The sound of the door creaking open echoes through the small room. Thea's head snaps up, her eyes wide with a mixture of fear and defiance. Her perfectly manicured fingers tighten around the edge of the cot, her red-painted nails leaving faint crescent marks in the cheap fabric.

"Hey, get off me!" she cries out as I step closer, her voice trembling despite her attempt at bravery. The expensive perfume she wore when I took her still lingers in the air, a subtle floral scent that clashes with the musty smell of the warehouse. Her designer blouse is now wrinkled, the once-pristine fabric stretched across her chest as she takes a deep, shuddering breath.

I can see the diamond earrings glinting in the dim light, catching the beam from the single bulb hanging above us. Her legs shift nervously beneath her, the expensive leather of her boots squeaking softly against the concrete floor. Thea's chest rises and falls rapidly, her aristocratic features contorted into a mixture of fear and anger as she watches my every move.