My Love Put Me in Jail

The Bentley glided through the city, Allen's knuckles white against the steering wheel. I couldn't bring myself to ask where we were going after the auction. The humiliation still burned raw, making my skin crawl with each passing second. One hundred million dollars. That's what my suffering was worth to him.

We pulled up to a pristine white building on the outskirts of the city, its clinical appearance more reminiscent of a laboratory than any place meant for healing. No signage adorned the exterior, just smooth walls and tinted windows that revealed nothing of what lay inside.

"Welcome home," Allen said, his voice devoid of warmth as he yanked me from the car.

The interior matched the sterile exterior—white walls, polished floors that reflected the harsh fluorescent lighting, and the unmistakable scent of antiseptic that burned my nostrils. Medical staff in crisp uniforms moved with quiet efficiency, their eyes carefully avoiding mine as Allen dragged me down a corridor.

He stopped at a nondescript door, punching a code into the keypad before shoving it open. "Your accommodations," he announced, pushing me inside.

The room was small and windowless, containing nothing but a hospital bed with restraints hanging from its sides, a small metal sink, and a toilet partially concealed by a flimsy curtain. No personal touches, no comfort—just the bare necessities for keeping a body alive.

"Allen," I mouthed silently, my voice still refusing to come. *Why?*

"Don't look at me like that," he snapped, his handsome features twisting with disgust. "You're lucky I don't keep you chained to the wall."

Before I could process his words, a woman in a white coat entered, her clipboard clutched to her chest like armor.

"Mr. Percy, everything is prepared as you requested," she said, her eyes flickering briefly to me with what might have been concern.

"Good. Dr. Chen, this is Teresa Olsen. She'll be providing the blood samples we discussed."

Blood samples? My confusion must have shown on my face because Allen's lips curled into a cruel smile.

"You see, Teresa, Jane has been suffering from a rare form of anemia since the trauma you caused her. She needs regular transfusions, and as luck would have it, you're a perfect match."

The next few hours passed in a blur of needles and vials as Dr. Chen and her team extracted sample after sample. They took so much blood that spots danced before my eyes, my body swaying dangerously as they worked. Through it all, Allen watched from behind a glass partition, his expression impassive.

When the results came back, Dr. Chen's eyes widened. "Mr. Percy, she has the universal donor blood type, but her hemoglobin levels are dangerously low. She appears to be suffering from severe malnutrition and—"

"Perfect," Allen interrupted. "Then she'll be useful after all. Prepare her for the first extraction tomorrow."

"But sir, in her condition—"

"Did I stutter, Dr. Chen?"

The doctor's mouth snapped shut, and she nodded stiffly before leaving us alone.

The next morning, they came for me early. Two orderlies transferred me to a different room, this one dominated by a reclining chair surrounded by machines. They strapped me in despite my lack of resistance—my body too weak to fight even if I'd wanted to.

The needle they inserted was larger than the ones used for testing, and I winced as it pierced my vein. Behind the glass, Allen stood watching, his eyes cold as the machine began to hum, drawing my blood into collection bags that would go to Jane.

As minutes passed, the room began to spin, my vision narrowing to a pinpoint. Through the growing darkness, I saw Dr. Chen approach Allen, her gestures animated as she pointed to the monitors displaying my vital signs.

"...too much... could cause permanent damage..."

"Continue," came Allen's firm reply. "She deserves far worse than discomfort for what she did."

When they finally unhooked me, I could barely stand. The orderlies had to half-carry me back to my room, where I collapsed onto the bed, too exhausted even to cry.

But physical weakness was only the beginning of my punishment. The next day, Allen had me brought to his penthouse apartment, a spacious haven of luxury that made my prison cell seem almost merciful in comparison.

"Clean it," he ordered, throwing a bucket of supplies at my feet. "Every inch. And if I find a speck of dust anywhere, you'll start over."

On hands and knees, I scrubbed floors that already gleamed, my fingers raw and bleeding as Allen followed behind me, deliberately knocking over vases for me to clean up, dropping food for me to scrub away. When my movements slowed from blood loss and exhaustion, he kicked over my bucket, soapy water spreading across the floor I'd just finished.

"Pathetic," he spat. "Just like you were pathetic in court, crying those crocodile tears while Jane suffered in the hospital. Start again."

As I reached for the mop with trembling hands, I caught my reflection in the polished marble floor—a ghost of the woman I once was, hollowed out by hatred. And somewhere deep inside, where even Allen's cruelty couldn't reach, a tiny spark flickered to life—not hope, but something darker and more dangerous.

Survival.