffy, red eyes.

She raised her head and looked at herself in the mirror. Pity. Pity was what she felt for the woman in the mirror. Timid, cowardly, and abused. Maybe if she had stood up to her family harder or disagreed with them a little more. Maybe, just maybe. Then, she wouldn't be here, preparing to offer her body as a sacrifice.

Miranda didn't know how long she spent staring at the mirror, but when she finally came to her senses, her watch told her it was 6:59 pm. With a horrified squeal, Miranda dashed out of the restroom and to the room. Miranda wondered if she should knock.

Steadying herself, she knocked on the door and entered. An intense sigh of relief let her as she found the room empty. How fortunate.

She walked to the table and took the seat directly opposite the door. There, she could see as her husband-to-be and greet appropriately. She didn't have to wait long.

At 7:02 pm, the doorknob twisted, and her life changed.