Chapter 4: When Hope Turns to Chains

He said, "Jamie, you can’t change it. Your birth can’t be changed, your gender can’t be changed, and not even the three years we shared a bed can be changed."

He gently brushed my hair back, then yanked it hard, making me yelp. "The mayor’s youngest daughter is of age. At the parade, she tossed me her handkerchief. The next day, her dad invited all the top grads to dinner—he’s picking a son-in-law. At the city exam, I got assigned to the finance department, and the mayor runs it. My promotions, my future, all depend on him. Jamie, I have to get married, have kids, go from nobody’s son to Mr. Lane, the guy who runs this town!"

I looked up at him, feeling the last spark in my eyes go out. The young master who once cried for me was, after all his success, just another grown-up with nothing but ambition.

"I liked you so much—even after that party, I still came home every night to be with you."

"But Jamie, people want more than love. I gotta climb higher, no matter what!"

"And now, I need to wipe away some ugly history."

His hand clamped down on my chin, and he forced bitter medicine into my mouth. The poison burned all the way down, making me gag and choke, tears running down my face.

"After today, Jamie, you don’t ever mention the past again."

"I should’ve killed you to end it, but I just can’t."

"A pair of arms worth a fortune to rest on, lips worth even more to taste—from now on, this is your second half of life."

"Don’t blame me. If you gotta blame someone, blame your lowly status—and the fact that you’re a man!"

I collapsed on the floor, clutching my throat, coughing up blood. He just watched, eyes cold as ice.

"I should’ve broken your fingers too, but even a whore needs some way to make a living… Jamie, that’s the last bit of mercy you’ll get from me."

That night, he personally sold me to Magnolia House. The reason: "A servant tried to seduce me first. I’m a scholar—how could I be so shameless!"

The lady of the house chimed in after he left. She ripped off my clothes to inspect me, her eyes lingering on my bruises with a nasty smirk.

"Acting so innocent, but in private you let him have you."

"With your body ruined, you should go to the first floor as a cheap whore for rough men, but since you still have a face…"

She squeezed my hand hard, feeling the calluses from years at the piano. "With some training, maybe you’ll work."

Naked, throat burning, humiliated and miserable—I felt like a slab of meat on a supermarket tray, waiting for a price sticker. The air was thick with perfume and smoke, laughter and backroom deals swirling all around me.

Life at Magnolia House was never easy. Every day bled into the next, each one tougher than the last. I learned fast—obedience meant survival.

I tried to run away more than once, nearly got my legs broken for it. "Your contract’s with me. Where you think you’ll go?" the madam snapped. "I’ve seen all kinds here. You better get used to it, or you’ll end up dead like plenty before you!"

The others watched coldly, some even smirking. Their eyes slid over me, already bored with my pain. I was nothing new.

I went days without food, dizzy and half-dead. Hunger gnawed at me, but I wouldn’t beg. I curled up on the thin mattress, shivering, just waiting for it all to end.

When the guests left in the morning, Laurel slipped a sandwich through my window. The bread was stale, the cheese tough and rubbery, but it was the best thing anyone had done for me in months.

Seeing me hesitate, she sighed: "I know your life is rough. Everyone here’s got their own pain."

"But you’re still young. As long as you’re breathing, there’s hope." Her voice was gentle, but there was something hard underneath. She’d been here longer than anyone.

I looked up at her, stiff, and she nodded at me, encouraging. Her eyes said what her mouth couldn’t—don’t quit, not yet.

Yeah, dying doesn’t fix anything. Even if living hurts worse, as long as I’m alive, there’s still a shot to clear my dad’s name.

I took the sandwich. I gave in. Maybe that was the first step to surviving.

I learned to play piano, learned how to flirt and please patrons. I watched the others, copied their smiles, their laughter, the way they made it look easy. I became what I had to.

There were too many big shots at Magnolia House—politicians, rich kids, city councilmen. The halls buzzed with power and money, like whiskey at a wild party. Nothing stayed secret for long.

So, at the bi-monthly entertainer contest, I finally broke the lady’s rules. I ditched the sheer costume, dressed up like Ethan Lane, put on a white suit with an embroidered tie, and wore the ivory cufflinks Laurel found for me. My hands shook as I buttoned the jacket, but I made myself stand tall. I wouldn’t let them see me scared.

In the middle of all that decadence, I walked in—a cool, sharp-dressed young man, fingers flying over the piano keys. I played a ballad of heartbreak, and the whole room went silent, eyes glued to me.

……

Upstairs, in a private room, Ethan Lane clutched his whiskey glass and shot to his feet, eyes wide. He hadn’t expected to see me here—not like this.

A colleague next to him laughed. "Lane’s always so uptight—probably his first time in a place like this. Nervous, huh?"

"But that performance, though—he’s a looker too. I wonder who’ll drop the cash to win him tonight."

Ethan frowned, muttering, "A night of spring?" The words tasted bitter coming out.

"It’s the rule—new entertainers gotta show up at the contest. Whoever gets the most tips is tonight’s star."

"That’s why they call it the ‘deflowering night.’ Who wins depends on real money." The guy grinned, but then saw Ethan’s face and looked away, thinking he was just embarrassed.

"Lane, if you like him, why not play along? If you don’t win, you get your money back."

Someone else piped up, laughing: "Lane just married the mayor’s daughter. Not easy for him to be here tonight."

The other man apologized, but Ethan just stared at me down in the main hall. He knew—once you go in, you never come out of Magnolia House clean.

But seeing other men eyeing me, jealousy flared up inside him. They’d grown up together. Jamie had loved him, even begged him once. But to get ahead, Ethan had to let him go.

In the half year apart, Ethan always felt like Jamie was still close. But for power, he pretended to love Hannah Whitman. Now, with the city council on his side, his thoughts changed. He wanted power and Jamie. Both.

In front of his stunned colleagues, Ethan called the house manager. "I want to buy him for tonight."

"No, not just tonight—from now on, he’s mine alone!" The words came out wild, desperate—a last-ditch grab at something already lost.