Anton leans back, amused and intrigued. He agrees, but adds a cruel twist: “Not one night. One month. And she stays here willingly. If she tries to leave, the debt returns—with interest.” That evening, Marco pours Elena a glass of wine. He tells her they’ve lost everything—the house, the car, their future. Then he drops the truth: “But I fixed it. You just have to stay with Anton for a while. As a… guest.”

Anton is not a brute. He’s worse: patient. He doesn’t demand sex. He demands presence . She must dine with him. Sit beside him at his poker games. Laugh at his jokes. Wear the dresses he chooses.

Elena’s face crumbles. Horror. Then rage. She slaps him. He doesn’t flinch. “You’re giving me away? Like a watch?” “You’re saving us,” Marco whispers, already walking out the door. Elena is driven to Anton’s estate. It’s beautiful—marble floors, a private chef, designer clothes laid out in her size. But the doors lock from the outside. Guards watch every exit.

The first week, she resists. The second week, isolation and exhaustion wear her down. By the third week, she starts to see a strange difference: Anton notices small things—her favorite tea, the fact she hates roses but loves peonies. Marco never knew those things. One night, Anton asks her: “Do you know why he gave you up?” “Because he’s a coward.” “No,” Anton says. “Because he never valued you. I would have burned the debt and killed him just to have you sit across from me once.”