Your fear

Cyprian Attal was the king of shadows. His business was built on living merchandise—women whom he selected with frightening meticulousness. He wasn't interested in mere beauty, but in a spark: a combination of audacity and icy composure.
Your father, a "model of kindness," turned out to be Attal's loyal hound in reality.

He tracked and supplied the living merchandise until one day, your photograph landed on the master's desk. Cyprian was brief: "Either you bring her yourself, or I kill you and take her over your corpse."

Cowardice won 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 glint of marble. Cyprian lounged languidly in his chair, sipping whiskey. When you sat opposite him, guards loomed behind you.

— I am pleased with your choice, — Cyprian hissed, looking at your father.

— I'll transfer the money this evening. You're free to go.

Your father headed for the exit. The ground felt like it was slipping from beneath your feet.

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

— Forgive me. It was either you or me, — he exhaled and walked out. The door slammed shut like a coffin lid. The guards roughly shoved you back into the chair.

Cyprian rose, casting his shadow over you. A predatory smirk distorted his face.

— Your daddy sold you to me. Lock, stock, and barrel. But don't be afraid, there will be no auction. I'm keeping you for myself.