For eight years after marriage, they remained childless. At last, their prayers were answered, and the first bloom of hope appeared in their lives. Their first child—a daughter. With her birth, the suspicion that Aunt Clara might be barren vanished. Her fears of being replaced by another woman faded, and Uncle Harold no longer had a reason to consider a second marriage. The baby girl was seen as a blessing, and Clara embraced her like a treasure pressed to her heart.
Then came a stream—four daughters, one after another. The once-joyful household began to quiet down with worry. Harold’s head hung a little lower each day, and Clara’s smile began to fade. There was still no heir. No one to carry the family name. Once more, they turned to prayers, doctors, and remedies. They lit candles at saints’ shrines and made vows for the son they still longed for.
Two years later, their real joy arrived—this time in the form of a baby boy. They named him Edward James. He was the one destined to inherit the family’s wealth, the pride of their house. Their happiness knew no bounds. They decorated their estate with golden lamps, sent out baskets of sweets to every relative, and distributed meals to the poor.
Edward was a strikingly handsome child, raised like a royal. Wherever he stepped, his parents' hearts seemed to follow. As he stepped into adulthood, a new crowd began to form around him—so-called friends, flatterers dressed as companions. They clung to him like shadows, riding in his long, sleek car, endlessly praising his generosity and charm.
One day, a few of these “friends” gathered around him and said, “Tonight, we’ll show you a different world—music, lights, beauty. A night you'll never forget.”
Edward had deep pockets, and for a fleeting moment of pleasure, what harm was there? That night, they took him to a place he’d never been—a hidden world behind velvet curtains, to a house owned by Madam Monroe, a clever and experienced woman who knew exactly how to read a man’s eyes.
She could tell instantly what Edward was searching for. After all, she had spent her life walking this desert of desire, taming hearts and emptying wallets. She wasn’t about to let him slip from her net.
When Edward didn’t return for a week, she sent her most trusted attendant with a message:
“Miss Lila is unwell and refuses to rest until she sees you. She has sworn on your name. Please, for her sake, don’t break her heart.”
Something in Edward stirred. That same evening, just as the sun dipped behind the rooftops, he returned to Madam Monroe’s house. Two of his companions joined him. A few others, already there, raised their glasses. But truthfully, they were waiting less for Edward, and more for the charm and extravagance that surrounded him—Maya.
Edward was pleased to see them. He had grown used to their flattery. Without their sweet lies and praise, he felt strangely bare.
Soon, Lila entered, radiant and glowing, her voice enchanting the room like a siren. Edward, mesmerized, laid bills at her feet. His friends clapped with exaggerated delight. His heart swelled with pride.
But among them was one friend—one very close friend—who had secretly warned Madam Monroe:
“Our bird is ready to fly. If you want to keep him in the cage, tonight is your last chance.”
That night, Edward’s private chamber shimmered with unusual brightness. The soft white sheets looked like they’d been washed in milk and laid out just for him. Lila sang a few melodies, then feigned illness and disappeared behind a curtain.
A short while later, Madam Monroe entered and addressed the group:
“I apologize, dear guests. The performance ends here for tonight. Our girl is not well. Please return tomorrow for the rest of the show.”
The others left, but Edward stayed behind. He had been specially summoned, after all.
“She’s resting now,” Madam Monroe said gently. “But I won’t let you leave disappointed.”
She clapped softly. The curtain rustled once more.
And then, slowly, a girl stepped in—perhaps sixteen, maybe seventeen. Delicate, graceful. She walked with soft steps, her eyes cast downward as she sat. She looked more like a painting than a person.
Edward couldn’t look away. She was stunning—unreal. A quiet storm behind those lowered eyes.
“This is Rose,” Madam Monroe said, her voice low and smug. “She’s new. Tonight, she’s here only for you. A little shy, but that’s part of her charm. Don’t take it personally. Shyness fades—eventually.”
She turned and vanished behind the curtain.
Edward sat motionless, eyes fixed on Rose. She sat in silence too, the air between them thick with the scent of something dangerous and beautiful.
David couldn’t bear the helplessness in Lily’s innocent eyes. He understood now—this wasn’t a casual meeting. He had been brought here for something else entirely. He wanted to talk to her alone, to understand the sorrow she carried within. But Madam Rose returned too soon, bringing a maid holding a tray with drinks and snacks.
“I don’t need this,” David said, pulling a wad of cash from his coat pocket and holding it out. “I’m not in the mood for stories tonight.”
The woman understood the gesture. She nodded to the maid, who silently guided David to a private bedroom. Lily entered shortly after, walking softly like a shy bride. She sat on the edge of the bed, her eyes downcast.
David sat in silence for a while, then finally moved to sit beside her. “Lily, you're beautiful,” he said. “But you’re mute.”
She looked up with tearful eyes and spoke for the first time. “Let me stay silent. If I speak, you won’t be able to hear what I truly mean. You see… they say a woman dies a hundred times before she becomes what I am. A courtesan. And by then, her words become venom even the strongest fear.”
She paused, her voice trembling. “What matters is not the embrace, but the arms that take you home afterward. This place isn’t meant for that.”
“Why not?” David asked softly.
“You know why,” she replied. “A woman’s rightful place is in a home, not a showroom. Otherwise, she becomes everyone’s toy. And I can’t bear being a toy. I’ll break.”
“Are you a philosopher, Lily? A writer?” David whispered, watching as she burst into soft sobs.
He hadn’t expected this. If he had, he never would’ve come. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” he assured her. “I’m not here to use you. I just needed a place to clear my head.”
He stood up. “I’m leaving now. But don’t say anything to Madam Rose. I’ll come again tomorrow.”
That night, David couldn't sleep. Lily’s voice, her eyes—so full of silent agony—haunted him. He tried to push the memory aside. His parents were arranging his engagement. Soon, he'd be married, and such distractions would vanish.
But by evening, unease returned. Her face, her sadness, kept creeping back into his thoughts. He wanted to know who she really was—where she came from, why she ended up here.
The mind can justify any sin. His feet, despite his resolve, found their way back to that cursed alley. He called his friend. “Tell the others I can't join tonight. My father needs me for something urgent.”
He needed to make sure no one else would be there.
Back at the house, Madam Rose welcomed him with a knowing smile. “I knew you’d return,” she said. “She’s special, isn’t she?”
This time, David offered more money than before. “I want to see Lily again.”
She was waiting in the room, no makeup, no pretense—just herself. Pure. Unvarnished. Even more beautiful.
“You shouldn’t wear makeup,” David said.
“You’re right,” she replied. “But people expect it. That’s the world I live in.”
“We all have our constraints,” David sighed. “Mine are different from yours.”
“What constraints?” she asked gently.
“My family. I’m engaged to my aunt’s daughter. If I don’t marry her, my sister will lose her marriage, and our family wealth will be divided. It’ll destroy everything.”
He said it deliberately—he needed Lily to understand there was no future between them.
“I could fight these traditions,” he added, seeing her face fall. “But I can’t marry someone who lives here. My family would never accept it.”
“I know,” Lily whispered, wiping away tears. “Just promise me one thing. Marry her soon. And never come back here. If your honor matters, then guard your wealth too. Don’t waste it in places like this.”
“This place destroys the rich and buries the honorable.”
David was stunned. Every word cut deep—because it was true.
He promised her that night. They talked for hours until dawn. He never touched her. Something about her words tethered his soul. She was the first woman he ever paid for, and the only one he never laid a hand on.
It was their tenth and final meeting.
Lily laughed, cried, and dreamed aloud. Wondered what might have been if they’d met under different stars. David got married soon after, fulfilling the promise he made. He never returned to that world of velvet lies.
But Lily never forgot him.
Messages came through old friends—pleas from her to see him one last time. He ignored them. He knew a single visit would pull him back into the golden snare.
One day, a note arrived:
“Just once. Come. Or my eyes will die longing for you, and they will remain open in my grave.”
His wife saw the note in his hand. “What is that?” she asked.
“Nothing,” David replied and tore it into pieces.
A few days later, news came: Lily had taken her life with sleeping pills.
In her final note to the police, she wrote:
“I choose death, because I can no longer endure this life of sin. I was kidnapped as a child. Madam Rose bought me. I always longed for a life of dignity. No one was willing to marry me—not even the man I loved. But I’m glad he kept his promise. That’s my only peace.”
The letter was published in the newspaper. David was shaken to his core.
“I didn’t betray her,” he told himself. “Society did.”
But how could he blame society?
Could a society ever be hanged for its crimes?
A world where innocent girls are stolen and sold—where women are butchered again and again by the dull knife of greed, yet no one sees it as murder?
Where no one is punished, and no justice exists?
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