When I woke up, it felt like I'd been hit by a freight train.
My body was heavy, my limbs slow to respond, and my mind foggy from whatever they'd used to knock me out.
That was extreme to give for a 17 year old girl.
As my vision cleared, I realized I was in some dark, abandoned warehouse—off the radar, far away from where anyone could easily find me.
Despite the situation, I was calm. Too calm, really.
You'd think a seventeen-year-old would be panicking right now, but I was used to this. This wasn't my first time being kidnapped, and at this rate, it wouldn't be my last.
The scars running across my body, remnants of the past, were proof enough of that.
I'd lost count of how many times I'd taken bullets, knife wounds, and brutal beatings for Sophie.
I couldn't help but wonder—how many bullets would I have to take for her this time? How many knife wounds would I endure before someone would rescue me?
Yet here I was, alive.
Lucky, if you could call it that.
Partly because the Rosette family had no choice but to mobilize every SWAT team, every cop, every agent they could get their hands on to pull me out of the fire every single time.
Not because they cared about me—oh no—but because they couldn't afford the scandal. The truth. The embarrassment of losing their "
daughter
." Their puppet.
Most of the kidnappers? They weren't even professionals. Just amateurs looking to score big by targeting rich kids.
The irony?
My supposed parents couldn't care less about me. I was an afterthought, something to rescue so they didn't have to deal with the inconvenience of replacing me.
The Rosette name carried weight, but in truth, it was only the main family line that mattered.
The rest? Scattered branches, poor relatives begging for scraps from the table. They'd hire cheap, desperate thugs to do the dirty work—people who barely knew how to handle a kidnapping, much less hold someone like me for ransom.
It was almost laughable.
Except, every now and then, it wasn't some random gang of nobodies. It was a branch of the Rosette family themselves. Cousins, distant relatives—blood that had been left to rot on the sidelines, watching the main family grow richer and more powerful while they struggled to get by.
They were the real vultures, circling, waiting for a moment of weakness to strike.
I'd seen them all, faced them down in their pathetic attempts to claim a piece of the pie. They'd kidnap me, thinking it would somehow force the main family's hand, make them pay out or offer support.
But they were nothing more than irritants to the people who really held the power. In the grand scheme of things, I didn't matter to them. I was just a pawn in their endless game of wealth and control.
I wondered now who it could be this time. Was it another cousin, stuck in some unknown province, desperate for a shred of relevance?
A distant relative who'd grown tired of being left out of the family fortune and saw me as their ticket to the top?
I couldn't tell. I never could. They were numerous of them.
Because, in the end, none of them mattered. They were all the same—greedy, hungry, and expendable.
And yet, here I was, once again at the center of their schemes. It was a game to them, a game where I was just another piece to be moved across the board.
I took a deep breath, the cold air of the warehouse stinging my lungs. My body was stiff from being tied up, but there was no panic, no fear. This was the life I knew too well.
What would they do to me this time? Torture? Threats? Maybe they'd try to break me, but they didn't understand . . . You can't break what's already been shattered so many times before.
The Rosettes would come for me, eventually. Not out of love, but because it was easier to rescue me than deal with the backlash of losing their "
precious
" daughter.
And I'd survive this too. Just like I had before.
But the game was getting old, and so was I. I'd been through this enough times to know the drill, but this time—this time, it had to stop.
I promised myself, right then and there, that this would be the last time I'd be kidnapped. No more playing the victim in someone else's twisted plot. To achieved that, I would need money. More money equals more power.
A man stepped forward from the shadows, casual and unconcerned, his face fully visible. They weren't even bothering to hide who they were.
Bold. I had to give them that.
"Look, guys," I said, my voice shaky but calm, "I know how this works. I've been here before. But let me give you some advice—release me now, before things get really bad for you."
He sneered, unimpressed, and turned away like I was nothing more than an annoying fly.
As if my words were meaningless. He approached the others, his voice low but sharp, "Are they here yet?"
"They're coming," one of his accomplices replied.
The man scoffed, clearly irritated. "I don't get it. Why do we even need them? We can just dispose of her ourselves, right now."
My stomach twisted at his words—"
dispose of her
?" The casual way he said it sent a shiver down my spine, but I refused to let fear take over.
I had to stay sharp. If I didn't, I was dead.
I cleared my throat and forced my voice to stay calm, though I could feel my pulse racing. "Listen. Whoever your employer is, whatever deal he's cut with you, I can double it. Triple it, even. Let me go, and I'll pretend this never happened. You can walk away from this clean with clean money."
The man glanced back at me, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. "I don't think you fully comprehend the situation you're in, right now."