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."

I stared out the window of the limousine, looking at familiar streets I passed to help the children of the southern part of town. I had always walked enjoying the sun against my face, the cool breeze against my palm.

Now I was looking through the window exposed.

Naked.

My lips felt the pressure of my teeth, unshed tears burned my eyes as I clenched and unclenched my fists.

I wasn't always a good child.

I wasn't a saint. I was a spoiled brat who wanted to enjoy the world but was tied down by my mother.

Having dreams had killed her though.

Had killed me once. And will kill me again.

I dreamt of dying.

Nightmares.

Dreams, all coming into one.

And I had sworn the day I became a call girl, would be the day I end it.

Unfortunately that day was today. Because what is there to enjoy in a world filled with judgement and hate?

The driver had left a small bottle of whiskey on the seat beside me. I stared at it for a long moment before grabbing it with trembling hands. I had never drunk alcohol before. Never broken that rule. But what did rules matter now?

I unscrewed the cap and took a long drink. It burned going down my throat, making me cough and gasp. But I took another. And another.

I could have left, I thought bitterly. I could have run away from the convent years ago when I first discovered what they really were. But where would I have gone? Back to my father who couldn't look at me? Back to Liora who blamed me for everything? Back to the town that whispered about me like I was an horror tale?

The convent was the only place that had given me peace, even if that peace was built on lies. Even after I knew what the other sisters were doing in the night, I turned a blind eye. I pretended not to see. I convinced myself it wasn't my business.

Does that make me selfish?

The word echoed in my head like a curse. Selfish. Sister Beatrice had said it. Mother Superior had said it. Liora had screamed it at me over our mother's dead body. Even I believed it now.

Was that why I agreed to go instead of Margaret? Not because I was noble or good, but because I couldn't stand watching another person suffer because of me? Because I was tired of carrying guilt and thought maybe this would finally balance the scales?

It hurt. God, it hurt so much that this was how it all turned out. Six years of prayers and penance, and I was still just a selfish girl making selfish choices that eventually ended in me being dressed up as sacrifice.

Another tear rolled down my cheek, joining the others that had soaked into the white scarf.

I took another drink from the bottle. The alcohol made my head feel fuzzy, distant from my body. Maybe that was better. Maybe I needed to be distant for what was coming.

There was a quote I had read once in one of the forbidden books some girls smuggled into the convent. "Men do not break women. Women break themselves trying to be what men want them to be."

Dante Salvatore wanted a virgin. Pure and innocent.

Just like Thomas had wanted my virginity all those years ago. The boy who had asked me to meet him on the bridge, who had kissed me and touched me and made me feel wanted for the first time in my life. He had whispered that he loved me, that he wanted me to be his first, that we should meet again the next night to... to do more.

The next night. The night after my mother died because I wasn't there to give her the medicine.

I never went back to that bridge. Never saw Thomas again. And I had kept my virginity like it was some kind of proof that I could still be good. That I hadn't completely failed.

But it didn't matter, did it? Virgin or not, I had still killed my mother. And tonight, I would lose the one thing I had protected all these years to a dangerous stranger who paid extra for innocence he could destroy.

I would do this for Margaret. I would endure whatever Dante Salvatore wanted from me. And when it was over, when I returned to the convent used and broken, I would find a way to end it. Maybe I would go back to that bridge where Father Benedict had found me. Maybe this time, no one would stop me from jumping.

And maybe after I died, no one would ever call me selfish again. Margaret would never be chosen because I would have satisfied the cruel appetites of the worst client. My death would finally mean something. Finally save someone.

The limousine stopped in front of a building I had never noticed before. From the outside, it looked abandoned. But I could hear music thumping from somewhere below ground.

"We're here," the driver said without looking at me.

I finished the last of the whiskey and stepped out of the car on unsteady legs. The alcohol made everything feel dreamlike, unreal. The driver led me to a side entrance and down a long staircase that descended into darkness.

.

.

The underground club pulsed with dark energy.

Velvet couches lined the walls. Amber light painted everything in shades of gold and shadow. Beautiful people in expensive clothes engaged in activities my convent education never acknowledged existed. Women sucking on other women lips, men rubbing their ducks behind their trousers as they watched. Men danced on tables naked, their penis moving along with their bodies.

Women danced on tables wearing panties but no bras. Men watched with hungry eyes while touching

I gulped in disgust. This...was pure sin.

Sodom and Gomorrah. No shame was seen at all.

I did the sign of the cross. Oh lord, please protect me. Send down your guardian angels to guard me in this place.

"Wait here," the driver said, pointing to a spot near the bar. "He'll come find you."

Then he disappeared into the crowd, leaving me alone.

Some people were watching me. I could feel their eyes crawling over my body, taking in the white lace, the fur coat, the scarf covering my face. The lights made it hard to see clearly but I could feel their lewd stares.

I pressed myself against the wall, my feet staggering from the alcohol I had taken. Still, I pressed harder against the wall trying to make myself small.

Invisible. But it was too late for that.

A hand grabbed my arm suddenly, fingers digging into my skin. Before I could scream, I was pushed hard against the wall, a man's body pressing against mine.

"Hello, pretty," he slurred, his breath reeking of alcohol and cigarettes. His face was too close, his eyes unfocused. "What are you supposed to be? A bride? A slave? Or a succubus? What role do you hide under your massskkk." He slurred disgustingly.

"Let me go," I struggled against his grip, trying to push him away. My heart pounded with fear as I felt too weak against his strong grip.

"Don't be like that," he laughed, his other hand running down my body, touching me through the thin lace. "You're here to play, aren't you? All dressed up like a present waiting to be unwrapped-"

He was pulled away from me so fast it was like he'd been yanked by invisible strings. He stumbled backward, confusion replacing the drunken lust on his face.

"Tsk tsk tsk." A new voice cut through the music. "I believe that's my plaything, Mr. Armani. And I don't think I like having my playthings touched."

I looked up and saw him for the first time. His aura, his dark eyes, his imposing stance.

This man must be Dante Salvatore. Tall, perfectly dressed in a black suit that probably cost enough to feed all the children in the north. Dark hair styled back from his face, a carefully groomed beard - mustache and goatee that gave him the look of an old-world prince turned devil.

The thin scar running from his ear to his chin cut through the edge of the beard, making him look even more dangerous.

The drunk man-Mr. Armani-raised his hands in surrender. "I didn't know, Salvatore. I swear, I didn't know she was yours-"

CRACK!

The gunshot was so loud it made my ears ring. One moment Mr. Armani was talking, and the next, his head exploded in a spray of red. His body collapsed to the floor like a puppet with its strings cut.

I screamed, but the sound was swallowed by the music that never stopped playing. No one in the club even looked surprised. They just stepped around the body and kept dancing, kept drinking, kept touching each other like murder was normal.

Dante lowered his gun and looked at me with those cold, calculating eyes.

"Welcome, Sister Celeste," he said softly. "Shall we begin?"