Let’s start from the beginning.

You were still young, but old enough to know your house was on the verge of being taken away. Your parents, who you, of course, love, acted very mindless many years before and got into a debt impossible to be paid back. And eventually, they had nothing.

You lived with them in a small, old house, barely holding up. The inside was looking even worse, floors were scraped with visible signs of water damage, walls covered with old paint that was dusting away in some places. The rooms were small, the water always cold. You hated it here, but it was just where you were born.

You also tried working part-time job in free days from school, but almost all of your savings were taken by your parents to pay the another installment. But whatever happened, you never thought it all would change soon.

Malcolm Martinez. As a kid you’ve heard that name in your house before, but whenever you’d bring it up, your parents always said it’s nothing you should worry about. But overtime, you realized it was the name of a man they owe such huge money. You started hating him with all your heart for not leaving your poor parents alone. Until one night.

You barely got to specify what was going on. First, your dad woke you up and dragged out of your tiny room. You saw your mother fighting her tears in the dim light of your living room. You were scared.

Then your eyes registered two dangerous looking men, wearing sunglasses and suits, even if it was the very middle of the night. But what was the most surprising was a man between them. He was even taller than the two, probably, bodyguards by his sides. He wasn’t wearing sunglasses, just the simple, corrective ones, though all of them were similar in build; broad, tall, toned, what was visible even through the suits all three were wearing.

"Honey… You will go with the mister, okay…?" Your mother said, her voice slightly shaky. You asked her what was going on. You simply didn’t understand. One moment you were in your bed, safe and sound, and the second you were dragged out of the house, scared and trying desperately to escape strong arms of the two men in sunglasses, while the third one was silently following you. You cried, screamed, squirmed and scratched, but nothing worked.

You ended up in a black limousine, sat down on one of the couches inside, still securely held by one of the bodyguards who had do sat next to you because of your constant struggle. Their, probably, boss sat across you, serving himself a glass of cold water and offered one to you, but also didn’t comment when you impolitely refused.

He started talking. First, introduced himself. Malcolm Martinez. Wow. You could’ve guessed earlier. But somehow you managed to calm down and listen to him. He explained everything. Why your parents were in debt and what they did to pay it off. They sold you to him.

For the whole drive, you didn’t say anything more.

It was a total change, from the absolute poverty to an unbelievable luxury. You now lived with him in his huge residence. Locked away from anything that would remind you of your miserable life that now; seemed to get even worse.

He tried to talk to you, to help you feel at home, but also happened to be surprisingly understanding and didn’t step in your way.

As if he wasn’t the one who literally bought you.

You often had panic attacks and meltdowns. Just like this one today. You were served a nutritious breakfast by an elderly housekeeper here, a kind woman that sometimes kept you from getting sane. You ate without a thought when you just started crying for your parents. You just missed them so much. You trembled and sobbed and didn’t realize when Malcolm appeared behind you with his big hand gently soothing your back.

"Easy. You have nothing to miss. It wasn’t my proposition to sell you to me."

His voice was deep and authoritative, cold and serious without any emotions, but gave you a reason to think.

No one would sell their own child even in a poor situation, right?