3

All she could feel now was cold bone-deep and soul-cutting after that betrayal.

Azzurra stood rigid, her fists clenched tightly at her sides as her glare fixed itself to the floor. Shame mingled with fury in her chest. They had stripped her of every last shred of dignity, forcing her into a vulgar excuse for clothing: a black set of lingerie that clung to her skin like it was painted on, offering no modesty, no protection nothing.

Her gaze flicked down. Her breasts were nearly spilling out of what barely passed for a bra. Over that, they had draped her in a sheer, finely woven netted dress that reached her ankles utterly see-through, like a cruel joke. To complete the humiliation, they’d made her wear stilettos that made her legs ache and her balance sway.

What was she supposed to do now? Parade herself like a showpiece?

She inhaled sharply, struggling to hold herself together. Her hair had been curled into soft waves that bounced around her shoulders, but they hadn’t touched her face just a faint swipe of color on her lips. That, at least, she was thankful for.

Still, fear gripped her chest like a vice. She’d tried to steel herself the night before, after the failed escape attempt. She’d stayed awake, preparing her mind, bracing her heart. But now, in this moment, all that resolve felt like it had melted away.

The back room buzzed with anxious energy. Girls and boys, all around her age just turned eighteen stood around, waiting. The auction was about to begin. Their fates hung in the air like smoke.

“Number 24. Come here,” barked a stern voice.

Azzurra barely turned her head toward the woman who had called out. She didn’t move.

Her eyes settled on the iron shackles in the woman’s hand. A wave of nausea rolled over her.

They didn’t even call them by name only by numbers. Just livestock. Pets. They weren’t allowed names unless their buyers gifted them one, like a collar.

Suddenly, a harsh hand grabbed the back of her neck.

“Move it, you filthy mutt!” Giacinto snarled, yanking her forward. He shoved her toward the woman, then forcefully stretched her arms out so she could be bound.

The cold metal snapped over her wrists.

As soon as Giacinto let go, Azzurra lifted her chin and threw him a look sharp enough to draw blood. His hand lifted instinctively to strike her again, but before he could make contact, the Pet Mistress caught his wrist.

“Do not damage the goods,” she hissed, her voice low and venomous. Giacinto gritted his teeth and dropped his arm.

He had already done his damage last night beating her senseless, then dragging her to that cursed witch to heal her wounds. When she was brought back to the facility, the Pet Mistress had only smirked at her. That expression haunted Azzurra more than the pain ever could.

She’d been locked in the dungeon without food or water since.

Now, the Mistress stood in front of her, venom oozing from her eyes. She loathed Azzurra. Always had.

If it were up to the Mistress, Azzurra would have already been taken to the slaughterhouse, her body torn to shreds and tossed into the dirt. But that wasn’t the Mistress’s call. Her role was simple: train the pets. Break them. Mold them into docile, compliant creatures.

Azzurra was the outlier the one who wouldn’t bend, wouldn’t crack, no matter how hard they tried.

Everyone hated her for it not just the guards, but even the other human pets. Because she refused to accept their new reality.

She refused to stop fighting.

Most of the others had surrendered to the truth that they had lost. That humans were defeated, broken, nothing more than pawns or playthings for monsters.

But Azzurra couldn’t. She wouldn’t.

She wasn’t afraid of death anymore. It would come for all of them sooner or later so why live in fear of it? Why crawl when she could die standing?

She had made a vow to herself: as long as she breathed, she would resist. She would try. And one day, she would succeed.

Yes, these creatures were stronger. But if humans stopped fearing death, they’d become powerful too in ways that couldn't be taken. Because at the very least, humans still had one power left: the power to end their own suffering, to deny their captors satisfaction.

Azzurra would never give them that victory.

The Mistress seized her face roughly, nails pressing into her skin claws just short of piercing.

“This is the last time I’ll have to look at your disgusting face,” she sneered, lips curling into a grin. “You have no idea what’s waiting for you.”

Azzurra’s heartbeat roared in her ears. She remembered all too clearly the Mistress’s promise: that she would find the most deranged, twisted master to buy her. Someone who would break her spirit, no matter how strong it was.

And yes it terrified her. But she never let it show.

The last time the Mistress had threatened her, Azzurra had only glared back and said, “Give it your best shot.”

That night, they flogged her. A hundred times. She fainted. Twice. Came to. And fainted again. But not once did she scream.

Pain was her old companion now.

She had endured it for ten years.

As a child, she used to scream, cry, beg but none of it ever stopped the torment. Eventually, she learned that silence was its own weapon. It robbed them of the pleasure they sought from her agony.

Her silence infuriated them. It became a challenge. They beat her harder. They starved her. They experimented with new ways to break her. But over time, she built endurance. What used to shatter her now only strengthened her resolve.

She became immune.

Three times, she’d been marked for slaughter. And three times, the Mistress had pulled her back from the brink not out of mercy, but greed. The Mistress believed Azzurra’s defiance would attract a high price. There were monsters, she said, who enjoyed the thrill of taming “feral bitches.”

But everything changed when she turned seventeen.

They stopped touching her.

No more physical punishment. The merchandise couldn’t be damaged. They began feeding all the pets better nutrient-rich meals to make them healthy, glossy, desirable.

Azzurra’s body healed. Her curves filled out. And with it came a new wave of resentment from others.

She’d overheard some of the other girls whispering jealous, bitter.

“Look how lucky she is. With a body like that, she’ll fetch a fortune.”

They envied her figure, especially her chest.

Azzurra wanted to laugh.

Lucky?

No. Beauty didn’t protect her. It only made her a bigger target. A bigger prize for the cruelest of them all.

She wasn’t lucky.

She was cursed.