When I arrived at Sacred Mercy, Margaret had been my only friend. She was the only one who dared to speak to me.

No one wanted to be associated with a girl who was found at a bridge about to end her life.

They believed I was a demon.

A demon of despair.

A lot of prayers were done on me, but even before then Margaret had talked to me. She had helped me bathe. Cleaned me up. Treated me like a human being.

Seeing her innocent green eyes filled with tears, begging me for a favor I could not fulfill, broke my heart.

"Celeste... you... you would rather see me thrown to him than take my place?" Her voice cracked, hands shaking.

I swallowed hard, my own hands trembling. "Margaret... what you're asking-"

"You're stronger than me!" she cut in, clutching at my sleeves. "You're always stronger. You can survive him. I can't. Please!"

She pressed her forehead to my shoulder like a child. "I've seen what he does. The other girls. They come back broken. Some don't come back at all. I'll die, Celeste. I swear I'll die."

Her fingers dug into my arms hard enough to bruise. "Please don't let them take me."

I closed my eyes, forcing myself to breathe. Why is it always me?

"What about me, Margaret?" My voice came out harsher than I meant. "Do you ever think of that? Lust put me in the position I'm in today. I cannot fall for it one more time. Even if you are my friend."

She flinched, but her grip didn't loosen. "I'm not asking you to enjoy it. I'm asking you to save me!"

"I've already been there," I whispered. "I've already lost everything. My mother. My family. Myself. I'm barely holding on, Margaret. If I go to him, it won't just be my body he takes. It'll be the last piece of me that's still alive."

She stared up at me, eyes shining with desperation. "Then let him take me instead?"

"No." I shook my head. "I won't choose for you. I won't condemn you. But I can't save you either."

"Celeste..." Her knees buckled. She sank down on the stone floor, clutching the hem of my habit. "Please. Please don't do this to me." Her voice broke into sobs. "You're the only one I have."

"I know," I said quietly. My throat burned. "And I'm sorry."

She grabbed my skirt like it was a lifeline. "You're my friend. You're my sister. You're supposed to protect me."

"I've tried," I whispered. "But I can't trade one death for another. Not again."

Her sobs filled the little storage room, bouncing off the stone walls. She clutched my legs, nails biting into my skin through the fabric. "Celeste, please. Please. I'll do anything. I'll take your chores for a month. I'll pray every night for your soul. Just please don't make me go to him."

I bent down, prying her hands from my skirt. "This isn't about chores or prayers." My fingers shook as I pulled free. "This is about surviving. And I can't die for you, Margaret."

She lifted her tear-streaked face to mine. "You'd let me die instead?"

Her words pierced me like a blade. I wanted to tell her no. I wanted to lie. But my mouth wouldn't open.

"I'm sorry," I managed. "I can't."

Her sob turned into a wail. She slumped fully to the floor, palms flat on the cold stone, head bowed. "You're cruel," she choked. "You're cruel. You're just like them. Just like everyone else. Selfish. We were told to be selfless like Jesus, but you can't even die for me. A friend. I hate you."

"I'm not any of those things," I said, but it sounded weak even to my own ears.

I turned toward the door walking fast.

Behind me, Margaret's voice rose, ragged and desperate. "Celeste! Don't walk out on me! Please! Don't leave me!"

I stopped with my hand on the handle, my back to her. My eyes burned, but I couldn't look at her. If I looked, I'd break.

"I'm sorry," I whispered again. "I can't save you."

"Celeste! Please! Please!" Her sobs turned into raw begging, her fingers scraping against the stone as if she could drag herself into my shadow.

I pushed the door open. The hallway beyond was dim and cold.

Behind me, Margaret collapsed fully, her forehead against the floor, wailing. "You're the only one I had," she sobbed. "You're the only one I had."

I stepped out, pulling the door shut before her voice could shatter me completely. My hands shook as I straightened my veil, the fabric damp where her tears had soaked it.

In the silence of the hallway, my own voice barely reached my ears.

"I can't," I whispered. "I can't die for her."

But the words didn't make the guilt any lighter.

.

.

The truth about Sacred Mercy had revealed itself slowly over the years.

On the surface, we were what we appeared to be: a convent dedicated to serving God through prayer and charitable works. We tended the sick in the attached hospice. We taught catechism to local children. We maintained the chapel and gardens with devotion that looked genuine because for many of us, it was.

But beneath the surface-literally beneath, in the labyrinth of rooms that stretched under the chapel-Sacred Mercy served a different purpose entirely.

I'd discovered it by accident two years into my time here. Late one night, unable to sleep through another nightmare, I'd gone to the chapel to pray. Voices had echoed up from somewhere below, followed by the distinct click of heels on stone–shoes no nun would wear.

Curiosity had led me down a spiral staircase I'd never noticed before, hidden behind a door that usually stayed locked. The corridor at the bottom smelled of expensive perfume and cigar smoke instead of incense and beeswax.

Through a crack in a door, I'd seen Sister Anna-a quiet woman who claimed to have a weak constitution and often missed morning prayers-kneeling before a man in an expensive suit. But she wasn't praying.

The room was filled with smacking sounds. Her mouth dripped of saliva as she took in the man's cock. Hardened and wet. He had held her hair tightly, pushing himself deeper into her mouth. Her breasts were dangling and hitting his thighs as she sucked his dick.

I was surprised. It was unexpected, but I had felt a slight wetness seeping into my panties. I had wanted to watch and shove my fingers into that aching spot between my legs.

But guilt came in and I fled back upstairs and vomited in the chapel bathroom until my ribs ached.

The next morning, Mother Superior had called me to her office.

She'd known. Of course she'd known. Nothing happened in Sacred Mercy without her knowledge.

"You seem troubled, Sister Celeste," she'd said, her voice pleasant as poisoned honey. "Did you sleep poorly?"

I'd kept my eyes down, hands clasped. "Yes, Mother Superior."

"Nightmares again?" A pause. "Or perhaps... curiosity about things that don't concern you?"

My blood had run cold.

She'd walked around her desk, her fingers trailing along the wood. "Sacred Mercy provides many services, child. Some visible, some... less so. We care for souls in various ways. The Church's work takes many forms."

"I don't understand, Mother Superior."

"I think you do." Her hand had gripped my chin, forcing me to meet her eyes. "And I think you're clever enough to know that some knowledge is dangerous. That doors left open in the night are invitations-or tests."

She'd released me, returning to her desk. "You've been exemplary these past two years. Devout. Obedient. Broken enough to be useful, but not so broken you're a liability. I'd hate for that to change."

The threat had been clear.

So I'd learned to be more careful. More invisible. I avoided the spiral staircase. I didn't ask questions when sisters disappeared for days at a time and returned hollow-eyed. I kept my head down during the evenings when expensive cars pulled up to the service entrance.

For six years, I'd survived by being overlooked.

I'd watched other girls-some who'd come after me-get selected for "evening services." I'd seen how they changed. How Sister Anna developed a nervous tick. How Sister Therese started hoarding sleeping pills. How Sister Claire simply vanished one day, and we were told she'd been transferred to another convent.

We all knew what "transferred" meant.

The system was simple, really. Mother Superior identified which girls could be used-the desperate ones, the ones with nowhere else to go, the ones too broken or afraid to run. She matched them to clients based on preferences and paid obscene amounts of money that went straight to the Church's coffers.

In return, the Church looked the other way. Cardinals received their cut. Local authorities were paid to ignore anything suspicious. And Sacred Mercy maintained its reputation as a beacon of holiness while selling women to wealthy men who wanted to defile it.

I'd avoided selection by being invisible. Too haunted. Too unstable.

I was the kind of broken that wasn't appealing to men who wanted fresh innocence to corrupt.

Until now.

I'd barely made it back to my cell when footsteps echoed in the corridor.

"Sister Celeste?" Two junior nuns stood in my doorway, their faces carefully blank. "Mother Superior has requested your presence. Immediately."

My stomach dropped.

"Now?" My voice came out too thin.

"Now."

They flanked me as we walked through the convent, though they didn't touch me. They didn't need to. Everyone knew you didn't refuse Mother Superior's summons.

Her office was on the second floor, overlooking the gardens that made Sacred Mercy look so peaceful from the outside. She sat behind her massive desk, fingers steepled, expression serene.

"Sister Celeste. Please, sit."

I lowered myself into the chair across from her, hands folded in my lap to hide their shaking.

Mother Superior studied me for a long moment, her pale eyes calculating. "I understand Sister Margaret came to you this morning with a rather... emotional request."

My throat tightened. "Yes, Mother Superior."

"And you refused her."

It wasn't a question. Of course she knew. She knew everything.

"I..." I swallowed. "I couldn't-"

"Couldn't?" Her eyebrow arched. "Or wouldn't?"

Before I could answer, a sound echoed from somewhere below.

Wailing. Angry, pained and desperate sobbing that I recognized immediately.

Margaret.

"She's been like that for an hour," Mother Superior said conversationally, as if discussing the weather. "Quite distressing for the other sisters."

The sobbing rose to a shriek, then dissolved into broken pleas.

"Please... please don't make me... please..."

Mother Superior's lips thinned. "You see the position you've put me in, Sister Celeste. I have a commitment to fulfill. A very important client who specifically requested someone pure. Someone untouched." Her gaze sharpened. "Someone like Margaret. Or like you."

My breath caught.

"I'm not asking you to volunteer," she continued smoothly. "I'm simply observing that you have a choice to make. The Bible tells us to love thy neighbor as thyself. To bear one another's burdens. Galatians 6:2-'Carry each other's burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ.'"

She opened a drawer, pulling out a leather-bound Bible. Her fingers traced the gold-edged pages.

"Matthew 25:40-'Whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.'" She looked up. "Margaret is your sister in Christ. She's begging for your help. And you, who claim to seek redemption for your sins, refuse to offer even this small mercy?"

The manipulation was elegant. Cruel. Effective.

"I don't...want to," I whispered.

"Of course you don't." Mother Superior's smile was cold. "Sacrifice is never pleasant. That's what makes it sacrifice."

Margaret's screaming grew louder, more desperate.

"Mother Superior, please-"

"I'm not a cruel woman, Celeste." She closed the Bible with a soft thud. "But I am a practical one. Someone will go to Mr. Salvatore tonight. It will be Margaret, who clearly cannot handle what's required. Or it will be you, who at least has the strength to survive it."

"You're asking me to-"

"I'm asking you to be Christian." Her voice hardened. "To show the compassion and selflessness you claim to have learned in your years here. To prove that your mother's death taught you something about putting others before yourself."

The words hit like a slap.

She knew exactly where to strike.

"Of course," Mother Superior continued, leaning back in her chair, "if you refuse, I'll respect that choice. I'll send Margaret. And when she comes back broken–if she comes back–you'll have to live with that too. Another person destroyed because Celeste Moreau chose herself over someone who needed her."

My hands clenched in my lap until my nails drew blood.

"That is, assuming you can live with it," she added casually. "You're already so fragile. So haunted. I'd hate to see what another failure might do to you. Father Benedict might find you on that bridge again. And this time, he might not arrive in time. We wouldn't want to bury a sister, now would we?"

The threat was wrapped in concern, but it was a threat nonetheless.

Margaret's wailing reached a crescendo, then cut off into ragged sobbing.

Mother Superior stood, smoothing her habit. "I'll give you ten minutes to decide. But know this, Sister Celeste–whatever Mother Superior says in this convent, goes. That's always been the way. And it always will be."

She walked to the window, her back to me. "Ten minutes. Then I'll send someone to collect either you or Margaret for preparation. Choose wisely."

I sat frozen in the chair, Margaret's broken sobs echoing through the walls, Mother Superior's words wrapping around my throat like a noose.

And I knew–I knew–that no matter what I chose, I was already condemned.

I closed my eyes tightly.

It was a hard place but her words kept on ringing in my head.

"Selfish."

I had left mama to die. Now...Margeret

And it would be my fault. I would be...the reason again.

The tears stung, biting into my eye lids until a single tear dropped down my cheek.

"I–would–do it."

"Very well," Mother Superior said without turning. "Sister Celeste, you shall please Dante Salvatore tonight. Go prepare yourself. The car arrives at sunset."

"This clothes..." I whispered to myself, my eyes running down the revealing white lace.

"Stop staring and put it on," Sister Beatrice snapped from the doorway. Her arms were crossed, her face twisted in disgust. "You're already late."

I flinched, my fingers trembling as I touched the delicate fabric. Sister Beatrice had hated me from the moment I arrived at the convent six years ago. She was only three years older than me, but she acted like she owned the place.

Mother Superior's favorite. The one who got the best cell, the lightest duties, the warmest blankets in winter.

And I had ruined it all just by existing.

"I can't wear this," I said, my voice breaking. "This isn't... I took vows. I promised–"

"You promised to obey," Sister Beatrice interrupted coldly. "And you'll obey. Do you think you are the first?"

"Of course not–"

"Then what are you complaining for? Unless you want Mother Superior to hear about your refusal? You know that won't end well for you, right?"

The truth was simple and petty.

Before I came, Sister Beatrice had been the youngest, the most pitied, the one everyone felt sorry for because she had nowhere else to go.

Then I arrived, younger, more broken, with a tragic story about a dead mother that made the older nuns cluck their tongues and offer extra bread at dinner.

Sister Beatrice never forgave me for stealing her spotlight.

And to make matters worse, Margeret had revealed that her story of losing her dad was a lie. Yet she was still mother Superior's favorite.

But she hated me regardless, because she was nothing but an attention seeker.

I had so much to say to her acne filled face but I couldn't say the words. Ever since that night, every act of rebellion had died with my spirit.

I looked away, closing my eyes to calm my emotions.

"No," I whispered. "I'll... I'll wear it."

She watched me change with dead eyes, like she had seen this a thousand times before. When I finally stood in the white lace, I felt naked. The material clung to my body, showing every curve I had spent years hiding beneath heavy robes.

The lace was so thin I could see right through it. It would cover nothing. The dress flowed down to my knees, but the top part... the top part left my shoulders bare, my chest barely hidden behind sheer white material.

The shape of my breasts and nipples were easily seen from within the dress. I had been given underwear that left my clit exposed, I could feel the cool breeze touching it that made my toes curl. Tears build up in my eyes as I stared at myself in the mirror.

"Your hair," she said, walking toward me with pins in her hand. "We can't send you looking like a proper nun. He doesn't pay for proper."

She pulled my auburn hair loose from its bun roughly, yanking harder than necessary. I bit my lip to keep from crying out. She had always found small ways to hurt me over the years. Hiding my prayer book. Reporting my smallest mistakes to Mother Superior.

It got worse two years ago when Father Benedict visited and asked specifically to speak with me. He wanted to know how I was healing, if the convent was helping me find peace. Sister Beatrice had been standing nearby, her face red with anger that the visiting priest didn't even remember her name.

After that, she made my life hell.

"Here." She thrust a white scarf at me. "Cover your face below the eyes. He likes mystery."

I wrapped the scarf around the lower half of my face with shaking hands. Now only my green eyes showed above the silk.

"Listen carefully," Sister Beatrice said, her voice dropping lower. But there was satisfaction in her eyes. She was enjoying this. "Dante Salvatore is not like the other clients. He's dangerous. Very dangerous."

"What does he expect me to do?" I asked, hating how small my voice sounded.

"Everything that your body can offer," she replied with a slight smile. "He wants complete obedience. You speak only when he gives permission. You do exactly what he commands. No hesitation. No crying. No begging."

"But I don't know what to-"

"You'll learn quickly or you'll suffer," she cut me off. "Mr. Salvatore doesn't tolerate disobedience. He doesn't accept excuses. If you displease him, you won't just answer to Mother Superior. You'll answer to him."

Tears filled my eyes.

This was really happening.

Never in my life had I expected that I would be in this situation as I am now.

Sister Beatrice had probably volunteered to prepare me just for this moment. Just to see me finally brought low.

"Why are you crying?" Sister Beatrice asked, but there was no sympathy in her voice. Just satisfaction. "You brought this on yourself."

"Margaret was supposed to go," I whispered. "I was trying to help her-"

"Help?" Sister Beatrice laughed bitterly. "Always playing the martyr, aren't you? Poor Celeste, sacrificing herself for others. Do you know how sick everyone is of your tragic story?"

I stared at her, shocked by the venom in her voice.

"That's right," she continued, stepping closer. "You walk around here like your suffering is special. Like your dead mother makes you better than the rest of us. Is it because you are suicidal and we are meant to walk on egg shells around you?" She mocked. "You are just seeking attention. Well now you have it and will suffer for it. You will suffer for telling Margaret to reveal the truth about me."

"I didn't..."

"Oh shut your mouth, you lying snake. You are the only one who saw the letters that inxluded our names. You had access to it because of father Benedict, only you knew."

"What?! I did not. Only Margeret–"

"Shut up. Just shut your mouth. We all have tragic stories, apologies if ours aren't like your. Apologies that, we don't get special treatment from visiting priests or extra sympathy from the older nuns."

"I never asked for-"

"You didn't have to ask!" she hissed. "You just had to show up with your big sad eyes and your guilt and suddenly you're the most pitiful thing anyone's ever seen. Do you know Mother Superior used to check on me at night? She used to bring me tea when I couldn't sleep. But then you came, and suddenly I didn't matter anymore. All she had in her head was how to make Celeste a girl to be sent."

My mouth opened but no words came out. Even if I were to speak, she wouldn't listen. But she already mentioned a statement that I had left me in utter shock.

Hiding from the eyes of Mother superior did nothing. She had always been finding ways to make me a caller girl.

I had never known.

Never realized.

"And the worst part?" Sister Beatrice's eyes glittered with malice. "You actually believed you were special. You thought your pain was real while the rest of us were just... what? Decoration?"

"I'm sorry," I whispered, lowering my eyes as a frown slowly marred my forehead. "I didn't mean to-"

"Save it." She shoved the heavy fur coat into my arms. "Mother Superior told me everything about you. About how you let your mother die while you ran off with some boy. You're not a martyr, Celeste. You're just selfish. And now you want to pretend you're noble by taking Margaret's place?"

The word hit me like a physical blow. Selfish. The same word Liora had screamed at me. The same word that haunted my prayers.

"You're not saving anyone," Sister Beatrice continued. "You're just paying for what you've always been. And honestly? I'm glad. I'm glad you're finally getting what you deserve."

I couldn't breathe. The room felt too small.

"One more thing," Sister Beatrice said as she walked to the door, her voice almost cheerful now. "You're a virgin, aren't you?"

My face burned beneath the scarf. "Yes."

"Not for long." Her smile was genuinely happy. "That's exactly what he paid extra for. Your precious innocence. Your sacred purity. Everything you've been protecting? Gone tonight. And tomorrow, when you come back used and broken and forced, maybe you'll finally understand that you're not special. You never were. You are just a selfish slut who probably have been waiting for this moment."

"Please," I whispered, though I didn't know what I was begging for anymore. "Please, please..."

Sister Beatrice opened the door. "A man is waiting upstairs to take you to him. Don't make him wait longer. And Celeste?" She paused, looking back at me with cold satisfaction. "I volunteered to prepare you tonight. I wanted to be here for this. I've waited six years to see you finally put in your place."

I gulped, pulling the fur coat tighter around my body.

It all started with my virginity.

And it will end with it.

The virginity I had kept sacred for twenty-two years would disappear tonight in the bed of a dangerous stranger, delivered there by someone who hated me for reasons as simple as stealing attention and sympathy.

A single tear ran down my cheek, soaking into the white scarf.

"Move," Sister Beatrice ordered, holding the door open.

I walked past her on legs that didn't feel like mine. As I passed, she leaned in close and whispered one last thing.

"I hope he breaks you completely."

I stopped in my tracks, turning back to look at her spiteful eyes and asked.

"Have you ever been sent. Beatrice?"

She frowned. "No."

"Then you will never understand."