No Amount of Money Talks

Profanity use, mention of sexual abuse and sexual violence

Libelle Debonette stared out the small cell window with painful boredom. She hummed a gentle tune, played with her tied up hands, and swayed her head left and right. It wasn't the first time she was kidnapped, nor will it be the last. Being a member of the richest family in the entire state, it made sense it would be a common occurrence. However, Libelle was targeted more often than her other family. Was it her enchanting beauty that made it irresistible to filthy peasants of the world, giving them an excuse to breathe the same air as her?

Or was it because she seemed the weakest? She grit her teeth as the thought crossed her mind. Whatever the reason was, she was growing tired of having to constantly deal with such lowlife scum, sneaking around like rats through the prosperous metropolis of Kaleidi, and involving her in their messes. At least grant me a TV next time, you worthless maggots.

There wasn't much to go on, and she was quite the experienced kidnappee. One moment she was walking to her private yacht, being escorted by fifty of the best security personnel money can buy. The next moment, the yacht exploded, she fell to the ground, and a dark cloth was draped over her eyes as a chloroform rag was pressed to her nose and mouth. Quite the impressive speed of her attackers, she had to commend. When she woke up, her eyes and ears were covered, her arms and legs tied, and she was being transported in a vehicle.

She would’ve relatively guessed where they could've been from their starting point, but the driver was such a lunatic that she had trouble tracking which way they were headed. She sighed as her gaze fell to her expensive Alsens blouse. It was made from very delicate fabric and had been wrinkled and torn in many places from the ride. Of all her clothing, this blouse was among her most favourite articles, and was personally made for her by Raphael Redi Audor, a retired world-famous designer from the grand city of Tiabelo, made for her birthday-

No, no need to dwell on the details, lest she teared up again. Libelle sighed and returned to recalling the day of her kidnapping. Fuck, might as well kill some boredom. Once they arrived, she was dragged out of the car and carried by someone who seemed well-built and tall, judging how effortlessly they held her and the height they dropped her from. She was carried through at least three rooms, down one set of stairs, and brought to the basement she was at presently.

She was seated on an incredibly uncomfortable chair, because these sewer rats couldn't afford anything more than stolen prison chairs made 3oo years ago that by some miracle still kept standing, tied to it, and left that way for a few hours. Her ass was extremely sore by the time someone came to take off her blindfold and earmuffs, and immediately hurled insults at them. She paused to observe her kidnapper, who had their hood up and wore a ridiculous, beat-up lion mask. Clearly not the same person who carried her there since they weren't as tall or muscular. So, there are at least two of them.

"An absurd view imposed upon my eyes. You best start setting your terms now, you utter pillock."

The person stared at her for several seconds, further irking Libelle, and then left the room. A click sounded, their footsteps faded away as they walked up the stairs.

How lovely, they're too shy to speak! Bloody hell... It has been a few days since then. The same person came by to feed her twice a day – some disgusting peasant gruel they threw together – and force fed her, giving her no other choice but to eat. She wasn't allowed the luxury of having her hands freed, nor laying down on something comfortable. Hell, even the concrete floor would be more comfortable at this point. Whenever she tried to speak to them, they never replied nor reacted, acting as if she wasn't speaking at all. No matter what she said or offered, no matter what insult she hurled at them.

During the kidnapping, they might have cut off her sight and hearing, but they didn't do the same with her other senses. The smell of the car, as well as the feel of the interior indicated a brand new car. Or at least one relatively new and in great condition. When they hurled her outside, the air smelled nothing like Kaleidi. However, it also lacked the saltwater smell that Kaleidi’s surrounding ocean produced, so it had to be even farther out than she initially speculated.

Finally, a faint smell of paint lingered inside the building; they must have recently painted the room. The basement was one room Libelle could see, and it looked quite old and worn. Clearly an older part of the structure, or just as old, but not as taken care of. The single light source she had was a small window near the ceiling of the basement, with prison bars closing it off. The structure could've been some sort of jail, though she doubted that. She only saw the sky beyond the window since it was high up and she couldn't exactly walk closer to inspect it.

Knowledgeable, careful, and professional on quite a high level - something she had experienced less commonly but was still quite familiar with. These types usually proved the most irritating to deal with. Then again, nobody was perfect, and everyone fucked up. All it takes is one moment of weakness, and with her wealth and influence, it was only a matter of time before she bought off any issues they had with her, and satisfied any resentments they held, whether it was towards her or her family.

It was the waiting period in between that was the most tedious. Libelle closed her eyes for a while, trying to take a nap to pass the time, but was unsuccessful. After all, there's wasn't much one could do to make themselves comfortable in her horrible seating arrangement. She persisted in her attempts but only found herself less fortunate as the hours droned on. Around the time she started going through her stiletto collection in her mind, she heard footsteps descend the stairs outside the basement.

Her eyes shot open and narrowed, fixating on the door as the familiar click sounded and the door opened. Despite this likely being a more-than-two-man operation, she only ever laid her eyes on this person. They were the unfortunate bastard tasked with feeding her, and she rolled her eyes as they approached her with the same bland liquid they considered soup, coupled with the poorest attempt at making a beggar's bread.

"Oh please, could you just beat the shit out of me instead? I cannot stand any more of what you poor lot consider 'food'."

The kidnapper ignored her as usual and pulled up another chair, sitting themselves down before her and pushing the spoon of soup towards her. She pursed her lips and stared at that ugly mask of theirs, boring her intense gaze into them.

"My apologies if you were the one who made it, of course. Could use some more practice, though. And taste. And everything fucking else."

They ignored her jabs once more and pushed the spoon up to her mouth, but she leaned her head away.

"Look, just be a dear and make your demands already. Nobody likes a bad stall, and my patience is not exactly to be tested. I was more than generous at letting you play around for this long, but it is time to end the game. How much is it you want?"

For the first time, the kidnapper seemed not only to hear but acknowledge her words. They placed the spoon back onto the plate without moving their eyes - she assumed - away from her. They stared at each other for a while, and Libelle held herself back from barking at them again. Patience wasn't really her virtue, but she needed to hold back just a little longer. Just say the number, maggot. Come on, say it already!

"...amount."

"Pardon?"

"NO AMOUNT!"

The kidnapper's deep voice boomed through the room as he jumped to his feet and threw the plate, shattering it and sending soup and bits of bread sprawling across the concrete floor. His chair fell back, and his hood moved slightly, revealing a few short locks of dark brown hair before he covered up again. Libelle's expression remained the same, albeit more irritated, as she scrutinised him like she was witnessing a toddler's temper tantrum.

He discerned this, which seemed to enrage him further. However, instead of hitting her, which she expected, he stomped to the door and slammed it shut behind him, hastily running back upstairs. She heard the faint sound of his boots stomping on the floor above her for a few more moments before the house grew silent. A loud groan left her lips. Well, that was pretty moronic – absolute drama king.

He appeared very volatile for a reason she couldn't understand. She had mentioned paying her own ransom before and there was no hint of... well, everything that transpired a few moments ago. Perhaps the bloody bastard was having a shitty day. You poor fucker, I weep just at the thought of that. Whatever front he was putting on, Libelle suspected it was to extort more money from her than he estimated she would offer. Whatever their motives were, money was a very useful resource. Not worth some bourgeois skank at all, huh?

All it required was patience and time. She would try again on another day. Ugh, I can't stand the thought of spending another minute in this putrid shithole...

The sound of a door slamming outside and a car starting caused her ears to perk up. She leaned forward and stared at the cell window, though she couldn't see anything, and listened to the car speed off, the sound of rubber sliding against asphalt getting quieter and quieter by the minute until it completely vanished. She remained frozen in her position and listened closely for any sounds in the rooms above her. Several minutes of total silence passed, and once she felt confident enough, she began swaying left and right on her chair until she toppled to the ground.

Landing in some bits of broken ceramic that dug into her arm, she chomped down on her lip and stayed perfectly still for a few more minutes. Silence continued to hang in the air, which likely indicated she was alone in the building or out of immediate earshot. Off to have a good fucking cry, I reckon. You better take your time, you cunt. She ignored her wounds and flailed on the floor until her hand caught a shard of the concrete plate, allowing her to cut through her rope with some difficulty. Once her hands were free, she quickly moved to free her feet.

When she removed all the ties, she stood from the floor and lad down on the cleanest area, cursing the fuckers who caused her such discomfort for these past few days as she ran her fingers along the rope indentations on her wrists. I'm going to need another vacation when I return. Preferably too fucking far from this place. Something like Monte Island, perhaps. It was going to take a lot of effort to smooth those out and perfect her skin once again, and she didn't even know the state of her bum yet.

Not wanting to waste more time, she pushed herself up and stared at the door. A funny thought crossed her mind – I don’t remember that bellend locking the door. She chuckled as she made her way over. Of course he locked the door; she likely wasn’t paying attention. After all, they’ve proven to be quite capable so far...

Her mouth hung open as she stared at the set of stairs beyond the basement. The idiot really did forget to lock the door on his way out. She couldn’t help herself and laughed louder as she ascended the stairs. Come on, boys. I was complimenting you just earlier on being professionals. Come to find out you’re amateurs with clever movie tricks.

At the top of the staircase, she found herself in what seemed to be a storage room. It had no windows, and many boxes filled with all sorts of things had been thrown about the room. Mostly useless garbage to her, she noted as she passed by and headed for the other door. A sturdy, wooden door with the common lock mechanism found almost everywhere. She quietly turned the knob and cursed when she found it locked.

Oh, as long as you remember to lock this one. Dickhead. It wasn’t the end of the road. She turned back to the stuffed boxes. From her experience, there ought to have been something in there that she could use to open the door. Uncertain when the kidnapper would return, but believing she was alone, she threw stealth out the window and focused on speed, rummaging the boxes and creating a huge mess as she searched for something – anything – to assist her.

A few boxes in, she realised there really was just useless garbage in them. No tools to pick the lock, break the knob, or break the door down. She loudly sighed but forbade herself from giving up. The next box was filled to the brim with photographs. A normal, boring, useless box at a glance, but that’s where something worthwhile could be hidden. Piles and piles of photos were thrown onto the floor without even a glance, but when she reached the bottom of the box, one particular photo caught her eye and caused her to pause. What… in the world?

Her eyes narrowed and she picked it up, examining it closely. It seemed very familiar, but it was slightly torn and dirtied, which made it hard to recognise. Her brain felt like it was itching as it tried to retrieve the information she seemed to have on it, but her inner consciousness screamed at her to continue her search. She was unable to, almost entranced by the photo she held. That’s when it hit her.

The obnoxious and eye-catching pink ballgown, the white peony barrette with a golden clip, the golden princess crown with pink and white jewels specially designed and tailored at request. At Libelle’s request, for her fifth birthday. And holding her hand was a woman dressed in a Debonette servant uniform. Ms Lockman, her first tutor and caretaker. It took her a few moments to recognise her, as her memory of her youngest years was very hazy and blank.

A deep frown settled over her dazed face. What the hell is this doing here? What the fuck? She turned and grabbed the nearest pile of photos she first threw away and examined them properly. Many she didn’t recognise but did know their background – the Debonette estate. Most of the people she did not know, but most of them were servants judging by their uniforms.

The most common factor in the photos was one reoccurring figure – a tall, handsome older man in various luxurious, designer suits, always wearing a wide smile as he held the people in the photos with great care. His signature smile. Her father. What the hell is going on here?! Her confusion grew larger and larger by the minute, as did her anger, and when she realised she had gone through all the photographs of the box, she scanned the room for another.

Her escape was completely out of her mind. All she could think about was the incredible discomfort she felt at the bizarre photos she had never seen, the number of servants she had never been aware of, and the photos being here, of all places. Her eyes landed on a beat-up box thrown into one corner of the room, and she wearily approached it.

Opening it, she was greeted with a sight that caused her to jump away. Her eyes widened and she struggled to breathe for several seconds, trying to overcome her shock. Fear and horror, something she hadn’t felt in a long time washed over her and she had difficulty approaching the box again.

When she calmed down, she peered over to look at the photos atop the box and froze as her eyes took them in. Familiar faces, many of which she just saw in the photos of the other box, fully nude, in compromising positions, and in various stages of fear and pain. People of all ages, genders, and races being humiliated, having their bodies violated in many inhumane ways.

And the instigator of all of their suffering was a man. A very tall and handsome older man, wearing many luxurious designer suits, and bearing the most sinister smile she had ever seen. The smile pierced through her soul, and she fell back to her knees. The sound of the door opening startled her, and when she turned, she found the same kidnapper who she speculated drove off some time ago standing in the room. He saw her kneeling over the box and he took off his mask, letting it drop to the ground as he approached her.

It was a hideous face, covered with countless scars and other marks, even discoloured in several places. Although she had never seen him, she managed to recognise his face being in many photos that stood on top in the dreaded box in front of her. Completely focused on his features, she failed to notice the horrid objects in his hands.

…No amount. Truly... no amount.