Indebted: A Debt-p*****t Romance (English Version)

Chapter 1: Owned

The ride is too quiet... and eerie. I can't help but question my ability to judge someone at the first meeting. If he is as dangerous as those men chasing me, then regretting my decision now is pointless. Perhaps my uneasiness is just the lingering effects of what happened earlier, causing me to judge this good Samaritan unfairly. Despite that, I strangely feel safe inside his car, almost like a refugee finding solace. But the growing silence only intensifies my discomfort, and the more I steal glances at him, the more familiar he appears. A shiver runs down my spine whenever I think he's about to catch me looking.

I find myself staring longer than I intended. His prominent jaw clenches tightly, mirroring his grip on the steering wheel. His thick brows furrowed, accentuating his pitch-black eyes. I wonder how he can see through the poorly lit road.

His lips are kind of heart-shaped, but now they form a straight, grim line. His face lacks any emotion, which strikes me as strange. I can't confirm whether it's his serious expression or if he's lost in thought. I need to catch a few more glances to determine if he's a good person. But even if he turns out to be the wrong person, he did help me before. There's no question about it; he must have seen the despair and fear on my face.

"You've been staring for too long, miss," his lips move, his gaze fixed on the road. Yet, I feel he can see right through me without even looking.

It takes me a full minute to register the words. I choke after swallowing. He caught me. Not knowing if it is embarrassment or fear creeping in, I accidentally cough and look away. “S-Sorry.”

Another silence follows it. I hesitantly take another peek. It lasts for seconds before I speak again. “Thank you for helping me.”

His grip on the wheel tightens. His throat bobs as he swallows hard. I frown, wondering what is wrong with what I said.

“I mean, t-thank you,” I repeat in case he hears it wrong. “Thank you,” I said much louder.

He turns his head towards me, and the car stops. His eyes fixate on me, causing me to stiffen in my seat. It feels as if he's giving me a revengeful gaze. I shudder, feeling increasingly agitated the longer his eyes remain locked with mine. My fingers tighten around the seatbelt, pressing against my chest.

What's wrong with him?

What's wrong with him?

Unable to look away, I try to decipher even a glimpse of his thoughts or intentions, but my attempts are in vain. He's not the type of person one can easily read. The tension in the air makes me gulp down my fear, to no avail. The atmosphere is cold, rigid, and even a little deadly.

Earlier, I felt safe in his presence. But in the blink of an eye, everything changes, leaving me shuddering with unease.

“I… I just wanted to thank you for―”

The sound of a horn resonates, making me jump in my seat. I gaze at his hand, pressing against the steering wheel.

He throws me one last blank look before pressing a button on the dashboard. Deliberately, tall black gates open before us. A cold feeling settles in my stomach as he drives straight toward the property.

“Is this your h-house?”

No reply. Ahead of us lies a long driveway with streetlights lining the sides. At the far end, I catch a glimpse of a massive house, brightly lit, to showcase its glamour at this hour. But my pounding heart prevents me from appreciating the view. Instead, it fills me with panic, imagining the kind of people who reside in such an extravagant property.

“Thank… Thank you for helping me, but can you… can you please drop me off at the nearest bus station?” I stutter. I realize I don't have any money in my pocket, but the urge to escape this place is overwhelming. Adrenaline courses through my veins once again.

He remains motionless, dismissing my existence within his car, pretending not to hear me or simply not caring anymore.

The car stops under the porch of a circular driveway right in front of the mansion. Parked vehicles line up on the side, adding to the unease. Strangely enough, those cars also seem familiar. This time, my heart jumps in my throat.

“Get out," he orders gruffly.

Terrified and bewildered, I look around and at the still house. “Where are we?”

Once again, he offers no response. Without sparing me a glance, he steps out of the car, circles to my side, and opens the door. I gasp as he unbuckles my seatbelt without warning. My breath catches in my throat as he grips my arm and forcefully pushes me out of the car. The silent guy from earlier is gone; his actions speak volumes. He is dangerous.

The contrast between his rough hand and my smooth, pale skin is evident even in the dim light. I can see the red marks he leaves on my arm. He strides forward, never slowing down, as he drags me along. He ignores the fact that I can only use one foot.

I can't scream or struggle; pain throbs throughout my body. My head feels like it's about to explode from confusion. We stop at the house's threshold, but I'm too preoccupied to notice the steps. Pain shoots through my leg as I miss a step and lose my balance. I stupidly expect the man to help, but he lets go when he realizes my mistake, causing me to fall on my knees on the stairs.

Furious, I glare at him, but that's all I can do. I can't even maintain a straight face because of the unbearable pain. He doesn't flinch; there isn't a trace of sympathy on his vacant face. I bet he wouldn't spare me a glance even if my face hit the ground due to the fall. He continues up the steps until he's standing in front of the doors.

He retrieves a set of keys from his pocket and successfully opens the door. Glancing back at me over his shoulder, he says, "Get up."

I can't move a muscle because of the pain, and my eyes remain fixated on the vast foyer connected to the living room. Profanities run through my mind as I realize the truth. It has been a while since I last saw them, and I cannot easily forget encountering them here. To confirm my suspicions, I glance at the parked cars once more.

This is impossible!

The man walks back towards me, and without a word, he yanks my arm and forces me to stand. Our bodies almost touch because I can't stand on my own. His strength is the only thing keeping me up. I struggle, but it's futile. As we enter the house, he forcefully tosses me to the floor.

“Thanks for bringing her here, son. I had to make sure her room was ready…”

I glare at the old man before me. He casually slid his hands into his pocket and smirked down at me.

“...I sometimes forget how our boys tend to lose their heads—boys around girls, I mean. I cannot be more proud you're not one of us, son.”

I follow his line of vision as he glances at the men standing in the far corner. Everyone is there except for the two I had... a little encounter with. I don't mean to hurt anyone.

“They're not here,” the old man answers my thoughts. He grasps a fistful of my hair and forces me to stand.

Instinctively, I hold onto his hand to lessen the pressure, but I wince because he doesn't let go. Instead, his grip tightens.

“They are in the hospital taking the bullets off them.” His voice is steady. His face is hard. He tries to be composed for a second before he loses it. He backhanded me and went limping down the floor. “You stvpid cvnt!”

My palm touches my burning cheek, and I taste the metallic tang of blood in my mouth. Despite feeling numb, I can still sense the pain caused by my cousin's betrayal and the manipulation of these people. I gaze at the man I thought had rescued me from danger, scowling at him, wishing I could convey the depth of my anger.

I still don't understand why Dion would deliver me into the hands of these people. Is his hatred for me that strong? While I can comprehend his hatred, I fail to grasp why he would resort to such an evil act, risking my life.

But the man doesn't look at me. I wish I could dig holes in his body to let him know of my anger, at the very least. His eyes are void of emotions. He doesn't flinch at the way violence of his father. Doesn't blink an eye.

I want to burst out crying so badly, but I don’t want to give them that satisfaction. These two… That explains why he looks familiar. He almost looks the same as his father. The only difference is his eyes. His pairs are much darker than his father's.

A hand again grasps my hair and forces me to see the eyes of the devil: Mr. Montevalles. I curl my fists on the wooden floor and grit my teeth hard. My whole body is in pain, and it is almost insufferable.

“I paid for you! I owned you! You are fvcking mine. Do you get that?” Bits of his saliva come out with every harsh word. His face turns red in anger. It blinds him. And I know he will not see even if I beg for mercy.

My lips are shut as my tears blind me. I still don’t understand why Dion would deliver me to these people. Is that how much he hates me? I will understand where his hatred against me is coming from, but I have no understanding to discern his reason for resorting to this evil act and risking my life. At all.

“Where’re you, son?” Mr. Montevalles takes his attention off me when his son silently walks towards the grand staircase. He let go of my hair. It is impossible not to notice how his demeanor changes at the silent retreat of his son. His voice unbelievably shifts from sharp to thoughtful.

“I’m tired,” his son replied without turning around.

Intrigued by this father-son relationship, I watch as the young man leisurely climbs the stairs. I believed I was safe. I believed he had helped me. But it was all a lie. I regret getting into his car. I regret stepping onto that road and seeking his help. I shouldn't have begged him. It's ironic how I ran from devils only to seek refuge with another devil, leading me straight into their lair. It would have been better if I had continued running without relying on anyone. I should have known better.

“Liking what you see?”

Mr. Montevalles’s smirking face blocks my view of their grand staircase. He's likely referring to his son, who is now out of sight. My brows furrow, disagreeing with his words.

“Don't do anything stvpid without my instructions. Understand?” There was a menacing threat in his voice.

I don’t understand every mystery unfolding until it is right before me.

“Sebastian!” he calls one of his men without getting demanding answers from me. “Call Ate Ime and tell her to assist this woman in her room.”

With that, he concludes his day. It becomes evident that Dion has decided to sacrifice my future for the sake of these individuals, likely growing weary of encountering me daily, a constant reminder of our family's tragic history.