Most of the women here were forced into pregnancy before marriage—a way to trap them and make sure they’d stay, so the families could start talking about weddings.

Some girls realized too late they’d been tricked. They wanted to back out, to run away, but once they ended up in this place, escape became nearly impossible.

Heavy chains, guards posted outside their doors–then, when their bellies began to swell and there was no way out but to give birth, most girls simply went numb, surrendering to their fate.

There were men even less fortunate–men so poor or repulsive they couldn’t trick a woman if they tried. Men like that resorted to contacting traffickers, paying for a wife as if she were cattle.

For these men, carrying on the family line mattered more than anything. Morality? Laws? Those didn’t exist in their world.

Once a girl was bought, she became their property—no one, not even the law, could take her away.

The village worked together as one. If a family “bought” a wife, the entire community pitched in—guarding her, covering up the crime, doing whatever it took until she got pregnant and gave birth. Once there was a child tying her here, most women stopped trying to leave.

Some managed to fake compliance, win their captor’s trust, and escape with their child. But those were rare—lucky exceptions.

For someone like Ivy, who’d survived three years here without giving birth and still managed to get away, it was nothing short of a miracle.

Maybe luck really was on her side, letting her cross paths with someone like Silly.

If it hadn’t been for Silly’s help, she doubted she’d ever have escaped.

She didn’t know what happened to Silly after that—if his violent, drunken father beat him for letting her go, or if he was mocked by the rest of the village. After all, they’d lost both the girl and the money. Maybe he was shamed for it.

When Ivy finished replaying those memories, a chill swept over her. She shivered uncontrollably.

Jamison noticed and immediately pulled her close, rubbing her shoulder in gentle reassurance.

“These days, the government’s cracking down harder than ever on human trafficking. This sort of thing will only get rarer—soon, I hope, it’ll disappear altogether.” His voice was soft, trying to comfort her.

“I hope so,” Ivy murmured.

Jamison’s own feelings were tangled. He’d been born with every advantage—wealth, status, privilege—raised far above the hardships of ordinary life, let alone this kind of grinding poverty.

Looking at all this, it felt foreign, like another planet.

He wanted to help, do something to change this place. And yet, a part of him felt that these backward villagers weren’t worth saving.

Their heavy mood lingered as the car rolled to a stop. Up ahead, Gallagher stepped out of the lead vehicle.

Ivy blinked and came back to herself. “Come on. Time to get out.”

“Yeah.” Jamison squeezed her hand tightly as they stepped out together.

Gallagher knew who Jamison was, but this was their first time meeting face to face.

“Mr. Ludwig, I’m Warren—head of investigations at the Southvale precinct. It’s an honor.” Warren stepped forward and offered a polite handshake as they approached.

Jamison nodded courteously, shaking his hand. “Thank you for your hard work, Warren. Ivy told me you personally led the team that brought her back a few months ago. I’m grateful.”

“Just doing my job, sir.”

There was no time for pleasantries. After a brief exchange, Warren got straight to business.

“We won’t enter the village directly. Instead, we’ll circle around on this path and head for the hills. Some of our team found clues up there, but the rain last night washed away most of the tracks.”

He gestured to a narrow, winding trail skirting the village and outlined the rescue plan. “The terrain’s too rough for cars—we’ll have to hike the rest of the way. Sorry, but it’s the only option.”

Ivy stared at the path, memories she thought she’d buried surfacing all at once.

She’d run this way once before, desperate for freedom. She never imagined she’d walk it again, years later.

“Alright. Warren, you lead the way, we’ll follow,” Jamison said.

He glanced back to find Ivy distant and pale, her hand clenched tightly in his. “Ivy?” he said gently.

She snapped out of it, and as she fell in step with him, she gripped his fingers so hard it almost hurt.

Jamison had brought ten bodyguards with him. Counting Derek and his assistant, their group numbered twelve in all.