My heart shattered when I learned my daughter was pimping herself out. I couldn't imagine the young woman I thought of as a precious princess lying beneath an ugly, middle-aged man. It was such a horrific scene…

When I found out that my daughter, Yvonne Miller, was selling her body, I was devastated.

I couldn't imagine my beloved daughter in bed with an ugly old man. I was disgusted by the mere thought of it.

I found out about this when I accompanied one of my clients to a nightclub.

The pimp, Maria Cunningham, brought in several scantily-dressed young women, and I recognized one of them. I had seen her plenty of times on Yvonne's social media. She was her classmate, Hermione Stone.

Hermione was wearing a white camisole that exposed her midriff, paired with tight black pants. Her long legs were bare, and she proudly showed them off.

She looked young and innocent, out of place in the chaotic surroundings of the nightclub.

Ignoring common courtesy, I waved her over before my client could say anything.

I did not have improper thoughts about her. I just wanted to protect her from the other men.

Hermione had never seen me before this, so she didn't know that I was Yvonne's father.

She leaned into my arms meekly and watched as my clients ran their hands all over the other women.

She didn't know why I wasn't doing the same.

"Am I not pretty, sir?" she asked, tilting her head.

I shook my head. "Are you still in school?"

"I'm doing my first year of college."

I sighed. It was her; Yvonne was also in her first year of college.

"You have a nice figure. Are you from the dance school?"

"I am. A lot of my friends are here to earn some pocket change too. You're weird, sir. Why are you asking so many questions?"

Hermione pressed her soft body closer to me. She wound her arms around my neck and leaned her face closer to my neck.

As she spoke, her breath brushed against my ear intimately. "It's not easy getting money from you, is it, sir? Do you want me to be more proactive?"

In truth, I hadn't touched any women since my wife eloped with another man.

It would be a lie to say that I didn't miss it, but I had spent all these years raising Yvonne, making sure she grew up in a loving home. I'd sent her to the best dance school so that she would have a chance for success instead of following in her mother's footsteps.

How could I have any desire for her best friend in this situation?

I pushed Hermione off of me. "How much for a night with you?"

"2,000 dollars if it's quick. 3,000 for the whole night, but you can only do it three times."

I laughed. "I'm 40. I'm not as virile as I was when I was young."

"Oh, we know. Guys like you take pills for that."

"We?"

"Yes, we." As if unsatisfied with all the talking, Hermione wrapped herself around me again, straddling my lap with her thighs. She pulled my hand over and placed it on her waist.

Leaning in close, she whispered, "If you pay another 2,000 dollars, my best friend and I will make sure you have an unforgettable night."

For some reason, the photo I'd seen on social media of her and Yvonne appeared in my mind.

They were smiling happily in the picture, their tight dance outfits outlining their perfect figures.

These young women were barely old enough to join the adult world, yet here they were, trapped in the muddy quicksand of adulthood.

I pushed Hermione off again and asked, "Is your best friend as pretty as you?"

Thinking that I was interested, Hermione gave me a flirty look and took out her phone from her pocket. "Eager, aren't you? Aren't I enough for you?"

When she showed me the photo on her phone, I couldn't believe my eyes.

I took her phone with trembling hands and looked closer at the young woman in the photo.

It was her. It was my beloved daughter, Yvonne.

My heart clenched painfully. It felt as if someone had hit me over the head with a hammer. My mind was buzzing. I didn't know how to accept this.

"Isn't she pretty, sir?"

"She is."

"Do we have a deal, then? Don't forget to get some cash. We don't accept bank transfers here for safety reasons."

My mind was jumbled. What was she talking about?

Why was she so familiar with all this? Were she and Yvonne really pimping themselves out?

But this was impossible. Yvonne wouldn't degrade herself in this way. Hermione must be lying to me.

However, there was a voice in my head that told me that she could be right.

My dear daughter could have a darker side that I'd never seen.

Hermione seemed anxious to get the 5,000 dollars from me. She slipped my phone out of my pocket and unlocked it with my face. With a few swipes, she added herself to my Instagram.

Panicked, I grabbed my phone and quickly restricted her from seeing my posts.

If she saw the photos of Yvonne on my social media, that would have been very bad.

Hermione leaned back into my embrace and gave me a kiss. "You work during the day, right? Then we'll arrange for Sunday night, okay? Wait for my text…"

After leaving the nightclub, I somehow made my way back home.

Quietly, I opened the door to Yvonne's bedroom. She was sleeping peacefully in bed, completely oblivious to my dilemma.

Should I call the police?

No, I shouldn't. If I called the police, Yvonne's life would be ruined, and she would become an outcast. She might even kill herself.

I wouldn't be able to live with that.

I closed the door to her bedroom and collapsed to the ground, knees weak.

What should I do?

Who could help me?

Just then, I heard a soft chime coming from the bag in the entryway. It was an Instagram message notification.

I struggled to my feet. It was from her other phone—I'd always known that Yvonne had two phones, but I'd never questioned it before.

I knew that checking her messages was a violation of her privacy, but I had to look now.

It was a simple message from Hermione. "We're meeting a client on Sunday."

I put the phone back where it was and went to bed. A sense of helplessness overwhelmed me.

Had I been too focused on making money that I'd neglected Yvonne? Was that why she had gone astray?

I had to stop her.

If I kept her in my sights, then she wouldn't be able to participate in that filthy business.

For the next few days, I took leave from work and planted myself firmly by Yvonne's side.

I brought her to the theme park that she had been longing to visit and even dressed up with her.

It was the first time in five years that I'd ignored calls from my boss and devoted all my time to her.

Yvonne's smile dispelled the dark emotions in my mind.

I vowed to bring back the mischievous and adorable daughter I once knew.

However, that Sunday, a message from Hermione shattered all my hope.

"Sir, I've booked a room for us at the Ziton Hotel, Room 1802. Don't forget to include the charges in our payment. My friend and I will be waiting, all clean and ready for you!"

I looked up at Yvonne, who was texting on her phone. My heart sank.

Had she really agreed to this?

I had to stop her!

I sent Hermione some money and texted her, "Sorry, I'm out of town these few days. We won't be able to meet up this weekend."

Hermione replied quickly. "Aw, that's such a pity!"

I put my phone back into my pocket.

No one could stop me from protecting my daughter.

Without the client, the transaction naturally couldn't continue.

Back at home, after we both washed up, I watched Yvonne enter her bedroom. Only then did I relax.

Just in case, I decided to sleep on the couch.

I wasn't sure how much time had passed when I woke up and found a thin blanket draped over me.

Yvonne was gone.

I searched the entire house. She'd left while I was asleep, that was for sure.

I tried to call her, but her phone had been turned off.

Hastily, I texted Hermione. "I'm back. What are you doing?"

"You're too late. You flaked on us first. We've found ourselves a new client," she texted back soon.

I threw on my coat and stormed out, remembering the text that Hermione had sent me earlier—Ziton Hotel, Room 1802.

I sped to the hotel, running several red lights, and made my way to Room 1802.

I slid a bank card into the doorframe, pushing it hard until the lock clicked open.

Room 1802 was a suite. Trembling, I stepped into the living room. From the bedroom, I could hear familiar laughter and heavy breathing.

I knew, instinctively, that I would not like what I saw in there.

Quietly, I pushed the door ajar and peered through the crack.

My body was numb when I saw the revolting scene inside. My heart seemed to stop beating for a moment when I saw my daughter.