01. Golden locks.

Author.

“110281, you are next…”

The announcement went by, and she walked through the dark room, counting her steps. Her breathing was heavy, but her posture stayed composed — like someone trained in modeling. Even in nervousness. Even in fear.

Yeah, that’s what a life in a grooming home looks like. She could feel eyes crawling over her body. She wore a whitish-blue gown, something that could hardly be called clothing.

It happens every year. It’s called the Diamond Auction.

That’s how life works around in Plus Organization — you trade, you have a master who controls your life, and they get the money out of you. No questions asked.

It has many layers. The first, and the easiest layer, is the Love Hotels — where they collect targeted people to work under leaders and get their work done.

Then comes this — the Auction. Here, anyone can be bought. But first, you must prove your loyalty and dignity, to show you’re capable of serving the Organization.

Her breathing grew faster when a sharp light fell on her. Her eyes blurred under the brightness, but she couldn’t cover them.

She was left free only in one way — to watch others caged behind glass windows. She swallowed hard, forcing down her fear as the loudspeaker echoed above.

“Turn around to show our guests. Show your ability.” Translation: show your body. Get used to it.

Oh no, don’t pity her. Not for the state she’s in. She was born for this — doing what her life demands.

There is no God existing in this world. This is the reality — the richness of it. They worship obedience, crave control, cherish dominance, and live through enslavement.

WELCOME TO PLUS ORGANIZATION.

The girl was able to see the faces — each one hidden behind unique masks she had never seen before. Somewhere among them, she knew, was the one who might become her buyer.

Diamonds are precious. So every buyer must go through certain levels if they’re new — or else bid the highest to claim their diamond. And the diamonds must preserve their virginity to prove they are diamonds, then go through whatever tasks the higher members choose.

Today’s task was simple — to stand in the dark room, waiting for her master to arrive. Like solving a maze.

110281 walked toward the ground where black soil covered her feet. In front of her stood the maze.

Her hands trembled slightly. She didn’t know what awaited her, but she wasn’t a fragile piece to break — because she didn’t even know what breaking meant. That’s what the grooming homes were for — to erase human emotions until nothing remained but obedience.

The mechanical speaker crackled.

“Attention! This is the Maze of Wonders, where participants must search for their slave. The hint for the slave to recognize her master is—golden locks.”

The speaker buzzed, a low tune following, and everything around her seemed to slow. She moved carefully, counting her steps.

Everything about her was visible — her body, her fear, her presence. But nothing was visible to her. It was a dark night, the only light coming from the dim lamps scattered around the ground, their glow barely touching the maze walls.

She stepped into the maze — the walls made of hard brick, tall and cold. She could hear everything, but she couldn’t say anything. It was the rule — slaves were not allowed to make a sound until they found their master. Silence was survival. Noise meant punishment.

She turned right cautiously and froze. A snake was slithering along the ground. She covered her mouth quickly, holding back a scream.

Laughter echoed through the hall. The watchers were enjoying the show.

She moved again, her footsteps light, her breath uneven. After a few turns, her heart was beating too loudly in her chest — loud enough that whoever was near might hear it.

Her hand brushed against the brick wall. Suddenly, the wall shifted — bricks grinding and sliding, opening like a secret door. She gasped softly at the pattern forming before her.

Then— A low chuckle sounded behind her.

She spun around instantly. A man stood there, his face hidden behind a mask, a sword gleaming in his hand.

“You are filthy beautiful,” he said, his tone filled with amusement. “I will enjoy tormenting you.”

He took slow steps toward her, laughing— But before he could reach her, someone moved faster.

In one swift motion, the man’s hand was cut clean off.

She clapped a hand over her mouth, swallowing her scream as he howled in pain. His arm lay on the ground beside him, blood spreading across the soil.

She quickly slipped through the open door, breathing heavily. Blood from the fallen man had splattered onto her dress, staining the pale fabric. There was no time to look — another door creaked open on the left.

She kept walking. A small, fluffy rabbit appeared in her path, motionless, staring. She barely glanced at it and moved past without a second thought.

After countless turns, she finally reached the center — bruised, shaken, and tired. Two masked men stood there waiting. One’s eyes roamed over her body, wicked and hungry. The other smirked, watching her reactions closely.

She stepped back, two slow steps, her lips pressed shut. Not a sound escaped her — only silence, perfect obedience.

The smirking one turned toward the wicked man beside him. “I don’t like competition,” he said, his tone sharp and amused.

His fist shot forward, slamming into the man’s gut. Before the other could react, his head was smashed against the wall with brutal force.

Blood spattered the bricks. Her eyes widened — not in shock, but in quiet realization. She didn’t stare at the body for long. Her gaze lifted back to the one who remained.

He noticed. “You’re smart,” he said, voice dark and steady. “You don’t waste your time looking at what’s already dead.” He took slow steps toward her, each one echoing. “Come. I’ll show you what you truly deserve…”

She shook her head, backing away as his hand reached out to grab her gown—

A flash of silver cut through the air. A knife.

It pierced straight through his head. He collapsed instantly, lifeless, the sound of impact echoing through the maze.

Silence filled the space, heavy and cold. She raised her trembling hands, parting her fingers to see who had thrown it.

A man stood behind her — nearly twice her size. He wore a white mask streaked with bright stripes, the light catching it so sharply that his eyes seemed to glow through it. Baby-blue eyes. And beneath the mask, she caught a glimpse of blonde hair — soft, almost radiant against the darkness. Smoke curled from his lips, lazy and calm, as if he were on vacation, not inside a trial of blood and fear.

110281 stared at him, her breath shallow. Tears welled in her eyes but refused to fall.

He raised a finger, motioning toward her. “Come here.” His voice carried a sinful smoothness — rough, peppered with dominance, yet hauntingly beautiful.

She obeyed. Each step forward felt heavier than the last until she stood before him. He was lean but tall, his shadow swallowing hers. His gaze stayed fixed on her, studying every tremor in her body.

“You don’t speak unless touched?” he asked, his tone low, testing. She nodded — small, careful, eyes cast down.

He pulled out another blade — still wet with blood — and without hesitation, wiped it across her gown. Her breathing quickened, the air catching in her throat. Fear painted her face, though she tried to keep still.

Her fists clenched when the blade rose again, tracing her skin. The tip brushed dangerously close — along her cheek, her lips, the bridge of her nose, down her jawline, her chin. Then, without warning, a sharp sting.

She flinched. Her eyes shot open to see a thin line of red blooming on her forearm.

He tilted his head, voice echoing through the maze. “Does this count?”

She nodded quickly, still refusing to meet his gaze.

“Speak.” The command dropped like a weight.

She froze — uncertain, silent.

His tone darkened. “You have a voice,” he said, stepping closer, the scent of smoke and steel between them. “Use it. Or do you plan to disobey your first command?”

The command made her jolt. Without thinking, she dropped to her knees and looked up at him.

“I will obey every command. I am your slave from now on…” Her voice came out soft — fragile, trembling, yet steady enough to please him.

He hummed in satisfaction, a low sound that rumbled through the silence. But he didn’t tell her to stand.

Minutes passed. Her knees ached, her body tensed, and her eyes lifted toward him — quietly begging for permission that never came.

“I don’t like overstepping,” he finally said, his tone calm but cold. “You knelt when I didn’t command it. Your first punishment…” He paused, smoke slipping from his lips. “…you will not dress that wound, and you will not wear another cloth.”

He stepped away, his boots echoing against the stone floor. She looked up at him, her breathing shallow.

“Wait for me,” he said, his voice fading into the dark.

“I’ll come again.”

He drew another breath from his cigarette and disappeared around the corner — vanishing like a storm swallowed by the maze.

“In the grooming house I desperately wanted my master not because I wanted privileges but because it was horrible living there but this!.... I don't think which is scarier, the house or the master..”

Author’s Note

Hi, reader 💋

This is my third story — thank you so much for giving it a chance.

Do support and react to the chapter; I’m waiting to hear your thoughts in the comments. Your feedback means a lot.

The chapters may come with some delay, but I promise they’ll be worth the wait.

With love,

– Ink of Obsession 🖤