The searing heat of his body pressed against her, and the humid warmth of his breath ghosted over her ear.

“Are you scared?” he whispered.

His voice was a low growl, thick with a desire he was barely holding back. Dolores Flores shivered, her throat too tight to find words. She could sense the predatory restraint in him.

“It’s still not too late to change your mind,” he added, giving her one last exit.

Dolores clenched her fists until her nails bit into her palms. She shook her head nervously, her voice trembling but firm. “No. I want this.”

She was in the prime of her youth, a girl who should have been dreaming of romance. And yet…

The man leaned forward, his lips brushing the sensitive skin of her neck. “Good.”

The night was a long, excruciating blur.

When the man finally retreated to the bathroom in the early hours of the morning, Dolores dragged her shattered, exhausted body out of the tangled sheets. She struggled into her clothes with shaking hands and walked out of the suite without a single backward glance.

In the hotel lobby, the middle-aged woman who had brokered this "transaction" sat waiting on a plush sofa. Seeing Dolores exit the elevator, the woman stood and handed her a heavy black plastic bag.

“Here is your payment.”

Without a second’s hesitation, Dolores snatched the bag. She gave a curt nod of thanks and hurried out of the hotel, ignoring the dull, throbbing pain in her lower body. Her mind was a frantic loop: The hospital. I have to get to the hospital.

The sky was just beginning to bleed with the first rays of dawn as she reached the quiet hallway. Two stretchers sat abandoned outside the operating room. Because the deposit hadn't been paid, the bodies on those stretchers were left in a cold limbo, waiting for a miracle that seemed impossible.

Dolores’s heart fractured as she approached them.

“I have the money,” she choked out, her voice raw. She thrust the bag at the doctor, her eyes pleading. “Please. Save my mother and my brother… please.”

The doctor signaled a nurse to count the cash. Only when every bill was accounted for did he finally gesture for the nurses to wheel her mother into surgery.

But as they began to move, Dolores realized they were leaving the other stretcher behind. She grabbed the doctor’s arm, her grip desperate. “What about my brother? Save him, too!”

The doctor sighed, a look of grim pity in his eyes. “I’m sorry, Miss. For him… it’s already too late.”

Too late? The words hit her like a physical blow. A sensation like a searing hot blade pierced her chest, twisting mercilessly. Her knees buckled, and she collapsed onto the sterile floor, the world around her fading into a suffocating black.

Eight years ago, when Dolores was only ten, her father had cheated on her mother and callously discarded his family. He had exiled them to this strange, unfriendly foreign country, not even caring that his wife was pregnant with their second child.

Her younger brother was born shortly after their arrival and was diagnosed with autism at the age of three. They had lived paycheck to paycheck, their lives a constant struggle, yet Dolores had loved her brother fiercely. She and her mother worked every odd job imaginable just to stay afloat.

Then, a freak car accident had torn their world apart in an instant. Left alone in a foreign land without a single penny to her name, Dolores had been forced to betray every principle she had ever been taught. She had sold the only thing she had left—herself.

And even then, it wasn't enough to save her brother.

Pain like that doesn't always lead to hysterics. For some, it is a quiet, hollow ache that makes every breath a labor. But Dolores knew she couldn't break; she still had a mother who needed her.

Jessica gradually recovered from her physical injuries, but the news of her son’s death shattered her mind. It was Dolores who held her through the screaming fits and the hollow silences.

“Mom, I’m still here,” she would sob into her mother’s shoulder. “Please... stay for me.”

During that month in the hospital, Dolores was expelled from school for her absences. She didn't care. She watched her mother stare blankly into space, knowing that if she let go for even a second, Jessica would follow her brother into the afterlife.

One afternoon, Dolores returned to the ward carrying a small bag of food. She was about to open the door when she heard a voice—a voice that sent a chill down her spine. It had been eight years, but she could never forget the man who had forced her mother to sign those divorce papers before throwing them away.

Why was Randolph Flores here now?

“Jessica, you and the mistress of the Nelson family were like sisters,” Randolph’s voice drifted through the door. “You even promised to let your children marry when they grew up. Since you made the promise, it’s only logical that your daughter fulfills it.”

“What are you saying? Randolph, are you talking about Matthew Nelson?” Jessica’s voice was weak but laced with sudden fury. She struggled to sit up, her surgical wounds forgotten. “Have you lost your mind? You dumped us here to rot, and now you want to sell my daughter off to a woman I haven't seen in a decade?”

“The eldest son of the Nelson family is a blue-blood,” Randolph argued, his voice dropping an octave. “He was raised with the best of everything. Marrying into that family is her only chance at a happy life…”

Dolores leaned against the wall. She had seen Matthew Nelson in the international news. He was handsome, charming, and powerful—or at least, he had been. Recently, a venomous snake bite during a business trip had left him paralyzed. He was a shadow of a man, unable to care for himself. Any woman who married him now would be a "living widow," tied to a husband who was little more than a ghost.

Dolores pushed the door open, her expression unreadable. “I’ll do it.”

The two inside jumped. Randolph turned to see a daughter he hadn't laid eyes on in eight years.

The ten-year-old child was gone. In her place stood a young woman who was pale, severely underweight, and looked as though the world had tried to crush her. Her face was small, her frame fragile. To Randolph, she looked nothing like the "vibrant" younger daughter he had back home.

His flicker of guilt vanished instantly. She’s not even that pretty, he justified to himself. Letting her marry a cripple who can’t even perform his 'duties' isn't that big of a loss.

“Alright then,” Randolph said, his voice regaining its cold edge. “Out with it. What are your terms?”

“I want to return home with Mom,” Dolores said, her fists clenched at her sides. “Give her back everything that belongs to her—every cent of her dowry—and I’ll marry Matthew.”

She knew the Nelson family of City B was worth hundreds of billions. Even if the man was paralyzed, this was her only lever. It was a chance to escape this exile and reclaim her mother’s stolen fortune.

“Lola…” Jessica whispered, using her daughter’s nickname. Her eyes were filled with tears; she couldn't bear to see her daughter enter a ruined marriage after suffering so much.

Sensing Jessica’s hesitation, Randolph spoke quickly, fearing the deal would slip away. “Fine. As long as you sign the papers, I’ll take you both home.”

“And the dowry?” Dolores pressed, her eyes icy as she stared at the man who was legally her father.

Jessica’s dowry had been substantial, and Randolph winced at the thought of parting with it.

“Dad,” Dolores said, her voice dripping with mock sweetness. “I’m sure my younger sister is a beauty. She deserves a 'whole' man, doesn't she? If she were forced to marry someone... flawed... her life would be ruined. Since you’ve already divorced my mother, it’s only fair you return the Flores family assets that belonged to her.”

Randolph’s eyes widened. How does she know he's disabled? He didn't realize Dolores was playing a calculated bluff based on the news. The thought of his "precious" younger daughter being tied to a man who couldn't fulfill his duty as a husband made his skin crawl.

“I’ll return it once the marriage is finalized,” he gritted out. His disgust for Dolores flared—how dare she haggle with him? “Your mother clearly didn't teach you any manners. You’re a disgrace.”

Dolores wanted to ask him what kind of "manners" a father teaches when he abandons his children to starve. But she held her tongue. Her hand was too weak to risk provoking him now.

“Get your things ready,” Randolph said, dismissed them with a wave of his sleeve. “We head back tomorrow.”