When Love Went to Market

His face twisted in rage, veins throbbing on his forehead.

"I bust my back all day, and I can't even get a nice view of my wife at home?"

To keep from setting off his drunken fury, I swallowed the insult and shakily slipped into the revealing outfit.

Jeffrey's eyes were glued to me.

His stare bore into the red mole on my waist.

"Turn around, pop it out."

He ordered, phone in hand.

I bit back tears and did as I was told.

Snap, snap.

The flash fired off, blinding me.

Once he was done, Jeffrey did not bother looking at me, just hunched over his phone, fingers flying.

"Done. I'm out of smokes. I'm gonna head down to grab a pack," he said, snatching his jacket and heading out.

My heart skipped a beat. "It's too late. Don't go..."

"Stay out of it!" Jeffrey shoved me aside, stormed out, and slammed the door shut without a backward glance.

The sound of the door slamming sent shivers down my spine. I scrambled to lock it, but the lock would not budge!

Peering through the peephole, I saw why: the latch was plastered with layers of clear tape!

Frantically, I picked at the tape, but it was of no use.

Suddenly, my phone on the bed buzzed.

It was an alert from the second-hand marketplace app.

I turned, my body rigid with fear.

The message on the screen burned into my eyes.

[Item dispatched, buyer en route, 500 meters away.]

The hallway light flickered on.

Thud, thud, thud.

Someone was coming, their heavy footsteps inching closer to my door.

The doorknob jiggled again.

I knew who it was this time.

Not Jeffrey, but Adrian Kane, known as 'The Butcher,' the man who had paid a fortune for my company tonight.

The door was not locked; he could burst in at any second.

I did not even think about shedding the humiliating outfit. I grabbed my phone and bolted for the balcony.

My place was on the second floor, and the balcony was a short hop from Caroline's, our landlord. She had always looked out for me, and I saw her as my own older sister.

At that moment, she was my only hope.

I clambered over the grimy railing, tearing my yoga pants on the rust, the sting ignored in my panic.

"Caroline! Caroline, please open up!"

I hammered on her bedroom window, tears and snot mingling on my face.

A sliver of the curtain moved aside.

Caroline's face, a testament to her meticulous self-care, came into view.

Her eyes flickered with a knowing spark as she took in my disheveled state and my shaking form.

The window stood ajar.

"Oh, dear! What's gotten into you?"

She pulled me inside and shut the window behind us.

I collapsed onto the floor, sobbing and clinging to her pant leg.

"Caroline, please help me! Jeffrey's lost it. He sold me! There's a man outside trying to get in!"

Caroline guided me to the couch and handed me a glass of warm water.

"Take a sip, calm down, and tell me everything. Don't work yourself up."

I spilled out the story in a jumbled rush: the online post, Jeffrey's reaction, the sabotaged lock.

Caroline gave my hand a reassuring pat, her smile tinged with indifference.

"Sweetie, you're reading too much into it.

"Guys get boastful when they've had a few too many, looking for a bit of excitement.

"Jeffrey's always been good to you. He even hands over his paycheck to you. He wouldn't really sell his own wife."