Seven years ago, I began a solo journey to explore Asia. Bangkok, Thailand, was one of the final stops on my trip. While strolling through a night market, I met an incredibly handsome European man. He struck up a conversation and invited me to dinner. He was charming and magnetic, so I agreed without hesitation.

He said he also lived in the U.S., near where I was from, and that he was just visiting Thailand. That night, he took me to a luxurious restaurant, then to a well-known club. At the end of the night, he called a taxi for us both. In the car, he handed me a bottle of water. After I drank it, everything went dark.

—

I woke up in a windowless room — probably a basement. I panicked, screamed, and pounded on the walls for help. After a while, a strange man entered — not the one I had met. He was tall and thin, bringing food and water, but said nothing no matter how many times I asked about the man from the night before.

A few hours later, a group of other men came in. They examined me like I was merchandise: shining lights into my face, checking my teeth, even inspecting my body in ways that left no area untouched. They spoke to each other in what I assumed was Thai.

—

The days that followed were filled with silence and terror. I didn’t know if it was day or night, or what would happen to me. Every sound of footsteps made my heart race. I was left alone in a large, empty room with only a dim yellow bulb. Eventually, I started hallucinating and losing track of time.

One day, the tall, thin man brought me water again. After drinking it, I blacked out. When I woke up, I was lying on silk sheets in a lavish room with high ceilings and paintings on the walls. In the corner sat a man, watching me.

—

I jumped up and tried to run, but the door was locked. I screamed and begged to be released. The man just stared at me, then approached and spoke broken English. He said he had “bought” me to be a servant. I would have my own room, be allowed in the kitchen, and be expected to cook and clean. He bragged that he had paid “hundreds of thousands of dollars” for me.

The mansion housed five other girls — all seemingly brainwashed. They acted as though they adored the man, but their eyes were empty and their smiles too perfect. I obeyed and did my tasks like they did, afraid of what might happen if I resisted.

—

After a while, the man began to favor me over the others. He assigned me private tasks like doing his laundry, serving his dinners, and even cleaning his personal library — an area off-limits to the other maids. One day, while cleaning his desk in the library, I discovered a phone in a drawer.

At first, I thought it was a trap and didn’t touch it. But after several days, when it remained there, I took the risk. Luckily, it wasn’t password protected. I found a way to send a message and call back to the U.S., hoping someone would hear me. In a panic, I explained everything: from the night at the market to the weeks I’d spent imprisoned, and that I was being held in a mansion owned by a powerful man in Thailand.

The person on the other end promised to do everything they could to find me. I begged them not to call back — I was afraid of being discovered. Moments later, I heard footsteps outside. I quickly hid the phone back in the drawer and resumed cleaning like nothing had happened.

—

The next day, the mansion felt strange. An eerie quiet took over — suffocating. I did my work as usual but was constantly afraid. Had he found out? He smiled at me, but it was a cryptic, unsettling smile that made my fear worse.

I kept secretly checking the phone, sending updates when I could. Every message was a fragile hope. I lived in constant fear, trying to mask it. The other girls remained like machines — cleaning and serving in silence.

—

Finally, the day I’d prayed for arrived. Sirens wailed in the distance. I ran to the window and saw police cars and U.S. embassy officials arriving. The man who had held me captive shouted angrily at them, claiming he had “just hired us to work and paid us fairly.” But they didn’t buy his excuses.

One officer came over to me, signaling for me to follow. I was escorted out of the mansion, passing the man’s furious glare — a look I’ll never forget. They took me directly to the airport and put me on a flight back to the U.S.

—

When the plane landed, I felt overwhelming relief. Though the trauma still haunted me, I knew I was free. At the airport, agents brought me to a safe place where I could rest and recount the full story when I was ready.

I survived. I came home. But that memory will forever be etched in my mind — a nightmare I’ll never forget.

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