To help cover our household expenses, I often sold second-hand items online.

Late one night, a new listing suddenly appeared under my husband's account.

[Private trainer for sale. Almost new. Obedient and resilient. No upkeep required. Cash only.]

The attached photo showed a woman from behind, caught in the middle of a yoga pose. The red mole at her waist stood out clearly.

It was me.

The comments section erupted within seconds. Men with usernames like 'LocalHunter' started bidding aggressively.

[Five hundred. Thirty minutes. Pickup only. No negotiations.]

[Are you kidding? Two thousand. All night. I'll bring my own gear.]

My husband immediately replied to the highest bidder: Adrian 'The Butcher' Kane.

[Deal. She's in the bedroom. The door isn't locked. Go straight in.]

In the next moment, the bedroom doorknob slowly began to turn from the other side.

I was glued to that rickety old door, my hands drenched in a cold sweat.

Fumbling for the scissors that I had used for snipping loose threads, my grip was so shaky I could hardly keep hold of them.

A sliver of light appeared as the door creaked open.

The heavy reek of bottom-shelf tobacco and stale booze wafted in through the crack.

I stopped breathing, holding the scissors up like a shield, my teeth rattling in fear.

If I could not run, then it would be do or die.

"Honey, what's up? Why are you up with scissors in the dead of night?"

The door swung wide.

It was not some maniac butcher; it was Jeffrey Collins, my husband.

Clutching a grilled sausage, his face was beet red, his shirt collar undone.

The scissors clattered out of my hand and onto the floor.

My knees buckled, and I slumped onto the bed, heaving for breath, tears pouring down without restraint.

"You... It's you?" I pointed at him, my finger quivering like a leaf. "Why were you turning the doorknob so damn slow? Do you have any idea how terrified I was?"

Jeffrey stepped in, flinging the sausage on the table, avoiding my eyes.

"I was trying not to wake you, being stealthy and all. Is that a crime now?"

He moved to embrace me, but I shoved him back.

Shaking, I snatched up my phone, pulled up that second-hand app, and shoved the screen in his face.

"What's the deal with this? You posted this picture? And these comments, what's the story?!"

There on the screen, words blinking back at us: Adrian 'The Butcher' Kane.

Jeffrey took a quick look and burst out laughing. "Come on, it was just a stupid dare I lost with the boys. It was all in good fun!"

"All in good fun?" My voice spiked with panic. "You plastered my picture all over the internet, telling everyone our door's wide open? Jeffrey, have you lost your mind?

"Take it down! Right now!"

I lunged for his phone.

Jeffrey's expression turned stormy as he snatched the phone back and slammed it onto the bed.

"Why would I delete it? It's not like anyone cares; I've got it under control!"

He spun around, dug into a shopping bag, and flung a skimpy yoga outfit at me.

The material was laughably scant, reeking of tackiness.

"Put it on. Now."

Jeffrey sparked up a cigarette, puffing smoke in my face. "I played some cards, and won a bit. You will cheer me up tonight."

"No way am I changing into that."

I backed away. "Have you lost it, Jeffrey? I'm going to sleep."

Crash!

Jeffrey's temper exploded, his foot sending the trash can flying.

Trash tumbled out, splattering juice across the floor.

"Just change when I tell you to! Enough with the backtalk!"

His face twisted in rage, veins throbbing on his forehead.

"I bust my back all day, and I can't even get a nice view of my wife at home?"

To keep from setting off his drunken fury, I swallowed the insult and shakily slipped into the revealing outfit.

Jeffrey's eyes were glued to me.

His stare bore into the red mole on my waist.

"Turn around, pop it out."

He ordered, phone in hand.

I bit back tears and did as I was told.

Snap, snap.

The flash fired off, blinding me.

Once he was done, Jeffrey did not bother looking at me, just hunched over his phone, fingers flying.

"Done. I'm out of smokes. I'm gonna head down to grab a pack," he said, snatching his jacket and heading out.

My heart skipped a beat. "It's too late. Don't go..."

"Stay out of it!" Jeffrey shoved me aside, stormed out, and slammed the door shut without a backward glance.

The sound of the door slamming sent shivers down my spine. I scrambled to lock it, but the lock would not budge!

Peering through the peephole, I saw why: the latch was plastered with layers of clear tape!

Frantically, I picked at the tape, but it was of no use.

Suddenly, my phone on the bed buzzed.

It was an alert from the second-hand marketplace app.

I turned, my body rigid with fear.

The message on the screen burned into my eyes.

[Item dispatched, buyer en route, 500 meters away.]

The hallway light flickered on.

Thud, thud, thud.

Someone was coming, their heavy footsteps inching closer to my door.

The doorknob jiggled again.

I knew who it was this time.

Not Jeffrey, but Adrian Kane, known as 'The Butcher,' the man who had paid a fortune for my company tonight.

The door was not locked; he could burst in at any second.

I did not even think about shedding the humiliating outfit. I grabbed my phone and bolted for the balcony.

My place was on the second floor, and the balcony was a short hop from Caroline's, our landlord. She had always looked out for me, and I saw her as my own older sister.

At that moment, she was my only hope.

I clambered over the grimy railing, tearing my yoga pants on the rust, the sting ignored in my panic.

"Caroline! Caroline, please open up!"

I hammered on her bedroom window, tears and snot mingling on my face.

A sliver of the curtain moved aside.

Caroline's face, a testament to her meticulous self-care, came into view.

Her eyes flickered with a knowing spark as she took in my disheveled state and my shaking form.

The window stood ajar.

"Oh, dear! What's gotten into you?"

She pulled me inside and shut the window behind us.

I collapsed onto the floor, sobbing and clinging to her pant leg.

"Caroline, please help me! Jeffrey's lost it. He sold me! There's a man outside trying to get in!"

Caroline guided me to the couch and handed me a glass of warm water.

"Take a sip, calm down, and tell me everything. Don't work yourself up."

I spilled out the story in a jumbled rush: the online post, Jeffrey's reaction, the sabotaged lock.

Caroline gave my hand a reassuring pat, her smile tinged with indifference.

"Sweetie, you're reading too much into it.

"Guys get boastful when they've had a few too many, looking for a bit of excitement.

"Jeffrey's always been good to you. He even hands over his paycheck to you. He wouldn't really sell his own wife."

She gave me a reassuring look. "I know this 'The Butcher' guy. He's all bark, no bite. Probably just a big misunderstanding."

A misunderstanding?

An icy dread settled over me as I met Caroline's gaze.

At that moment, my phone buzzed once more.

With shaking hands, I clicked on the cursed link to the second-hand site.

Adrian, known as 'The Butcher,' had left another furious comment.

[Damn it! The house is empty. What is this? A bait-and-switch?]

Jeffrey's reply was right below that comment.

[Easy, man! The merchandise is just next door with the landlord, a little holdover. Consider it a special bonus to up the thrill.]

[My landlord, whom I’ve come to think of as a sister, is a real knockout. She hinted that, for the right price, she’d join in on the fun.]

Suddenly, my world spun.

I felt my blood run cold, and my phone nearly slipped from my grasp, tumbling into the couch cushions.

I looked up sharply at Caroline.

She was casually leaning against the bedroom doorway, a half-smile playing on her lips as she eyed my waist, fixated on the red mole there.

"Babe, that mole of yours is quite the eye-catcher. No wonder Jeffrey thinks you're a real catch."

Caroline's voice took on a teasing, oily quality.

"Since you're here, why not stay? Adrian will be here any minute now.

"Relax, Adrian's a big spender: two grand a pop."

She gave me a once-over. "What's your dance teaching gig pay you in a month? You bust your butt and can't even afford a decent purse."

I recoiled in fear, desperate to bolt for the door.

However, Caroline's place was locked up tight, the security chain firmly in place.

She advanced, her heels clicking ominously on the hardwood floor.

"Jeffrey has racked up a 30 grand debt to Adrian playing cards here.

"Settling his tab with you is just the way things are done.

"Make Adrian happy tonight, and you're square.

"But if you don't play ball..."

Caroline let out an icy laugh. "Jeffrey's hand? It's still in Adrian's grip. Want him to end up crippled?"

Right then, a knock echoed from the other side of the door.

Thump, thump, thump.

It was not loud, but it was enough to suffocate the air in the room.

Then, Adrian's sleazy voice seeped through. "Caroline, open up. I'm catching a whiff of something sweet!"

The knocking felt like a blow to my very soul.

I could not just sit there and wait for the end!

The second Caroline spun around to unlock the door, I bolted for her bedroom like I was possessed.

A king-sized bed dominated the room, its underside a jumble of boxes that left just a sliver of space.

I did not give a second thought to the grime as I wriggled into that narrow hideaway.

The hanging bedsheet obscured my view, but it could not muffle the sounds from outside.

The deadbolt clicked open.

Adrian's labored breaths and the click-clack of his dress shoes echoed into the room.

"Where's this person? Jeffrey said she's being kept in here, right?" Adrian's voice was tinged with a thrill that sent my stomach into flips.

"Yeah, she was just in here, bawling her eyes out." Caroline's voice dripped with a sweetness that made my stomach turn. "Probably got shy and tucked herself away. How about a little game of hide and seek?"

Another voice chimed in, one I recognized all too well.

"Take your time, Adrian. I'll keep watch at the door.

"Just holler if you need me; I'll be right outside."

Jeffrey's tone was all grovel and no grit, nothing like a husband should sound, more like a servant begging for scraps.