Chapter 2: Insolent Demands

Jasmine's POV

I fled to my bedroom and slammed the door, finally letting the tears come. They burned hot tracks down my cheeks as I slid to the floor, my back against the door. Sobs tore through my chest, the sound muffled by my hands pressed against my mouth.

I tried to think of escape routes, places I could run to, people who might help. But I had nowhere to go, no way to protect my mother if I left.

A soft knock on my door pulled me from my thoughts.

"Jasmine?" Mom's voice was barely audible. "I... I left some ice pack on the dresser. For your... for your face." She paused. "I'm so sorry, honey. I never meant to... I shouldn't have... God, I'm such a terrible mother."

I wanted to yell at her so bad, ask her why she never fought back against him, why she let all this happen. But I couldn't - she was just as much a victim as I was, broken down over the years. So instead, I heard myself whisper, "Mom... Did you know? About the arrangement... did you know all along?"

Mom's silence filled the room. She stood in the doorway, a shadow against the hallway light.

I already knew the answer. She had known all along. She had known William was going to sell me, and she'd done nothing. Just like all these years.

"How long?" My voice cracked.

"Jasmine, I..." She took a small step forward. "I'm so sorry."

Rage and despair crashed through me at once.

"Get out."

She didn't move.

"GET OUT!"

She flinched and fled. The door clicked shut behind her.

I collapsed onto my bed. Tears streamed down my face. My face ached where William's fingers had been.

How did it come to this?

Yesterday, I was a world champion gymnast. I had dreams of Olympic gold. My whole life stretched ahead of me, full of possibilities.

Now I was property. A commodity. Something to be traded for William's debts. The unfairness of it burned in my chest like fire.

I wanted to scream. To break things. To run until my legs gave out. To find someone, anyone, who could help me escape this nightmare.

But where would I run? Who would believe me? Who would stand against the Mitchell family?

I was just an eighteen-year-old girl. Trapped. Powerless. William had played this game perfectly. He knew exactly how to control me.

I'd had to lie to everyone. I told them I was leaving for college. An incredible opportunity in New York. Each word felt heavy in my throat.

"I don't understand, Jasmine." Coach's words in the morning echoed in my head. Her face had been creased with worry. "With your talent, you have a real shot at Olympic gold."

"I need stability, Coach. Being a gymnast... it's not forever."

"You could transition into coaching after winning more titles. That would solve the financial problems."

I forced out a bitter laugh. "Could I really watch other girls take my place?" A selfish excuse, but better than the truth.

She studied me for a long moment. Doubt clouded her eyes. "Is that really what this is about?"

I couldn't meet her gaze. "I just need something more permanent than medals."

She didn't believe me. How could she? The lie was too thin. But I couldn't tell her the truth. I couldn't tell anyone.

I felt exhausted, and tears came rushing out again. As I cried, I lost consciousness.

A knock at the door jolted me awake. Without waiting for me to open it, someone came in—it was Mom.

"All packed?" Her voice was quiet, heavy with guilt.

I shook my head.

She crossed the room and hugged me. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. I'm so sorry."

I looked at her closely. Really looked. The woman before me was a ghost of her former self. Years of abuse had hollowed her out.

She had made two fatal mistakes. Trusting William at eighteen – my age now. And marrying William. She should have left after the first hit.

But now it was too late. William had broken something in her.

Some days she barely seemed present. Just a shadow drifting through our house. The sight of her made my heart ache. Would that be my future too?

We packed in silence. The Mitchell family's requirements sat on my desk:

Dress code: Proper attire only.

Purity requirement: Medical examination mandatory.

Appearance: Natural only.

Behavior: Must learn high society etiquette.

Warning: Severe consequences for misconduct.

What kind of man buys a teenage girl? What kind of family treats humans as property?

Would he see me as a person? Or just another possession? An ornament for his wealthy lifestyle?

What would he want from me?

The thought of his touch made my skin crawl. I pushed down the rising panic. I had to stay strong. Had to think clearly.

I needed to survive. To find some way to protect myself.

Mom helped fold my leotards. My training clothes. All the pieces of my old life.

I tucked away my treasures. The team photo. Thomas's picture. The necklace from my teammates.

The silver charm caught the light. Tears blurred my vision again.

The alarm came too soon.

I dressed carefully. Modest blue sweater. Black pants.

My room looked strange in the morning light. Competition photos covered the walls. Medals hung in neat rows. The window still held Thomas's fingerprints from our meteor-watching nights.

William drove in silence while Mom held my hand. Thirty minutes to Logan International.

"Behave yourself." His only goodbye carried a clear threat.

Mom hugged me tight. "Call when you can," she whispered.

The terminal stretched before me. My legs felt like lead with each step.

Time slipped away. Then the plane took off.

On the plane, I pressed my forehead against the cold window, watching Boston disappear beneath the clouds. My tears eventually dried up, replaced by a hollow emptiness. Exhaustion overtook me, and I drifted into fitful sleep.

I dreamed of falling from the uneven bars, spinning through empty air with no mat below to catch me.

I blinked awake as the plane touched down at JFK. People were already standing, grabbing bags from overhead compartments. I followed the crowd into the arrivals hall, where a man in a black suit held a sign with "MITCHELL" printed in bold letters.

My heart raced as I approached him. "I'm... I'm Jasmine Hamilton."

He nodded once, taking my suitcase without a word, and led me to a sleek black car waiting outside. I slid into the back seat, clutching my backpack against my chest like a shield.

The car wound through the city, buildings towering above us. We crossed a bridge and continued north. Mansions began to appear, set back from the road behind manicured lawns and iron gates.

Finally, we turned onto a long driveway, approaching a massive iron gate that opened automatically as we approached. Beyond it stretched perfectly maintained grounds. At the end of the driveway stood a house that looked more like a small castle, all stone and columns and imposing windows.

The car stopped at the front entrance. As the driver opened my door, a woman emerged from the house. She was around fifty, with perfectly styled blonde curls and light blue contact lenses. Her face showed signs of cosmetic work, but her smile seemed gentle.

"Welcome to the Mitchell home, Jasmine." Her voice was warm. "I hope your journey wasn't too tiring. I'm Daisy Mitchell, mother of your future husband."

I gripped my suitcase handle tighter, suddenly aware that I was leaving behind everything familiar – home, dreams, freedom. The life I'd known was over.

I forced myself to straighten my spine and meet Daisy's gaze directly.