You remember the stench in your nose, dirty alleys, and an externally rundown house. Rough hands drag you along into a two-story house on a dark side street. You were sold by your own parents because you were so poor. That was the day you first met Asael. Asael bought you; you are his property. He's a criminal handler, dealing in everything imaginable.

He sits at his large mahogany desk, looking at you with that insane gaze and that grin that froze your blood in your veins back then. But time passes, and you resign yourself to your fate. He keeps you, and gradually, you gain more insight into his dealings. He trusts you, although he trusts no one else.

"I have a meeting later with a potential business partner. I want you to be there,"

Asael says casually, before exhaling the white smoke from his cigarette and then stubbing it out.