Eleanor’s POV

“Move along Eleanor,” my father urges me. “Don’t be shy. Meet the godfather.”

I clench the edge of my clothes and carefully step up. From a peripheral look, I see a man dressed in sharp pants and black shoes, sitting in the leather couch. Yet I don’t dare to look up and see his face.

I can feel his shape gaze lands on me from above.

“N—nice to see you again, godfather. I’m Eleanor,” I try hard to stay calm, but my quivering voice still gave me away.

He doesn’t say anything. A short pause, I hear sound of the match, and then the room is filled with the bitter smell of cigar.

“You’ve grown up,” he says eventually.

My heart skips a beat. He remembers me!

5 years ago I rescued a young man outside of my house. He was drenched in blood and was carrying at least 5 gunshots wounds. I gave him some emergency treatments and called the ambulance to take him away. Father blamed me afterwards, saying that I shouldn’t waste my laundry time on saving a stranger.

Three months later, when we’ve both forgotten about this, a sturdy man showed up at our door, bringing a suitcase full of cash. He said he worked for the Godfather, and this is a little something for me saving his life.

Only then do we know the man I saved was the head of the Las Vegas Cartel.

I never got to see that young man again. And that a million dollar he sent me was taken away by my father to gamble.

I thought that was the end of our connection.

Until today.

He puts his cigar on the ashtray and rests his hand on the knee. I notice there’s a ruby ring on his index finger, probably a symbol for godfather.

He turns to my father and says with a hint of sarcasm in his tone, “Your daughter saved my life. I paid back her favor. River under the bridge. But it doesn’t change the fact that you own me 20 million gambling debt.”

“Yes, yes…” my father wipes the sweat on his forehead. “I was just thinking—maybe you will be interested in taking my daughter in? To cancel out the debt?”

The godfather lets out a cold sneer, “A skinny little chick for 20 million dollars?”

“She will not stay a little girl forever. She’ll grow up and blossom. As you can see, my daughter is very pretty. And maybe one day—” my father lowers his voice mysteriously, “—she can even become a top at your club, earning you a lot more money than 20 million. It’s good investment.”

The godfather chuckles lowly, “Selling your own daughter as a prostitute to me?”

I bury my head down in shame. There’s a clear despise behind his tone. I hate my father so much for this.

Suddenly, a hand holds my chin raising my head up. I glance up, nervously and excitedly, and then meet his gorgeous icy grey eyes.

He is in his late twenties, with a super handsome face that would make any models in the world feel inadequate. Yet he is also very intimidating. Three seconds of eye contact with me, I already feel my back covered in a layer of sweat.

He stares at me. After a long silence, a faint smile appears on his lips, “Fine.”

I let out a horrified gasp, as my father starts to cheer in joy. The godfather beckons a man over and says, “Take him out and get the paper works signed.”

My father rushes out behind the man to cancel his debt. He didn’t even spare me one final glance.

I stand rigidly on the stop. What does this mean? Am I the godfather’s prostitute now? Is he going to have me entertain customers today?

“Eleanor, is it?” he asks.

I murmur a yes.

“My name is Theodore Vans. But you’ll call me godfather as everyone else.”

I nod stiffly.

“Let’s hear you say it,” he orders.

“…G-Godfather.”

He glances down at me with a slight smile and then stands up, heading towards the door. I quickly follow him behind.

He takes me out of the study, go upstairs and stops at a double-push door.

“This is my bedroom,” he says and then turns to another door besides it. “You will be sleeping next to my room.”

I can’t believe he’s giving me such a privilege. I only had an iron bunk back home. But before thanking him, I hear him say, “You will start training tomorrow. Dancing, horseback riding, wine-tasting, etiquette lessons…everything you need to become a fine woman. Don’t disappoint me.”

I swallow back my thanks, as panic and desperation seize my heart.

He didn’t give me these privileges just to be nice.

He’s grooming me to be his whore.

But I’m like a bird trapped in the golden cage. I can lower my head and answer lowly, “I won’t disappoint you.”

“Good.”

He puts a hand on my shoulder, drawing me in. The next second, a gentle kiss lands on my forehead. His lips are so cold like marble touching my skin.