Banished in the Name of Love

I'm betrothed to Hylton Miller from the moment I'm born.

For as long as I can remember, he protects and loves me like I'm already his wife.

Even if I get a tiny splinter on my hand, he holds it carefully as he gently clips it away.

That is, until the young woman his family sponsors offends a client and is about to be sent to Zubania.

He drugs me with a glass of wine. When I wake up, I'm in a foreign country and trapped in an illegal factory.

Here, I endure inhuman abuse, torment, even humiliation...

At my lowest, when despair almost swallows me whole, that sponsored young woman appears before me in a pristine, custom-made white gown.

She smiles sweetly and presses the play button on a voice recording.

And from the speaker comes the voice I long for every day and night. "It's fine. Alina's the young lady of the Winslet family—they won't do anything to her. But Priscilla? She's different. Worst case, I'll make it up to Alina when she gets back…"

In that moment, it feels like someone tears my heart open with their bare hands.

I lay on the cold concrete floor, every inch of my body screaming in pain.

The men who had just tortured me left with satisfied smiles on their faces, laughing and fastening their pants as they walked away.

The air reeked of a nauseating stench, and I retched instinctively, but nothing came up.

Just then, the door opened again, and a few people in staff uniforms walked in.

"Put these on. You can leave now."

One of them threw a few sets of clean clothes at my feet, his tone laced with disdain.

I forced my eyes open from exhaustion and stared at the clothes on the ground, feeling momentarily dazed.

Leave? Leave for where?

My thoughts spiraled out of control and drifted back into the past.

Half a year. It had been a full six months since I'd been imprisoned in this hellish illegal factory.

I was forced to work 16 hours every day. My hands were covered in thick calluses. The skin on my fingertips were cracked and bleeding.

The foremen here beat and cursed at us trafficked workers as if we weren't human. We were just tools in their eyes.

And worse, in this place filled with nothing but men, I couldn't even protect my body. I had even gotten pregnant once, only to miscarry from the extreme labor before I realized what had happened.

This place was like hell, and I had been barely clinging to life for six long months.

Numbly, I picked up the clothes and put them on piece by piece, dressing my bruised and battered body. The clothes were clean, unlike the ragged uniform I'd worn every day for the past half-year.

They shoved me out of the place that had held me prisoner for so long, and my mind went blank.

I couldn't remember how I got on the