Chapter 1
The metallic tang of rust mixed with the damp musty smell assaulted Aila’s nostrils. She abruptly opened her eyes， finding everything blurry and strange at first. After a few seconds， it gradually came into focus. Her back throbbed painfully from an old mattress laid across the floor; the springs had long lost their elasticity and jutted up uncomfortably against her spine. Around her， a dilapidated room revealed peeling walls that exposed dark stone beneath， cobwebs at the corners， and flickering yellow light filtering through tiny windows， casting a gloomy filter over the entire space.
This wasn’t her rented apartment.
Aila struggled to sit up but found herself weak and feeble， as if all her strength had been drained. Every movement sent a wave of muscle pain through her body. She remembered staying late in Manhattan’s Lower East Side office， working on endless reports until the early hours. Walking out of the building， she was struck by a potted plant that had fallen from a great height and hit her forehead. Waking up here， in this eerie place， was disorienting.
“Knock， knock， knock...“
A dull， persistent sound came from another side of the room， breaking Aila’s reverie. It sounded like something heavy being struck by an blunt object， with a rhythm that was unsettling and particularly clear in the quietness of the room.
Following the noise， she saw the corner of the room divided by a short wall， forming what looked like a makeshift kitchen. There stood a man facing away from her， tall and muscular， clad in a black hooded sweatshirt with his hat off， revealing messy dark hair. He held a gleaming cleaver， his head bowed as he chopped something methodically.
The blade of the cleaver fell， then rose again， blood and bits of meat clinging to its edge， dripping slowly onto the white cutting board， creating a dark stain. The meat was some kind of flesh， but it had been minced so finely that its original shape couldn’t be discerned.
A chill ran down Aila’s spine， making her hair stand on end. She instinctively held her breath， not daring to make a sound for fear of alerting the man.
Perhaps his eyes were too piercing， or maybe the silence was too oppressive， but the man suddenly paused. He slowly turned around， his gaze locking onto Aila with an icy scrutiny， as if she were nothing more than an inanimate object.
Aila’s heart raced， nearly leaping out of her chest.
This face was a powerful image. The sharp and distinct features， high nose， thin lips tightly pressed together， and the firm jawline. But what stuck out most were his eyes—deep and cold like a frozen lake， set in deep sockets with prominent cheekbones， filled with an unsettling and dangerous aura. He seemed like a predator lurking in the shadows， ready to pounce at any moment.
His skin was unnaturally pale， contrasting starkly with his black clothes， adding a morbid beauty to him.
“You’re awake?“ he raised an eyebrow， his voice low and soothing yet laced with a dismissive indifference.“Who am I that you care?“
Aila forced herself to compose herself despite the dryness in her throat. She cleared her voice， trying to sound steady:“Who are you? Where are we? What do you want?“
The man did not answer but slowly approached her. His steps were slow， each one like a heartbeat on her nerves， tightening her already taut strings. He stopped a few feet away from Aila， looking down at her with an overbearing gaze， his eyes flickering with barely concealed excitement.
“Miss Aila，“ he said， pronouncing her name precisely，“are you interested in playing a game?“
Aila was stunned. How did he know her name? And games? In this bizarre situation， he actually wanted to play a game?
“I don’t know you and I don’t want to play any games.“ She glared at him warily.“Let me go!“
The man scoffed， as if finding something amusing.“Go?“ He shook his head with an unshakable firmness in his tone，“You have no right to refuse. Either play or die.“
Six simple words carried the chilling weight of truth， leaving Aila in no doubt about their authenticity. The dangerous aura emanating from this man， and his cool demeanor while chopping meat， confirmed that he was capable of murder.
Aila’s mind raced. She had to figure out what was going on. She remembered being hit by a pot; she should be at the hospital， not here in this unfamiliar place. And who was this man? Why did he kidnap her?
Wait， Aila. That name…
A strange memory surged into her mind， forcibly inserted into her consciousness. Her head throbbed as images and fragments of information clashed within.
It was a novel she had read recently—a story about class， violence， and twisted love. The setting was in America， where the rich lived lavishly in the Upper East Side mansions while the poor struggled in Brooklyn’s slums， living hand-to-mouth.
The male protagonist， named Kesh， was notorious as an underworld assassin. He lacked emotions or conscience; his sole pleasure was to kidnap young girls from the lower class at the behest of the wealthy， imprisoning them and watching their fear and despair consume them until he discarded or killed them mercilessly.
The female character in this novel， also named Aila， came from a Brooklyn slum. She was timid， broken after Kesh’s torture， her sanity lost. She was cast back into the slums， ending up dead in a gang fight on the streets.
Aila… that female character?
She had been transported? Into this half-read novel and become its tragic cannon fodder?
The realization left Aila cold as ice， sinking deep within her soul.
Why such bad luck? Just a regular gal trying to make ends meet by working overtime to pay rent and bills—then bam， she’s thrust into the past， still stuck in the lower class， facing the torment of a psychopathic killer until her last breath.
Kash watched Aila’s expression shift from alert to shock， then disbelief， finally settling on a deadpan stare. His eyes twinkled with amusement. Girls he had brought here before either screamed and cried or collapsed; Aila’s reaction was unprecedented for him.
“Seems like you’ve given it some thought?“ Kash’s voice cut through her reverie.“Rules are simple: stay with me in this place for thirty days. If I’m satisfied by the end， you get to go free. Otherwise...“
He didn’t continue， but his cold eyes and twisted smile said enough.
Aila’s heart sank. Thirty days—seemed like a deadline， an opportunity， yet she remembered from her novels that Kash had never kept his promises. None of the kidnapped girls ever left alive;‘satisfaction’ was just a ruse to toy with prey.
But there was no choice. Refusal meant instant death， while agreeing at least bought her thirty days—time to find an escape or change her fate.
Aila took a deep breath and met Kash’s gaze. Her eyes held the resolve of breaking all ties:“I agree. But what exactly do you consider satisfactory?“
Kash raised an eyebrow in surprise. He hadn’t expected such a straightforward answer. He thought he’d need more persuasion， perhaps even coercion. This girl was different.
“Satisfied?“ Kash snorted， his tone casual.“Easy enough. Don’t act like a whiny fool， don’t try to escape， and just follow orders. Of course， if you can entertain me， that would be better.“
His gaze swept over her with unmasked scrutiny， making Aila feel uncomfortable. In Kash’s eyes， she was merely a toy for his amusement—a disposable prey.
“I understand，“ Aila lowered her eyes， concealing the emotions within.“I won’t try to escape and I won’t cause you trouble.“
Kash nodded approvingly before returning to the kitchen. He picked up a knife， resuming his earlier work; the rhythmic chopping of meat resumed with an added sense of joy.
Aila sat on the mattress， her body still aching but mind sharp. She began to carefully observe her surroundings， searching for any useful clues.
The room was small: a rudimentary kitchen and a single living area. The living room featured an old sofa and a wooden table covered in dust. Nearby walls held scattered debris， adding to the clutter. Windows and doors were old， with iron bars on the windows and a rusted but securely shut front door.
Aila’s eyes landed on the window. Through it， she saw an abandoned neighborhood—rows of dilapidated buildings， silent and dark. A few crows circled atop the roofs， their harsh cries echoing in the stillness.
This quiet was eerie; no bustling streets or crowds， not even a whisper of wind. It felt like a lonely prison cut off from the world.
Recalling her novel， this area was part of an old industrial district in Brooklyn. Abandoned due to pollution years ago and later bought by anonymous rich men for renovation， but it had become a hideout for underworld figures like Kash， where his game took place.
Top-tier billionaires hired Kash through dark web services to kidnap girls， who were then monitored via hidden cameras. They enjoyed the spectacle of struggling in despair from the comfort of luxurious villas. Kash was just their tool—a weapon to fulfill their twisted desires.
The identities of these rich men remained a mystery; Kash knew nothing about them except that they paid handsomely and demanded precision.
Aila’s anger boiled， fueled by injustice. These elites reduced human lives to games， turning others’ suffering into entertainment. She was just one of many sacrifices in this brutal game.
