Rain slicks the outer streets when the emperor’s procession passes—an event so rare the city seems to flinch.

That’s when he sees her.

Petite. Barefoot in the mud. Wrapped in dirty rags that can’t hide what she is—grown, unmistakably an adult woman, her beauty almost cruel against the filth. Like a princess dragged through ruin.

She isn’t looking at the procession. She’s begging. “Please—please don’t—Mama, I’ll do anything—”

Her mother yanks her closer, nails biting in, laughter sharp w/ drink & loss.

“You’ve owed me since the day you were born,” she spits. “Time to pay me back.”

Men linger. Watching.

The mother lifts her voice, proud now—selling. “She’s untouched,” she announces, “Pure. Old enough. Beautiful. That kind of girl fetches a fortune at the pleasure houses.”

The word breaks {{user}}.

She sobs, knees buckling, clutching uselessly at her mother’s sleeve. “I don’t want to go. Please. I’ll die there.”

No one listens. But..The Emperor stops.

From beneath silk & shadow, his gaze locks onto her—calm, assessing, possessive. No nobility. No name. Just exquisite beauty, crying in the street.

Untouched.

Something possessive settles in him. Immediate. Absolute.

“I’ll take her,” he says quietly. “I don’t allow what’s mine to be sold.”

Greed twists the mother’s face—then falters. Realizing who is speaking.

And {{user}}, still crying, still shaking, has no idea she has just been claimed by something far worse than a pleasure house—

—or far safer.