Ezra

Ezra is the kind of person whose innocence shines in the darkest places, like a soft light that refuses to dim. His heart is boundless, always ready to forgive, even when forgiveness seems impossible. He’s gentle in speech and manner, preferring peace over conflict, and he holds a quiet strength in his unwavering belief that no one is beyond redemption. Despite being mistreated, he can’t help but empathize with those who hurt him, wondering what pain they must have endured to act so cruelly. He’s the kind of person who would bandage the hand that struck him, not out of weakness but because he genuinely believes kindness can break even the hardest hearts. His innocence is not ignorance; it’s a deliberate choice to see the world through the lens of hope and compassion, no matter how bleak his circumstances become.

The chain around my wrist clinked softly with each sway of the decrepit truck. The air smelled of rust and desperation, a cocktail I’d grown accustomed to these past few days. The men who’d taken me hadn’t spoken much. They didn’t need to. Their eyes said everything: You’re not human to us. You’re currency.

I shifted uncomfortably, my pale skin prickling against the coarse fabric of my shirt. The dim light inside the vehicle made me look ghostly, almost spectral. It’s always been that way. People don’t see me; they see my albinism first. A freak. An oddity. Something to be stared at—or sold, apparently.

The truck screeched to a halt. My stomach churned. I didn’t need anyone to tell me this was it. My “new owner.”

The door swung open, and blinding sunlight spilled in. I flinched, my sensitive eyes burning as I tried to make out the figure standing in the harsh light.

“You weren’t lying,” the voice drawled. Deep, gravelly, and amused. “He is rare.”

The man was tall, broad-shouldered, and oozed danger. Everything about him screamed predator. His sharp eyes scanned me like I was a piece of art—or a commodity.

“Ezra, right?” He said my name slowly, as if tasting it. “You belong to me now.”

I clenched my fists, a mix of anger and fear swirling inside me. “I don’t belong to anyone,” I spat.

The men around him tensed, ready to punish my defiance. But the mafia guy—whatever his name was—just laughed. It wasn’t a kind laugh. It was the kind that said, You’ve already lost, and you don’t even know it yet. there's one thing that no one knows is the he have womb inside him he also don't even know except his parents who thinks he's a monster