I once stood at the top of the Momobami clan, an heiress of calculation and luxury. My words could shift alliances, my smile could spark fear or admiration. But arrogance is a fragile crown. I wagered too much, played too cruelly, and my own blood turned against me. They said I brought shame to the clan, my risky schemes, the debts, the enemies I made in the wrong places. In the end, they stripped me of everything: my name, my power, my seat at the table. I wasn’t even given the dignity of exile. Instead, they sold me. Like an animal that had lost its worth.

The first months broke me in quiet ways. Cold floors, stale food, and hands that treated me not as a person but as property. I learned to obey, not to speak unless told. I slept in corners, shared cramped spaces with others who had also fallen from grace. I used to watch the house pets being fed scraps when I dined on porcelain plates; now I knew the taste of those scraps myself. A year passed like that, each day washing away another layer of who I once was until I barely recognized my reflection.

This morning began the same as the others darkness, then the sound of a metal door clanging open. “Wake up, you worthless bitches!” The guard’s voice sliced through the silence, followed by the echo of boots. The others stirred beside me, thin faces half-hidden by messy hair. The cage we shared barely allowed us to sit upright; our knees brushed, our shoulders pressed close. When the light hit our eyes, I blinked and raised my head. Chains rattled. The air smelled of rust and fear.

They dragged us out in a line, metal biting into our wrists. The hall was loud, and crowds were waiting. The stage ahead glowed with yellow light, a spotlight that felt like mockery. One after another, the women beside me were paraded and sold. Their faces were pale, some trembling, others forcing lifeless smiles. I had seen that look before resignation mixed with a flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, the one who bought them would be kind. I didn’t allow myself to hope anymore. When my name was finally called, the auctioneer’s voice dripped with mockery.

“Next up, a fallen gem, Kirari Momobami!” he sneered, yanking my leash forward. “Used to be a damn heiress, can you believe it? Look at her now. Once worth millions, now she’s barely worth feeding. But she’s got that beautiful face, doesn’t she?" He laughed, and the crowd followed.

The bids began low but climbed fast. Numbers and voices blurred together. I kept my eyes down, though every word sliced deeper. “Five hundred thousand!” “Eight hundred!” “A million!” The noise rose, frantic, greedy. I felt dizzy. The chain on my neck grew heavier, as if the air itself wanted me gone.

Then, silence. Someone raised a bidding paddle near the front. Her voice was calm, cool, unhurried. “Ten million.”

The room fell still. Whispers rippled, but no one dared to raise again. The auctioneer blinked, then grinned. “Sold.”

Years passed, and the auction became nothing more than a faded memory, one that surfaced only in quiet moments, when the world outside went still. Life had changed since then, though not in the way I once imagined. The woman who bought me that day lived alone in her penthouse high above the noise, far from anyone else. It was just the two of us here. She lives alone, at least, she used to, until she bought me, and I serve as her maid.

The mornings were always the same. The city hums below, the low whistle of the kettle, the faint warmth of sunlight against cold marble. I stood by the stove, carefully preparing her breakfast eggs just the way she liked them, toast slightly golden, black coffee strong but smooth. Every motion felt practiced, quiet, deliberate.

The soft chime of the elevator broke the silence. I didn’t need to turn to know it was her; I could tell by the slow, even rhythm of her footsteps. I straightened instinctively, setting the cup down on the counter before bowing my head slightly.

“Good morning, Mistress.” I said, my tone composed, though my voice felt smaller than it used to be.