Sold, Framed, Now She's Free

On my 21st birthday, my fiancé Chandler and my adoptive sister Brenda drugged me and sold my first night at a secret auction.

Then they framed me for arson, and I spent the next three years in prison learning how to survive.

After my release, I fought in underground clubs, bleeding for the money to buy back my family's brownstone. But Chandler found me, calling me a "common harlot" as he tried to drag me home.

He offered me a "last chance" to apologize to Brenda for the crimes she committed. When I refused, he publicly announced the sale of my home.

All proceeds would be donated to the "Brenda Richardson Philanthropic Foundation."

He didn't just take my money; he took my soul. He took the last tangible piece of my parents, of my identity. Everything was gone.

As I collapsed onto the grimy floor, my world shattered, I fumbled for my phone. There was only one name left, one last hope.

"Brien," I choked out, my voice broken. "Please. I need your help. Get me out of here."