Flight 622 The Steward(ess) Part 2, Singapore – 32

This is a continued story from the first part. Refer to my other post to read the first one.

Part 4: The Transaction
My wrists were burning.
Every breath came hard through my nose as I lay twisted on the bed, limbs cinched together with coarse rope, my mouth stretched around the rubber gag. The hood still blocked most of my vision, letting in only streaks of light. Shapes. Movement. Shadows.

And then — a knock.
Three soft raps at the front door. Calm. Expected.

Footsteps shifted. I could sense that one of them moved quickly down the hall.
A door opened.
A new voice entered. Male. Calm. Cold.

“…Is she ready?” the voice asked.
“She’s secured,” the first man replied.

“Looks like she’s already in uniform,” the new voice said with a low chuckle. “Perfect.”

My pulse hammered in my ears.
The new man walked into the room. I couldn’t see him, not clearly — but I could sense his presence, tall, unhurried, assessing me like someone inspecting merchandise.

Fingers tugged at the ropes. I jerked away, but I couldn’t move far.
“Still feisty,” the voice said. “That’ll fade.”

I whimpered through the gag. It came out muffled, helpless.
Footsteps behind him. The second man — the one who had been hesitant earlier — entered the room.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” he asked, voice strained. “We could still back-out now..”
“Dont be a scaredy-cat! ” the first snapped. “There is absolutely no way that she can escape from that place.. Don't lose your nerve now.”

There was a pause. Then, from the new man: “You said she was broken. That she knew how this works.”

The first man replied too quickly: “She’s just playing scared. Don’t worry — once she gets there, she will be a obedient girl.”

There was that word again — “there.”
I didn’t know where “there” was, but every muscle in my body screamed that I didn’t want to find out.

Then, came a low whisper. I might not have heard it if the room hadn’t fallen silent.
“…foreign brothel.”

The word sank like ice into my chest.
This wasn’t about revenge. This wasn’t about Marie’s past.
They weren’t just angry at her — they were trying to sell her.
No. Not her.
Me.

They thought I was her.
And they were handing me off like property.

I thrashed violently, screaming into the gag, trying to kick, trying to move — anything. But I was just a bundle of panic and rope, helpless on the bed.

The man laughed. “Didn’t say she could talk.”
“She can’t,” the first replied. “She won’t.”
Another pause.

“Shall we settle the payment now?” the buyer asked.
Footsteps again. A drawer opening. Paper rustling. Was that… money?

My heart sank. I had to get out now. I had minutes — maybe seconds — before I disappeared completely.

I twisted my wrists again, trying to feel for a weakness in the rope. Nothing. But the panic gave me a burst of adrenaline. My hands were slick with sweat. The rope slipped slightly.
I pushed into the gap. Pulled. Twisted.

The buyer’s voice again: “You’ve done good work. This’ll clear your debt.”
The first man — my captor — said, almost bitterly, “And dont forget about the performance bonus.”


Part 5: The Attempt
My wrists burned — slick with sweat and raw from rubbing against the coarse rope — but I could feel it loosening.
Just a little more.

The hood over my head left only narrow slits of vision. The room was dim, shadowed by drawn curtains. I could see only flickers of movement, the silhouettes of three men — my captors and the buyer — pacing, nodding, speaking in low, businesslike tones. I stayed still, pretending to be limp, letting their confidence blind them.

Then the buyer spoke.
“Honestly, she’s perfect. The uniform… the way she carries herself… first class.”

He wasn’t talking about my clothes. Not really. His voice was cold, clinical, like a man discussing livestock.
“She’s got the poise. The manners. Even the smile. You don’t find that in the usual stock.”

One of the captors — the bitter one, the ex — chuckled. “Told you. She’s trained. Airline background. Service industry, straight posture, soft voice, speaks multiple languages. She knows how to keep people super happy.”

The buyer nodded. I could feel the motion rather than see it.
“She’ll do well on the floor.”

“Day or night?”
A pause. The buyer’s tone dropped.
“Both.”
My chest tightened.

“She’ll start with daytime shifts — front-of-house. Greeting clients, serving drinks, maintaining image. That polished ‘airline charm’ — you don’t buy that, not without training. It sells a premium.”

“And nights?” the hesitant man asked — his voice quiet, almost regretful.
“Nights,” the buyer said, “are when the real money comes in.”

A chill passed through me.
“She won’t just be wearing the uniform. She’ll become it. First-class service, around the clock. Smiles, bows, obedience. That sweet, refined tone — all while being... accessible.”

He paused again.
“She’ll be marketed as a specialty package — the 'Mile-High Fantasy'. Limited access. High cost. Every client vetted and willing to pay top dollar.”

“She’ll hate it,” the hesitant one murmured.
The buyer’s voice didn’t change. “Not your concern.”

I swallowed hard against the gag, bile rising. They weren’t just planning to use me — they were going to build a brand around me. A fiction. A living lie, sold to strangers.

I tugged again at the rope. My right hand slipped just a bit more. I was almost there—
“Hey.” The first man’s voice, sharp. “Did she just move?”

I froze.
Heavy boots thudded across the floor. Then pain — a sharp yank on my arms, jerking them back into place.
“No more games.”

I kicked instinctively, but someone grabbed my ankles. They pulled tight, binding them again. And then — more rope. Around my elbows, behind my back, cinched cruelly. My ankles were pulled up, lashed to my wrists. A hogtie.

I screamed into the gag, but it only came out as a garbled moan. My entire body arched, helpless, held in place by the ropes and their rough hands.

“She’s not going anywhere now,” the first man muttered.
I could barely breathe. My muscles trembled. The hood blocked most of my vision, but I felt their eyes on me — appraising, judging, already assigning value.

“She’ll be on a private flight tonight,” the buyer said. “Our people are waiting in Bangkok. Paperwork has been handled. By the time anyone asks questions, she’ll be long gone.”

“She used to fly around the world for free,” the first man said, almost mocking. “Now she’ll still travel. Just… one-way.”
They laughed.
I didn’t. I couldn’t.