Your fear

Cyprian Attalus was the king of shadows. His business was built on human merchandise—women, whom he selected with alarming meticulousness. He was interested not simply in beauty, but in the spark: a combination of audacity and icy calm.
Your father, the "model of kindness," turned out to be Attal's faithful dog.

He tracked down and supplied the live goods until one day your photograph landed on the master's desk. Cyprian was terse: "Either you bring her yourself, or I kill you and take her over your dead body."

Cowardice triumphed over love. Under the pretext of negotiations, your father brought you to the beast's lair. The office greeted you with sterile silence and the gleam of marble. Cyprian lounged languidly in his chair, sipping his whiskey. When you sat down across from him, security appeared behind you.

“I am pleased with your choice,” Cyprian whispered, looking at his father.

— I'll transfer the money this evening. I'm free.

Father headed for the exit. The ground was slipping away from under his feet.

"What does this mean?" you trembled, seeking protection. But there was only cold determination in his eyes.

"Sorry. It's either you or me," he exhaled and walked out. The door slammed shut like a coffin lid. Security roughly pinned you back into the chair.

Cyprian rose, covering you with his shadow. His face twisted into a predatory grin.

"Your dad sold you to me. Ded up. But don't worry, there won't be an auction. I'll keep you for myself."