A sharp wave of pain pulsed through her skull just as Serena Collins groggily came to. Her skin crawled—somebody was touching her.

Her eyes sprang open. Two middle-aged women were pinning her down. One was tugging at her pants while the other tried to pry her legs apart.

"You wanna die?" She growled, eyes freezing cold as she lashed out with her leg, kicking the chubby one off her. The woman let out a shriek and crashed to the floor like a sack.

“Ugh, damn it! I think I broke something!” the chubby woman wailed. The other woman, startled, let go of Serena’s pants to help her companion up.

Serena was ready to lunge at them both but realized her hands were tightly bound with rough rope. Her gaze darkened as she quickly scanned the space—a dilapidated woodshed, dim and dusty, with weak sunlight slanting in through a tiny window above.

Gritting her teeth, Serena tried to piece things together. Something was seriously wrong. Last she remembered, she’d been at her foster mother’s place… How did she end up here?

The hefty woman was finally upright, spitting on the ground in Serena’s direction, her face twisted with hatred. “Little brat, think you can kick me? I swear, I’m gonna rip you apart!”

She raised her hand to strike—but was stopped.

“You nuts? That’s thirty grand! Don’t mess up her face. She's worth real money, y’know.”

The fat one hesitated, then grumbled, “Fine. Still, these sleeping pills are crap—barely knocked her out. Whatever, since she’s awake, time to inspect the goods.”

“Inspect what?” Serena’s eyes narrowed, her voice like a blade.

“To see if you’re still pure, duh,” came the smirk.

Serena let out a cold laugh. Clearly, these people had no clue who they were messing with. In Kyoto’s underworld, she was the one calling the shots—the queenpin of the black market.

While she worked on untying the ropes behind her back, she kept them talking. “Thirty grand? So who the hell are you people anyway?”

Ridiculous. She’d only come back to Jinxiang ‘cause her foster mother was supposedly sick. What a joke. She thought it was just a flu or something minor. But the next day, just as she was getting ready to head back to Kyoto, she blacked out—and woke up in this hellhole.

“I’ll tell ya,” the fat one said, grabbing her ankle with a creepy grin. “That sweet foster mom of yours, Monica Graves, she handed you off to us herself. Sold ya for a neat little sum. You play nice, we’ll set you up with someone decent. Play hard, and we’ll toss you to some old creep. Your choice.”

“What did you say?” Serena blinked. “Monica Graves… sold me?”

She almost laughed. What a joke.

She’d only been three when Monica picked her up off the street. Called it adoption, but let’s be real—Monica just wanted a little maid-slash-child bride.

Since the day she could walk and talk, every bit of dirty, heavy, backbreaking work had been hers. She was never the daughter—more like the unpaid help.Luckily, she had some grit. At twelve, she finally broke free from that house all on her own—and never looked back.

Still, she didn’t forget the woman who raised her. At the start of every month, like clockwork, she’d wire money home. Over the years, she’d sent back enough to buy several apartments in the priciest parts of a top-tier city.

When she heard Monica Graves was seriously ill, she decided to come back—to at least do the right thing and say goodbye.

What she didn’t see coming was Monica being even colder than before—not hesitating to sell her off for just thirty thousand yuan.

No wonder Monica acted so sweet when she came back—turns out she was just waiting for the perfect moment.

She really should’ve listened to her crew’s warning—there’s not a decent soul in the Windsor family. Coming back was a mistake.

A million thoughts swirled in her head, but her fingers didn’t pause for a second, still working hard to undo the rope.

Almost there. Just a little more and she’d be free.

Serena Collins took a sharp breath and forced out a clueless smile. "What are you two talking about? I’m the Windsor family’s promised daughter-in-law. I’m meant to marry Dougie Windsor!"

One woman sneered. "Dougie’s already bagged some rich heiress. His family’s rolling up in G-Wagons now. Why would they still want some bumpkin like you?"

The other woman was clutching her ankle so hard it hurt.

"Quit squirming! We need to do a proper check. If you’re not clean, we’re taking half the money back."

"And don’t struggle too much—or you’ll end up hurting yourself."

Serena suddenly smirked coldly. "Guess you two must be tired of living, huh?"

The moment she spoke, the rope snapped. In a flash, she seized the fat woman by the throat with one hand and hauled her off the ground.

The woman thrashed wildly, but Serena’s grip was like a vice. Her face quickly turned red, lips taking on a sickly blue hue.

The other woman panicked and rushed at her, only to get a hard kick right in the chest. She slammed into the wall and spit up blood on the spot.

Biting back the pain, she instantly screamed out, "Help! Somebody!"

Before she could finish, two burly men stormed in, each swinging a wooden club straight at Serena’s head.

She tossed the first woman aside calmly, raised her arms like lightning, and caught both clubs mid-air.

The men froze, wide-eyed, in disbelief. Before they could react, Serena knocked them out cold—one kick each.

The fat woman, now desperate, tried to sneak up behind her. But Serena had already sensed it. She spun around and smacked her down with one solid swing.

Ten minutes later, Serena walked out of the burning shed. The blinding sunlight made her wince and she raised a hand to shield her eyes. Somewhere behind her, faint cries for help drifted through the air.

She didn’t even glance back.

Once her eyes adjusted, her gaze turned icy. Without hesitation, she headed straight for the Windsor house.Human traffickers like that? Scum like them deserve everything coming to them. And those Windsor folks—she’d see to them too.

As she walked, shouting erupted ahead.

“Help! Fire, somebody help!”

“Get water, quick!”

Flames were crackling like mad, chaos spreading through the village. People rushed by, buckets in hand, all heading towards the fire.

Serena Collins pulled the oversized coat tighter around herself—snatched from the middle-aged woman—and lowered her head, blending into the crowd heading in the opposite direction.

After a bit, the Windsor house came into view.

Without hesitation, she raised her foot and kicked open the rickety wooden door.

The door slammed down with a thud and a puff of dust billowed up.

One glance around told her the whole damn family had already taken off.

“Heh, at least they knew when to run.”

Still, even if they fled to the ends of the earth, she’d drag them back one by one.

Whatever debt they thought was repaid? That chapter’s long closed. Now, it was her turn to collect.

Monica Graves, Dougie Windsor… not one of them would get away with it.

Face set in stone, Serena stepped into the cramped hole she'd once been forced to call a room.

This sad excuse of a space—converted from some old shed—was stuffy, tight, and reeked of musty mold that turned her stomach.

Sure enough, the small bag she’d brought back and the phone hidden under her pillow? Gone.

There wasn’t much in the bag except an ID, but losing the phone? Yeah, that was gonna make things a pain.

Whatever, not the end of the world. Once she hit the town, she’d borrow a cell and call for someone to come get her.

Just as she was about to bounce, a flurry of footsteps echoed outside.

Serena’s brows twitched. Then she gave a cold smirk.

Well, someone just walked straight into the lion's den.

Her eyes darted around. She grabbed a sickle from behind the door, deadly intent written all over her face, and stepped out with purpose.

The second she slid the door open, she froze.

There stood a guy she didn’t recognize—not a soul from the Windsor family. Early twenties maybe, jittery and peering into the room like he’d lost something precious.

His suit was in tatters, caked with dried mud, hair a total mess. Behind him was a rusty old tricycle that looked like it had seen better days—a real eyesore.

Serena instinctively hid the sickle behind her, eyes narrowing with caution.

“Who are you?” she asked, testing the waters.

Only then did the man notice her. His eyes locked on her face—and just like that, his expression changed. Drastically.

Tears welled up in his wide eyes. “Xiao Qi? Oh my god, it’s really you! Xiao Qi!”

He bolted toward her like a madman, shouting with raw emotion.

But just as he was about to reach her, he skidded to a halt.

Because the sickle she’d whipped back out was pointed square at his throat—one step closer, and she wouldn’t hesitate.