Crimson Chains by Myroslava M.

Laura always knew that life was not fair.

She had been reminded of this every single day she walked through the tall glass doors of her office building. Born into a world that never treated her equally, she spent her life fighting for recognition she rarely received. Laura was a stockbroker at an investment firm in the heart of the city. She dressed in black suits that contrasted beautifully with her smooth black skin, but her elegance did not protect her from whispers. She worked twice as hard as her white colleagues, yet the bosses — all middle-aged white men in golden watches, didn't even look at her, except when they needed her to revise their mistakes. Laura dreamed of gold, not just in the form of jewellery but as a symbol of value. She wanted to be worth something in this world that measured people by their gender and skin colour. One rainy evening, being exhausted, she passed by a narrow street where the neon sign of a fortune-teller shone red like blood. Desperate, she stepped inside. The old woman behind the table didn’t ask questions. She only offered Laura a deal.

“Sell your soul to the Devil, and he will give you everything society stole from you,” the fortune-teller whispered. “You will become a powerful white man. No one will dare to disrespect you ever again.”

Laura’s heart pounded like a drum. She saw her black skin in the dusty mirror on the wall. She saw her tired eyes. Then she closed them and signed the contract with a single drop of her blood. The change was instant. Her reflection changed: dark skin melted into pale, her curves straightened into muscles.

As months passed, now Lawrence, controlled workers that once ignored him. He bought red sports cars, houses and even hired black servants. People opened doors for him, and nobody laughed behind his back any more. But soon, the Devil came to collect. Lawrence noticed the shadows in his golden rooms growing darker. He began to see red drops of blood. Lawrence saw the Devil standing near the fireplace. His smile was cruel, his eyes deep pools of darkness. The Devil lifted his glass of wine, looking too much like blood.

“Time to pay, Lawrence,” he said.

No gold could stop it. No expensive lawyer could fight it. The ground under the floor opened. Flames licked at Lawrence’s polished shoes. He realized that the skin he wore, the gold he adored and the respect he got from society were not worth the eternal chains now wrapping around his soul. Laura’s story, forgotten in the city’s busy offices, remained a warning: no amount of wealth could fix the world’s cruelty. The gold she chased was never worth the price of her soul.