He is looking at me with a gun in his hands, but he is not shooting me.

I want to ask him why. His eyes show how much he hates me.

"How dare you step up in front of the boss!" the man from earlier said, and two men grabbed both my arms, twisting them behind me. They pushed me toward the ground.

I try hard to get out of their grip, but my struggle is in vain because they are stronger than me.

I look at him, then back at the boss. I know I am in deep shit, but I cannot blame myself right now. Only if I had my assistant with me — but I haven't opened it since the last time I ran away from them.

"What is your name, slut?" Suddenly a voice snaps and slaps me hard, bringing me back.

I look in front of me: the owner of the voice is staring at me. Still, the gun is pointed at me.

Slut, huh? I want to shout at him, but I cannot right now.

Instead of shouting, I reply pretty calmly while counting my words.

"Don't judge when you have a bad taste in judging."

Everyone around me gasps. They probably think I am brave but stupid. If only they knew how much I am dying inside.

"You slut..." one of the men started to say, but he was cut off by him.

He stood up from his seat and started coming toward me, leaving only inches between us. He pointed his loaded gun at my chin, slightly touching it and making my chin tilt up a bit.

His men left me and took a few steps back.

When my eyes meet his again, he tightens his hold on the gun, trying to read my reaction. I rest one hand on his neck and the other goes for his gun.

His men suddenly pull out their guns and point them at me.

If only my brain would work properly.

I clutch his neck a bit and whisper, "I will not die alone if I have to be killed." It is barely a whisper, but I know he hears me because the next thing I feel is a backhand that sends me two feet away.

My eyes well up with unshed tears, but I am quick to clear them.

The man from earlier comes toward me and clutches my arm hard. A bullet shot rings out — it hits my lower abdomen and I fall to my knees again.

I will be unconscious soon, and maybe I will never wake up again.

I try to stand, but my legs wobble and I fall.

His ironic laugh reaches me after a second, and my fist is balled.

This situation is the same as the previous one. I won't let another mafia do what he did to me before.

I look up at him with bloodshot eyes and throw myself at him hard, sending him into the corner. He blacks out, but so do I — except I never hit the ground.

I wonder why the impact of the hard floor never came. I wonder why I am here. I wonder if I will wake up again or if I can meet my future prince I have dreamed of since childhood — a person I never met.

I keep my eyes down, not looking at anyone, ashamed that my God may have made someone for me and that I will meet him one day. Now I think I should have worked harder for my upcoming life after death because maybe — just maybe — I won't be waking up anytime soon.

With these final thoughts, some tears escape and I feel my body go totally numb, along with my senses. Before I am swallowed by darkness, I notice warmth spreading across both my cheeks.

Later I realize someone is wiping my tears away.

I woke up with not only a broken body but with a broken soul.

It's like all life left my body — left me.

Every part of my body hurts, especially my lower abdomen and my left hand.

It is like someone has been beating me.

I woke up three days ago and since then I have been captive in this room.

I am damn hungry, but how can I go anywhere? They haven't offered me anything to eat yet and it's almost three days — but then again, why would they?

I only hope that my friends will find me. They are my last hope.

"Please hurry up, Julie. Please find me, Laura— I am dying," I whisper and let the darkness take me once again.

It's been a week now, and yesterday a maid came just to inform me that I have to start my duty as a maid from tomorrow — which is today — and she gave me some food yesterday as well.

She left a uniform for me to wear, but I will not wear it.

I am a Muslim. I only wear full clothes, and wearing revealing clothes that show my figure is against my comfort.

That aside how dare you decide what i am? What I will wear? What I will do? As if I am your hired servant!

Making my way downstairs to the kitchen, I look at them like a lost puppy, waiting for them to say something to me.

Well, I don't know a thing. Of course I can cook, but I don't know what I am supposed to do here. I will act as the most loyal dog till i can get a chance to escape.

Standing there for a minute, a girl comes up and asks if I can help deliver these dishes to the dining room.

If you ask me, the bowl of whatever this is is quite hot and I have to place it somewhere before I drop it.

Like I just said, it drops to the ground when I stumble into a hard wall — or a masculine figure.

When I look up, I find myself looking at him, and to my discomfort he is staring at me quite angrily.

I have ruined his suit, his breakfast, and my innocent day.

Not to mention, I am not wearing the shit he gave me!

"Are you blind?" he says through gritted teeth.

I don't know how to reply because I have never done anything like this before.

I just sit there, not knowing what to do or what to think.

I just want to escape, and believe me, If I try outwardly, I will never succeed.

First they kidnapped me because they were stupid enough to think of me as a slut. "Slut" as according to them... I know as much that those women had killed many of their men that is why they were calling them that but what about me? were they all a part of that group? or were victims mixed in the women they captured? The answer is so clear!

Second, he shot me and then left me in a cold room without any food for days... Though I was'nt killed meaning he has something else in his mind.

Third, they DON'T WANT TO LET ME GO! Of course THEY WANT ME TO BE THEIR SERVANT FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE!

I know I am not a recognized person yet in my Badminton career but still they syrely had run a background...no?

I want to scream at him, but I cannot. I don't know why, but I cannot.

I try to stand up, but he pushes me down again. This Bitch.

I hit the ground with much, much more force than earlier.

"Where is your UNIFORM?" he shouts next.

"I don't wear such revealing clothes. I am not your SLUT," I reply, more likely shouting.

When I look at him, he is holding his gun- again, pointed at me — and his next words scare the living life out of me.

"Strip."