Holland. Some lavish private estate.
Ingrid stood in front of a full-length mirror, studying the body that was slowly betraying her.
Even with the most expensive creams money could buy, the crow's-feet at the corners of her eyes and the slight sag under her jaw told the truth—she was pushing forty.
"Looks like it's time for another bath," she murmured.
She had always believed that bathing in the blood of young women was the only real way to stay forever young.
As long as she kept this skin perfect, her fat, useless husband wouldn't start looking elsewhere.
Even if that husband was just a bloated pig who couldn't even get it up anymore, she still had to doll herself up and keep him happy—for the status, for the money, for everything.
Right on cue, the encrypted phone she used only for the dark web buzzed with the latest "merchandise list" from Eden Hot Springs.
She opened it. A fresh batch of college girls who'd just checked in.
Not bad. Two of them—pretty faces, killer bodies—were already climbing toward seven figures.
The buck-toothed shy one had almost no bids.
Ingrid didn't care. She was about to drop the minimum on the plain one when her eyes drifted to the very bottom of the page.
Two more listings.
She scrolled.
Another young, collagen-rich girl. Tight skin, perfect glow. Ingrid felt a stab of pure jealousy.
Then she saw the last entry.
Her breath caught.
The young man in the photo had that perfect mixed-Asian bone structure—sharp, exotic, almost unreal. A single silver streak fell across his forehead, paired with that cold, indifferent stare that hit every single one of her long-buried fantasies.
This kind of prime stock showed up on the dark-web auctions once every seven or eight years—if you were lucky.
Suddenly all thoughts of "maintaining her marriage" and "keeping up appearances" vanished.
Compared to the disgusting sack of lard waiting for her at home, the hunger she'd buried for years roared back to life.
"If something this young and powerful could completely take me…"
Her breathing grew heavy. Her thighs pressed together.
She checked the current bid. Eight, nine hundred thousand… and climbing fast.
"Those filthy old bitches!"
Face twisted, she started slamming in higher numbers.
For women like her, money stopped mattering the second real satisfaction was on the table.
After a brutal bidding war she finally won—at a staggering thirty-five million dollars.
If the club's rules hadn't strictly limited purchases, she would've bought the girl named Patty too.
Then she could have the two of them right in front of her, performing the most depraved ritual imaginable.
Just picturing it made her legs tremble and her body go weak.
…
Night had fallen over the town.
The annual Harvest Festival was in full swing in the central square. Bonfires painted half the sky red.
Wild music, stomping dancers, tourists laughing and cheering—pure chaos and joy.
Knock-knock.
Soren's door rattled.
Outside stood Whitney.
Fresh from the shower, wet hair clinging to her bare shoulders, droplets sliding down her skin.
Tight tank top on top. Denim shorts so short they were basically underwear.
"Hey, Soren. Wanna hit the festival outside? After that we can do the mixed-gender hot springs together…"
She leaned against the doorframe, chest pushed forward.
"Thanks for the invite." Soren's eyes flicked over her body once, then away. "But I'm wiped from the last couple days. Rain check?"
He'd noticed the steady stream of luxury vans rolling into town earlier.
The rich freaks who'd bought these girls were already here.
The woman in front of him—brain full of nothing but thrills—was probably never going to see sunrise.
Soren had zero interest in warning her. They weren't even friends. She was just looking for a one-night story.
And even if he told her the truth, she'd laugh it off and call him crazy.
Better to drop the hero complex and let people meet their own fate.
His real focus was on Beth—the quiet rich girl traveling with them.
If he saved her at the right moment and asked for a "protection fee," she'd probably pay gladly.
That was also why he still hadn't torn this town apart.
He needed these perverts to drive the price up first.
"Fine. You're no fun at all," Whitney pouted, but she didn't push.
Plenty of men out there tonight would happily climb into her bed.
She closed the door.
The second she was gone, Soren turned around and met Patty's very judgmental stare.
"Mixed hot springs, huh? Why aren't you going?"
Patty sat on the edge of the bed, voice dripping sarcasm. "If you wanna go, just go. There's a whole square full of women lining up to pick you."
Soren ignored the obvious jealousy and stepped onto the balcony, looking out at the bonfire-lit festival.
Seeing him not bite, Patty got even madder. "Before we left you promised me this trip would be exciting and dangerous, remember?"
"So far I've just been stuck in this stupid room eating hotel garbage."
"Meanwhile you disappear for hours, sometimes all night. Listen—if you're out there messing around with random women, you're dead to me."
Soren turned back, saw her angry little face, and grinned. "I was worried some of the stuff I saw would be too much for you."
"Hmph!"
Patty looked like she'd just heard the funniest joke in the world. "Don't treat me like a kid! I've seen more demons than you've eaten pizzas!"
"You said it."
Soren nodded. He grabbed his coat and shrugged it on. "Put on shoes you can run in."
At the door he glanced back at her. "Since the young lady is so brave, I'll show you the real fairy-tale darkness hiding in this town."
A few minutes later the two of them crossed the hotel lobby and stepped outside.
In the corner, the front-desk guy who'd been whispering to one of the escorts saw them leave. He immediately spoke into the tiny mic hidden in his collar.
"Attention—goods have left the building. Tell the cleaners to get ready."
"And listen up: if those goods get so much as a scratch, every single one of us is dog food tomorrow."
Ps: Some scenes I had to dial back on the explicit stuff to stay out of trouble TnT