The Promise

 

Lisa used to be an aspiring young woman with dreams of becoming a singer. She was gifted — blessed with both looks and a melodious voice. However, being born into a large, poverty-stricken family, she was the second of five children and the eldest daughter, which meant carrying a heavy load of responsibility.

In her conservative Asian household, she was often overlooked and expected to give up her education to help support the family. Working long hours at a factory, Lisa, even in her worn and simple clothes, stood out. Many men from different positions in the factory tried to woo her, but deep down, she always knew this life was only temporary.

She believed she was meant to shine — to rise above her circumstances and become the star she had always envisioned. So she never settled, even as she watched many of her peers fall into the same old traps: marrying a man who seemed decent at first but later turned out to be abusive, alcoholic, or worse — a rich womanizer. Their stories often ended in tragedy, and even the lucky ones, who managed a quiet life in a small house, were not the kind of future Lisa wanted.

At night, she would slip away to clubs where the wealthy gathered, hoping to land a part-time singing gig. But competition was fierce; others were willing to do much more to secure a spot.

Defeated and under constant pressure to bring money home, she asked her colleagues at the factory about other part-time opportunities. One of them mentioned an app called "Pear Live." The colleague claimed it was easy money — become a live host, perform anything you like, and viewers would send virtual gifts in the form of diamonds, which could later be converted to cash.

Lisa thought this was perfect: a platform where people could finally hear her sing, and she could earn at the same time. With her talent and looks, it felt like the app was made just for her.

She applied as a live host, full of hope, and started streaming every night. But the reality wasn’t what she had imagined. Despite her efforts, her audience was small, and only a few viewers sent a small amount of gift. The app’s leaderboard favored those who were better equipped — professional lighting, stylish outfits — or those who were willing to flirt and dance provocatively. Lisa, with her bare setup and modest appearance, was always buried at the bottom of the endless list of live hosts.

Some nights, her viewer count dropped to zero.

One night, as the weight of disappointment crushed her, Lisa broke down on stream. Tears streamed down her face, her confidence shattered. She didn’t notice when the viewer count ticked from 0 to 1. A username appeared: “Dealer.”

Lost in her emotions, she barely noticed when the app played the cheerful chime of a gift being sent. Embarrassed that someone had seen her like this but grateful for the gesture, she leaned into the moment, painting herself as the struggling maiden. She shared her hardships, and Dealer sent another small gift.

Seeing this, greed crept into her heart. She asked for a higher-tier gift, trying her luck. Dealer then sent her a private message:

"Why? What do I get back in return?"

Lisa knew some of the app’s top earners engaged in shady exchanges. Though she despised such tactics, an idea sparked: What if I promise him something vague? Delay it as long as possible until he gives up. If he complains, I’ll just offer him something small.

To stall, she offered to sing his favorite song, which he accepted. Encouraged by the success, she pushed for more — bigger gifts, with promises of private calls and special attention. When she offered a private call in exchange for three premium gifts, Dealer surprised her by sending them without hesitation.

The gifts kept flowing, pushing her stream to the top of the app’s rankings. More visibility brought more viewers and even more gifts, and soon her popularity snowballed.

Lisa was over the moon. She performed with new energy, her earlier promises to Dealer all but forgotten.

But Dealer didn’t forget.

One evening, a private message arrived:

"Looks like you’ve got more fans now. Congratulations. So... when can I expect your call?"

Lisa, now annoyed by his persistence, replied coldly:

"Not today. I need to sleep early — work tomorrow."

Dealer simply replied, "Another time, then."

This back-and-forth continued, his messages polite but unyielding. Lisa’s replies grew shorter, colder. In her mind, she didn’t need him anymore. She had signed a small but reputable artist contract, and her future seemed secure.

Then came the day of her biggest break — her first television appearance, singing on a grand stage in front of thousands. Backstage, while waiting for her makeup and hair, the world suddenly turned black. She had been drugged.

When she woke, she was seated at a table in an abandoned factory. In front of her were three cups, and across the table sat a man in a black fedora and tuxedo, spinning a knife between his fingers.

"Hello, Lisa," he said, as her vision cleared. "Let me introduce myself. I am Dealer."

Her heart sank.

Panicked, Lisa tried to explain: "I was going to call you, after my big moment... I swear."

Dealer smirked. "I’m very particular about promises."

He gestured to the three cups on the table.

"I’ll give you a chance," he said calmly. "Under one of these cups is your fate."

He flipped the cups open to show her the options written on scraps of paper:

1. Release her.

2. Sell her to the trafficking market.

3. Take what means the most to her.

Dealer shuffled the cups and pushed them toward her. Trembling, Lisa chose one.

She lifted the cup. It was the third option.

Her world collapsed. Fear overtook her, and she fainted.

When she woke up, she was back in the backstage room, as if nothing had happened.

A staff member knocked on the door, reminding her it was time to prepare. Drenched in cold sweat, Lisa looked around, confused and shaken — the abandoned factory, the cups, the man in the fedora — it all felt too real to be just a dream.

Trying to shake it off, she approached the mirror and picked up the microphone for her usual vocal warm-up. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Only silence. She tried again, forcing her throat, but what escaped was nothing more than a hollow rasp, like a broken instrument.

Panic spread through her chest. She clutched her neck, her mind racing. The staff returned, calling her to the stage. She tried to speak, to ask for help — but no voice came. Just a faint, strained growl.

Stepping onto the stage under the blinding lights, her heart pounded as the audience erupted in applause, waiting for her first note. The orchestra signaled the cue. She lifted the microphone to her lips... and again, nothing.

Confused whispers rippled through the crowd, growing louder. Cameras zoomed in. The once-adoring audience now stared at her, bewildered and impatient, as her dream crumbled right before her eyes.

Backstage, her phone vibrated.

A message from an unknown number. Two words.

"The Promise."

At that moment, everything sank in. It wasn’t a dream. It was a debt — one she never intended to pay, but one that would still be collected.

A promise is not just words.
It is a contract.
And when broken...
The payment will always be taken. One way, or another.