Chapter 2
The gentle breeze was carrying a sweet flowery smell as Emma was walking around without any plan through the winding paths of Central Park. Her mind was full of sadness and hopelessness because she had tried and failed to get money for her mother's life-saving heart transplant surgery. A deep feeling of failure was weighing heavily on her shoulders, crushing her spirit.
The bank had turned her down right away, not listening to her pleading at all. The loan officers looked at her with cold uncaring eyes that chilled her to the bone. "I'm sorry, Miss Emma, but since you don't have a steady job or anything for collateral, you are too risky for us to give you a loan that big," the bank manager had told her flatly, in a tone that made it clear there was no room for discussion.
And her aunt's heartbreaking confession that she was struggling financially had crushed Emma's last small hope. Emma felt completely alone, floating helplessly in a sea of desperation with no lifeline anywhere in sight.
Emma felt totally alone, helplessly adrift in desperation with no way out or anyone to help her. An overwhelming feeling of powerlessness threatened to drown her as she thought about a future without her loving mother by her side.
Sinking down onto a park bench, she buried her face in her hands, hot tears streaming down her cheeks. The extremely delicate state of her mother's health pressed down on her like a suffocating shroud, threatening to snuff out the last tiny flickering spark of her spirit. "What am I going to do?" she whispered brokenly into her palms, her voice thick with anguish.
"You look like you could use a friend."
The deep, velvety voice startled Emma out of her misery. She lifted her tear-stained face to find a strikingly handsome man looking at her with a concerned furrow in his brow. His features were chiseled, almost aristocratic, framed by a shock of inky black hair that gleamed like polished black stone in the dappled sunlight filtering through the trees.
"I-I'm sorry," she stammered, hastily wiping at her cheeks with the sleeve of her sweater, suddenly self-conscious under his piercing gaze. "I didn't mean to make a scene."
The man gave her a disarming smile as he settled onto the bench beside her, the rich fabric of his perfectly tailored suit whispering against the weathered wood. "No need to apologize," he said, his voice warm and soothing, like rich soft velvet gently caressing her frayed nerves. "Sometimes we all need someone to lean on, and it's not a sign of weakness."
Emma couldn't help but return his smile, her spirits lifting a little in the face of his warmth and kindness. A faint blush crept into her cheeks as she took in his aura of confidence that seemed to surround him like an invisible cloak.
"Thank you," she murmured, tucking an errant strand of chestnut brown hair behind her ear. "I'm just... going through a really tough time right now."
The man's expression became serious, his moss-green eyes filled with genuine compassion. "I can see that," he said gently. "Would it help to talk about it?"
Emma hesitated, her gaze drifting to the perfectly tailored suit he wore – a clear sign of wealth and high status. Could she trust this stranger with the desperate situation she was in? But as she studied his face, so open and inviting, she felt an inexplicable pull to unburden her soul. Taking a shuddering breath, she began to speak, the words tumbling forth in a torrent of anguish.
"It's my mom," she confessed, her voice thick with emotion. "She's been battling heart disease for years, and now the doctors say she needs an urgent heart transplant, or she's not going to make it." A sob caught in her throat as a lifetime of cherished memories flashed before her eyes like a kaleidoscope of bittersweet moments.
Emma could see her mother's radiant smile as she'd hugged her after her first dance recital, tears of pride glistening in her eyes. She could hear the soothing lilt of her mother's voice as she'd sung lullabies on the nights when nightmares had jolted Emma awake, her gentle caresses calming her fears. She could still smell the comforting fragrance of her mother's favorite lavender soap as she'd drawn her close, her arms a sanctuary of unconditional love and acceptance.
"But the procedure costs one hundred thousand dollars," Emma continued, her voice cracking as she blinked back a fresh wave of tears. "I've tried everything, loans, asking family for help, but I've reached a dead end at every turn." She angrily wiped at the moisture streaking her cheeks, a hollow ache settling in her chest. "Without that money..." She swallowed hard, unable to voice the unthinkable possibility of losing her beloved mother.
The man's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "One hundred thousand dollars? That's an astronomical sum for anyone, let alone a struggling artist." His tone held a hint of admiration, his gaze sweeping over the modest sundress and faded denim jacket she wore, with a lovingly embroidered painter's palette on the lapel.
Emma nodded miserably, feeling guilty for having even dared to entertain the notion that she could raise such an exorbitant amount with her meager earnings. "Tell me about it. And without that money, I…I don't know what I'll do." She drew in a ragged breath, her voice little more than a broken whisper. "She's all I have left in this world."
Silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken emotions. Emma's mind drifted to more memories of her mother - her warm embraces, her infectious laughter, the way her eyes would crinkle with pride whenever she achieved something new. Her mother had been her rock, her unwavering pillar of strength through every trial and tribulation life had thrown their way. The thought of losing her, of having that vibrant light extinguished from her world, was utterly unthinkable.
A fresh wave of tears spilled down Emma's cheeks as a chilling realization washed over her, like the icy fingers of shadowed grief clawing at her heart. She would do anything, sacrifice anything, to keep her mother by her side. Anything at all.
The man regarded her thoughtfully for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, leaning forward, his tone lowered in a conspiratorial way. "What if I told you there was a way to get that money?" His eyes glittered with an intensity that sent a shiver of trepidation rippling through her. "An... unconventional method, for sure, but one that could save your mother's life."
Emma stared at him, scarcely daring to hope. "W-what do you mean?" she breathed, her heart hammering a rapid beat against her ribcage. "What kind of... unconventional method?"
"Are you a virgin?" The man asked suddenly, out of the blue, without beating around the bush. Since she wanted money, he had to be sure that she was up to the task.
Emma felt a chill over her body and her mind was immediately awakened by the words of this strange man. Clearly, she heard what he said and understood what that word meant but of what use was dignity if she lose the one person she loved with all her heart? What was life if the last hope that kept her living was dead? She thought to herself.
Courageously, Emma bit her lower lip and looked straight into the eyes of the stranger, and said bravely…
"Yes, I am a virgin. Is that a new requirement for slavery?" she dared to ask.