Prescription:love

The chandeliers sparkled above, casting golden light on polished tables, expensive suits, and jeweled fingers wrapped around glasses of wine. The air was thick with perfume, smoke, and laughter that sounded too loud, too cruel.

Nora Daniels stood behind a red velvet curtain, her body trembling no matter how tightly she held her hands together. The black dress she wore was borrowed, too tight across her chest, and the cheap heels bit into her toes. She could hear the men out there. Their voices rose and fell, deep and sharp, like a pack of wolves ready to pounce.

Her stomach turned.

She didn't belong here.

This wasn't who she was.

But she had no choice.

Nora closed her eyes for a second, the bright noise of the crowd fading into the memory of her father lying on a hospital bed. His face was pale, his eyes tired but still warm whenever he looked at her. Machines beeped beside him, reminding her with every sound that time was running out.

Her father had always been her strength. He was the one who encouraged her to chase her dreams of becoming a nurse, the one who held her hand after her mother died of cancer and promised that, somehow, they would survive. But promises didn't pay hospital bills. Dreams didn't buy medicine.

And when the last bill came, higher than anything she had ever seen, reality crushed her.

That was why she was here. At an underground auction.

Her friend had whispered about it weeks ago, about how desperate women earned fast money by selling themselves to men who could afford them. Nora had laughed it off then. She was a student, not a prostitute. But when she saw her father coughing blood into his sheets, when she realized she had nothing left to sell except herself, laughter was no longer an option.

"Lot Twenty-One," the auctioneer's voice thundered.

Nora's eyes flew open.

The curtain jerked open.

The spotlight hit her.

"Gentlemen," the auctioneer boomed, "a new face. Fresh. Pure. Beautiful. Feast your eyes!"

Her heart slammed against her ribs.

Someone nudged her from behind, forcing her forward. Her legs shook as she stepped into the blinding light.

The room erupted.

Whistles. Cheers. Murmurs. Hungry eyes crawled over her, stripping her bare without touching her. She kept her chin high, though her insides screamed for her to run.

"She's perfect."

"Too young. Even better."

"I'll take her for the night."

Their words stabbed her ears, but she didn't flinch. If she showed weakness, they would devour her.

Nora forced herself to walk to the center of the stage, though each step felt like walking deeper into hell.

"Shall we begin the bidding?" the auctioneer grinned, lifting his hammer.

But before he could call the first number, a deep, calm voice cut through the noise.

"What a waste."

The room fell silent.

Every head turned.

Nora froze, her breath catching in her throat.

At the back of the room, half in shadow, a man sat with a glass of wine untouched before him. He wasn't like the others. His suit was perfectly tailored, his posture relaxed but commanding. He looked powerful, untouchable, the kind of man who didn't need to prove himself.

But it was his eyes that held her still. Cold, gray eyes, sharp as steel, locked directly on her.

"You're too young," he said, his voice low but carrying easily. "Too beautiful to sell yourself like this. How desperate are you?"

A ripple of shock ran through the room. Some men laughed. Others scowled, annoyed that the bidding was interrupted. But Nora... Nora's face burned hot.

How dare he?

He didn't know her. He didn't know her pain, her reasons. Who was he to judge her?

The man didn't stop. He reached inside his jacket, pulled out a sleek black pen, and opened a checkbook. The scratch of ink on paper echoed louder than the whispers filling the hall.

He tore the page cleanly, stood, and walked forward with slow, deliberate steps. The crowd parted for him without a word, as if he carried an invisible crown.

When he reached the stage, he handed the slip of paper-not to Nora, but to the auctioneer.

"She's leaving," he said simply. "Tonight."

Gasps filled the room.

The auctioneer hesitated, his eyes flicking between the money and the angry faces of bidders. But the man's stare was icy, unyielding. Finally, greed won. The check was taken.

Just like that, it was over.

The auctioneer cleared his throat awkwardly. "Lot Twenty-One is... withdrawn. Gentlemen, we move on."

Nora stood rooted to the spot, her fists clenched at her sides. The man hadn't spared her another look. He simply turned, walked back to his table, and sat down as if nothing had happened.

But his words stuck to her skin like fire.

How desperate are you?

Her chest rose and fell fast. She didn't know who he was. She didn't care.

All she knew was that she hated him.

--------------------------

Nora's legs felt numb as the assistant dragged her offstage. The spotlight cut away, but its burn still lingered on her skin. Her ears rang with the echo of mocking whispers, laughter, and that one voice that had shattered everything.

How desperate are you?

She ripped her arm free from the assistant's grip the moment they were backstage.

"I didn't ask for this," she whispered, her voice shaking with fury. "I didn't ask for him to-"

"Do you know who that man is?" the assistant cut her off, eyes wide. "You should be grateful. He just saved you."

"Saved me?" Nora let out a bitter laugh. "No. He ruined me. That was my only chance. My father-" Her voice broke, her throat tight.

The assistant looked away, uncomfortable. "Doesn't matter. Once he speaks, no one argues. Not here. Not anywhere."

Nora didn't reply. She was too angry, too humiliated. Without another word, she stormed toward the exit, the sound of her heels sharp against the polished floor.

The cool night air hit her face the moment she pushed open the doors. She breathed deeply, hoping it would steady her racing heart, but nothing could wash away the sting of what had just happened.

She had swallowed her pride, stepped into that hell for her father's sake-and in less than five minutes, a stranger had branded her as desperate and pathetic in front of them all.

Hot tears pricked her eyes, but she blinked them away. She wouldn't cry. Not here. Not because of him.

She hurried across the dimly lit parking lot, wrapping her arms around herself as if the night could swallow her whole.

And then-she froze.

The sound of steady footsteps echoed behind her.

Her pulse jumped. She turned, and her breath caught.

It was him.

The man from the auction.

Up close, under the flickering light of the lamp post, he looked even more intimidating. Tall, broad-shouldered, with sharp features that seemed carved from stone. His eyes-those piercing gray eyes-watched her with the same cold intensity as before.

Nora's heart hammered, but she forced herself to stand tall.

"Are you following me?" she snapped, her voice harsher than she intended.

He stopped a few feet away, hands in his pockets, his expression unreadable. "You're welcome."

Her mouth fell open. "Welcome?"

"I saved you from making the worst mistake of your life," he said simply, as if his words were law. "You don't belong in a place like that."

Nora laughed, the sound sharp, almost hysterical. "You don't even know me. You don't know what I need, what I've been through. And yet you think you can walk in, throw money around, and play hero?"

His jaw tightened. For the first time, something flickered in his eyes-annoyance, maybe anger. But his voice stayed calm.

"I don't care about your excuses," he said. "You're not meant to be sold to men like them. If you have any sense left, you'll stay away from places like this."

Nora's chest rose and fell, fury burning through her veins. She wanted to scream at him, to tell him that she hadn't gone there for herself, that every humiliating step she had taken was for her father. But why should she? Why should she bare her pain to a stranger who looked at her with nothing but contempt?

Instead, she lifted her chin, forcing strength into her voice.

"I didn't need your saving," she said coldly. "And I don't need your money either."

She turned, walking fast toward the bus stop at the edge of the street.

But his voice followed her, low and firm, sending a shiver down her spine.

"You'll regret this path, little girl."

She didn't look back. She couldn't. Because if she did, she was afraid she'd see those steel-gray eyes again, stripping her soul bare.

All she knew was that she hated him.

And she prayed she would never see him again.