Her friends were a little jealous, saying that she was lucky to have met such an interesting and successful man.

True, some noted that the age difference was significant and that it was strange that a man like Antoine was still unmarried and did not have a serious relationship, but Seline dismissed these doubts, explaining that he was simply very busy with business and had not yet met the right person.

At the end of May, Antoine asked Seline to accompany him on a business trip to Dubai.

He said that there would be meetings with suppliers, but they would also have free time to see the city, sunbathe on the beach, and stay in a luxury hotel for a few days.

Seline was hesitant.

She had never been to the Middle East, and although the idea seemed tempting, something inside her made her doubt.

She talked to her mother and Isabelle, although happy that her daughter had met someone who treated her well, expressed caution, asking Seline to be careful and not to rush into such serious steps.

In the end, Selene decided to agree, but on the condition that the trip would be short, only 4 days from June 20th to 24, and that she would stay in constant contact with her family.

On June 20th, 2022, Seline and Antoine flew to Dubai on an Emirates flight from Leon Santexuperi Airport.

Seline was in high spirits, taking photos at the airport, messaging her friends, and sharing her impressions of the business class cabin where Antoine had bought tickets.

They arrived in Dubai late in the evening, local time, and were met by a driver with a sign who took them to the luxurious Burj Alarab, the famous seven-star hotel in the shape of a sail.

Standing on an artificial island, Selene was amazed by the luxury of the room, the view of the Persian Gulf, and the service that anticipated every desire of the guests.

She called her mother on video chat, showed her the room, said that everything was wonderful, that Antoine was taking care of her, and that she was happy.

The first two days were like a fairy tale.

Antoine did go to business meetings, but they were short and they spent most of their time together, walking around shopping malls, going up to the Burj Khalifa observation deck, sailing along the coast on a yacht, dining in restaurants with views of fountains and skyscrapers.

Seline kept in touch with her family, sending photos, and everything seemed perfect.

But on the evening of June 22nd, something changed.

Antoine told Seline that he had an important meeting at a party on the yacht of one of his main clients, a wealthy shake, and that it would be good if she went with him.

Her presence would help make an impression and strengthen business relations.

Selene didn’t really want to go to a party with strangers, but she agreed to support Antoine.

The party was held on a huge yacht mored in a private marina.

When they arrived, there were already many guests there, men in expensive suits and traditional Arab clothing, women in evening gowns, most of whom were clearly professional models or escorts.

Music was playing, champagne and cocktails were flowing, and the atmosphere was relaxed and even a little loose.

Seline felt out of place, especially when she noticed that many of the men were openly staring at her, and Antoine, instead of staying close to her, was engrossed in conversation with a group of Arabs in business suits and paid little attention to her.

After an hour at the party, Seline already wanted to leave.

One of the guests, an elderly man with a heavy accent, who introduced himself as a friend of the Shakes’s family, persistently tried to talk to her, offered her drinks, put his hand on her waist, and when she politely refused, and walked away, he followed her.

Seline found Antoine and said she wanted to go back to the hotel because she felt uncomfortable.

Antoine was clearly annoyed, saying that they couldn’t leave so early, that it would be rude, and asked her to be patient a little longer.

Seline agreed, but with every passing minute, she felt a growing sense of unease.

She went out on deck to get some fresh air, took out her phone, and texted her friend in lion.

I want to get out of here.

Something’s wrong.

These people are strange.

At that moment, a woman approached her and introduced herself as Ila, an employee of the international charity Sanctuary Ubes or Spaseni as it was called in Russian.

Ila was an elegant woman in her 40s, impeccably dressed, speaking with a slight accent, possibly Lebanese or Egyptian.

She said she noticed that Seline looked confused and uncomfortable, and asked if everything was okay.

Seline, grateful for the concern, admitted that she wanted to leave, but her companion insisted that she stay.

Ila nodded understandingly and said, “You know, I often see girls in your situation at events like this.

Many come here with men who promise them paradise, but then reality turns out to be completely different.

If you need help or just advice, here’s my business card.

Our foundation helps women who find themselves in difficult situations here in the Middle East.

Selene took the card which read Sanctuary Foundation helping women find freedom with a UAE phone number and email address.

She thanked Ila, put the card in her purse and returned to the hall where Antoine was already looking for her.

Clearly unhappy that she had left.

They stayed at the party for about two more hours, during which time Selene caught the glances of several men who were discussing something while looking in her direction, and once saw Antoine talking seriously with an elderly Arab man in a white dish dasha, both of them looking at her.

When they finally left, it was already past midnight.

And on the way back to the hotel, Antoine was silent and tense, completely unlike the charming and caring man she had known for the past 2 months.

Back in her room, Seline took a shower and went to bed, but she couldn’t sleep.

Something about that party, about Antoine’s behavior, about the looks on those people’s faces, made her feel truly afraid.

She took out her phone and started searching for information about the Sanctuary Foundation.

Their professionally designed website stated that the organization had been in existence since 2015, helping women who had suffered from domestic violence, human trafficking, and exploitation in the Middle East, organizing their evacuation to safe countries, and providing legal and psychological assistance.

The website featured photos of happy women, success stories, thank you letters, and information about partners and donors, including several large international organizations and individuals.

Everything looked completely legitimate and trustworthy.

Seline calmed down a little, thinking that perhaps she had just been overexited and fell asleep.

On the morning of June 23rd, Antoine was cold and distant.

At breakfast, he told Seline that he had meetings all day and that she could spend her time at the hotel spa or on the beach and that they would have dinner together in the evening.

Seline agreed, glad to have some time alone to collect her thoughts.

After Antoine left, she tried to call her mother, but the connection kept breaking up, either because of internet problems at the hotel or for some other reason.

She went to the beach, but couldn’t relax, her thoughts constantly returning to the party the night before.

By lunchtime, she had decided that she wanted to leave Dubai earlier than planned, that she no longer felt safe with Antoine, and that she needed to find a way to return home on her own.

Selene returned to her room around 2:00 in the afternoon and found Antoine already there along with the two men she had seen yesterday on the yacht.

The atmosphere was tense and when she entered all three turned to her and there was something in their eyes that made her blood run cold.

Antoine said with a fake smile, “Seline, meet my partners.

They need to ask you a few questions.

” One of the men, a large middle-aged Arab, approached her and took her by the arm, his grip tight and painful.

Seline tried to break free and screamed, but the second man quickly covered her mouth with his hand, and they dragged her back into the room, closing the door behind them.

Seline never told the whole story of what happened next, even after she was rescued.

But from her statement to the police, it became known that she was held in the room for several hours, told to calm down and listen, and threatened that if she did not cooperate, she would never see her family again.

Antoine, dropping his charming businessman persona, explained the real situation to her.

He worked for a network that supplied women to wealthy clients in the Middle East.

and Seline had been chosen by one such client who had seen her photos on social media and was willing to pay a significant amount of money.

She was to be handed over to this man tonight, and if she resisted, she would simply be drugged and taken away unconscious.

” Antoine said this calmly, without emotion, as if he were discussing a routine business deal.

And it was this coldness, this complete lack of humanity in his words that shocked Seline more than the threats themselves.

At one point, when the men were distracted discussing the details of the transfer, Seline managed to discreetly take her phone out of her purse, which was lying on the chair.

She only had a few seconds, and she couldn’t call without attracting attention.

She remembered the Sanctuary Foundation’s business card and quickly found their contact information on the internet.

With trembling fingers, she sent a message to the foundation’s email address.

Help.

I am being held at the Burge Al Arab Hotel, room 2314.

They want to sell me.

French citizen Selen Dubois.

Please help.

She managed to press send and hide the phone back in her bag a second before one of the men turned to her.

The next two hours were a nightmare.

The men forced her to take a shower, change into a dress they had brought, and put makeup on her by force while one of them held her hand the whole time to prevent her from escaping.

Antoine checked her purse, took her passport, money, and credit cards, but did not find the phone, which Seline had managed to hide under the mattress of the bed.

Around 6:00 in the evening, they were about to take her out of the hotel when there was a knock at the door.

The men exchanged glances, and Antoine went to the door and opened it on the chain.

Standing outside was Ila from the sanctuary foundation accompanied by a man in a private security guard’s uniform.

Ila said calmly, “We have received a message from Madmoiselle Dubois that she needs help.

I represent an international women’s rights organization accredited by the UAE government, and I have the authority to evacuate citizens who are in danger.

If you don’t open the door, I will have to call the police.

” The men clearly did not expect this turn of events.

They conferred among themselves in Arabic and Antoine before opening the door quickly whispered to Seline.

If you say anything, your family will suffer.

We know where they live.

Then he opened the door completely, feigned surprise, and said, “What a misunderstanding.

Madmoiselle Dubois is my fianceé.

We are here on vacation.

She may be nervous about the upcoming wedding.

Ila entered the room, approached Seline, and quietly asked in French, “Did you send the message?” Seline, trembling all over, nodded.

Ila turned to the men and said, “Madmoiselle Dubois asked for help, and we are obliged to provide it.

If this is indeed a misunderstanding, then you won’t mind if she talks to me alone.

” Antoine wanted to object, but the security guard who was with Ila, an imposing man, took a step forward, and Antoine gave in.

Ila led Seline into the hallway, and they went into the next room, which, as it turned out, had been reserved by the foundation.

When the door closed, Seline burst into tears and told Ila everything.

how Antoine had brought her to Dubai under the pretext of a business trip.

How his behavior had changed at the yacht party.

How today he and two other men had held her in the room and said they were going to sell her to a wealthy client.

Leila listened attentively, recording on a dictapone with Selen’s consent.

And when she finished, she hugged her and said, “You’re safe now.

We deal with cases like this.

You need to leave Dubai as soon as possible, and we will help you do that.

But it has to be done properly and safely, otherwise these people will find you.

She explained that they couldn’t just take Seline to the police because some of these networks had connections in law enforcement and that the best way was to arrange a quiet evacuation through the foundation’s private channels.

Selene agreed to everything Leila suggested.

She had no choice.

She was in a foreign country without documents, without money, in a state of shock and panic.

Ila said they needed to act quickly that tonight they would move her to a safe haven outside Dubai and tomorrow they would arrange for her to fly to Europe with new documents which the foundation would obtain through its connections.

Selene asked if she could call her mother, but Ila gently but firmly dissuaded her, explaining that any calls could be traced and that it was better to wait until she was safe.

We’ll send a message to your family on your behalf to let them know you’re okay, but let’s get you out of here alive first.

Okay.

Seline, exhausted and frightened, agreed.

At around 7:00 pm on June 23rd, Leila and the security guard took Selene out of the hotel through a service exit to avoid encountering Antoine and his accompllices.

A black Range Rover SUV with tinted windows was waiting for them.

Another man, who did not introduce himself, was sitting behind the wheel.

Selene sat in the back seat with Ila and the car drove out of the city toward the desert.

On the way, Ila continued to reassure Seline, gave her water, and offered her a headache pill, which Seline took without suspicion.

After 20 minutes of driving, Seline began to feel strangely sleepy.

Her eyelids grew heavy, and she could barely keep her eyes open.

The last thing she remembered before losing consciousness was Ila’s face, which suddenly became cold and indifferent, and her words, “Sleep, dear.

When you wake up, everything will be different.

It was at that moment at 3:00 in the afternoon, Paris time, that Selen’s mother, Isabelle, received that very message.

Mom, I’m safe.

The foundation helped me leave.

I’ll tell you everything soon.

I love you.

The message came from Selen’s phone, but it was actually sent by Ila using the phone that had been taken from Seline.

Isabelle was puzzled.

Her daughter wrote about some foundation about how they helped her leave, but from what? She was in Dubai on vacation with Antoine.

What could have gone wrong? Isabelle tried to call, but Selen’s phone was turned off.

She wrote several messages, but there was no reply.

She called Antoine, but his number was also unavailable.

Her anxiety grew, but Isabelle tried to calm herself, thinking that since Seline had written that she was safe, everything was fine, and she would soon get in touch again and explain everything.

But the days passed, and there was no news from Seline.

Isabelle called the Burj Alarab Hotel, but they said that guests named Selen Dubois and Antoine Bernard had checked out on June 23rd without leaving any contact information.

She contacted her daughter’s friends, but no one knew anything.

On June 28th, exactly 5 days after Seline’s disappearance, Isabelle filed a missing person report with the Lion Police.

An investigation was launched and detectives quickly determined that Antoine Bernard was not who he claimed to be.

His real name was Amen Hadad, a Lebanese citizen with a French residence permit, and he had a criminal history involving fraud and human trafficking.

He was already known to Interpol as a suspect in several cases of young women disappearing in Europe, who were later found in the Middle East in forced prostitution rings.

Selene Dubois’s case was referred to Interpol and a special unit of the French police dealing with human trafficking.

Investigators contacted the UAE authorities and requested information about the Sanctuary Foundation, which according to Selen’s last message, she had contacted for help.

And this is where things started to get strange.

The Sanctuary Foundation was indeed registered in Dubai as a nonprofit organization, had a professional website, an office in one of the city’s business centers, and even several publications in the local media about their charitable activities.

But when the police tried to contact the fund’s management, it turned out that the office had been empty for several months.

The phones were not answering and the website, although still functioning, had not been updated since March 2022.

Further investigation revealed a shocking truth.

The Sanctuary Foundation was a fake organization created specifically to lure victims of human trafficking who were trying to escape their traffickers.

The scheme was diabolically cynical and effective.

Agents of the network, such as Ila, attended parties and events where potential victims were present and specifically approached those who looked confused or frightened, offering help on behalf of the charitable foundation.

Girls who found themselves in danger and desperately seeking a way to escape saw the foundation as their last hope and trusted them, not realizing that they were actually falling from the hands of one trafficker into the hands of another.

Even more dangerous, it turned out that the real owner of the sanctuary fund was not some altruistic philanthropist, but a man named Khaled Al-Mansour, a member of an influential business family from the UAE with connections in the oil industry and real estate.

Formerly, Khaled was a respectable businessman, a donor to various charitable projects, a man with an impeccable reputation.

But behind this facade lay a different reality.

Khaled was the organizer and financiier of a complex human trafficking network that operated not only in the UAE but also in other countries in the Persian Gulf, North Africa and Eastern Europe.

His clients were wealthy and influential people willing to pay huge sums for exclusive goods, young educated women from Europe and America who could not simply be bought on the street or in a brothel.

After several months of investigation, in November 2022, investigators managed to establish contact with a former employee of the foundation, a woman named Nadia, who worked as an evacuation coordinator and who decided to cooperate with the police in exchange for protection and a new identity.

From Nadia’s testimony, investigators learned the horrific details of what happened to the victims of the Sanctuary Foundation.

After the girls were rescued, they were given sleeping pills or sedatives and transported while unconscious to remote villas in the desert or other emirates where they were kept in isolation.

They were deprived of their documents, phones, and any means of communication with the outside world.

Meanwhile, messages were sent to their families and friends on their behalf, saying that they were safe and starting a new life, which explained the lack of real contact.

But the most horrific thing was the information about what happened to some of these girls next.

Nadia said that there was an inner circle of Khaled’s clients, people with special perverted preferences who paid not just for sex or even slavery, but for something much darker.

These clients had access to a closed platform on the darknet where they could watch the victims in real time, give instructions on how to treat them, and vote on various actions.

The platform operated on cryptocurrency which made transactions virtually untraceable.

Nadia did not know the technical details of how the platform worked.

But she saw some of the girls before and after their participation in these sessions and said that they came out broken in a state of deep shock, many with physical injuries.

What exactly happened to Selene Dubois after she lost consciousness in the car remains unknown.

Nadia did not remember her case, specifically among the dozens of other girls who had gone through the system, but investigators based on Nadia’s testimony and other sources were able to partially reconstruct what had happened.

Seline was most likely taken to one of the network’s villas in the Emirate of Russ Alka, where she was held in an isolated room.

Messages were sent to her family on her behalf, creating the appearance that she had been safely evacuated and was in the process of moving to another country.

Over the course of several days, she was likely being prepared to participate in one of the closed sessions for special clients.

Seline’s fate remains under investigation.

In December 2022, 6 months after her disappearance, a short entry appeared on the Sanctuary Foundation website in the success stories section.

Selene D, a French citizen, was successfully evacuated from a dangerous situation in Dubai and is now starting a new life in a Scandinavian country where she has been granted asylum.

We wish her all the best in her new beginning.

This post was dated June 28th, 2022, just 5 days after Seline’s disappearance, and was the only clue indicating that the Foundation wanted to give the impression that she had been safely rescued.

But no real evidence that Seline is alive and in Scandinavia or anywhere else has ever been found.

In January 2023, an international operation cenamed Mirage, coordinated by Interpol and the special services of several countries led to the arrests of many members of Khaled al-Mansour’s network in the UAE, Lebanon, Turkey, and France.

Amin Hadad, also known as Antoan Bernard, was arrested in Beirut while preparing a new operation to recruit victims.

Leila Hussein, the fund’s evacuation coordinator, and 17 other people associated with the network were also arrested.

Khaled al-Mansour himself, using his connections and influence, managed to leave the UAE before his arrest and according to intelligence services, is hiding in one of the countries that does not have an extradition treaty with most Western states.

During a search of the network’s villas and premises, evidence of crimes was found, computers with records of cryptocurrency transactions, correspondence with clients, and video recordings that investigators described as extremely disturbing and indicative of serious crimes against humanity.

23 victims from different countries, France, Italy, the UK, Russia, Ukraine, and the US were identified.

All young women between the ages of 18 and 30 who disappeared under similar circumstances between 2018 and 2022.

11 of them were found alive in various locations within the network in serious physical and psychological condition.

They were given medical and psychological assistance and repatriated to their countries.

The fate of the remaining 12 victims including Selene Dubois remains unknown.

Among the materials found were remnants of the platform’s work on the darknet.

Although the site itself had been shut down and cleared by administrators before the police arrived, cyber criminologists were able to recover some data and discovered that the platform actually functioned as a closed auction where participants could bid on various actions performed on the victims.

Bets were accepted in cryptocurrency, most often in Monero or Bitcoin, and the amounts ranged from a few thousand to hundreds of thousands of dollars per session.

The highest bids were for so-called final sessions, a term whose meaning investigators prefer not to disclose publicly, but which apparently refers to participation in actions leading to the death of the victim.

Trials of arrested members of the network began in various countries during 2023.

Amin Hadad was sentenced in France to 30 years in prison on charges of kidnapping, human trafficking, and involvement in murder, although the victim’s bodies were never found.

Leila Hussein received 25 years in the UAE for participating in an organized criminal group and human trafficking.

The other accompllices received various sentences ranging from 10 to 20 years.

During the trials, surviving victims testified about their horrific experiences, although most of them were unable or unwilling to reveal all the details due to trauma and fear of possible retaliation from members of the network or their clients who were still at large.

Selen’s mother, Isabelle Dubois, attended all the court hearings in France.

She gave interviews to several media outlets, calling on governments to strengthen controls over so-called charitable organizations operating in high-risk areas for human trafficking and to establish international mechanisms to verify the legitimacy of such funds.

She founded her own foundation named after Seline, which works to educate young women about the risks of traveling with strangers and the signs of human trafficking networks.

When asked if she believes her daughter is still alive, Isabelle replied, “I want to believe, but every day it becomes more difficult.

I just want to know the truth about what happened to her, where she is, so that I can either hug her again or at least bury her properly and find peace.

” In April 2024, almost 2 years after Selen’s disappearance, Isabelle received an anonymous package.

Inside was a flash drive containing only one folder dated 0623 2022, the day her daughter disappeared.

Isabelle immediately handed the drive over to the police.

It contained log files from a closed platform on the darknet used by Khaled’s network.

Among the records was a profile with the initials SD and a photo in which despite the poor image quality, Seline could be recognized.

The records are dated from June 24th to June 28th, 2022 and contain brief descriptions of the sessions in which the victim participated, the amounts of the bets, and the cryptographic hashes of the transactions.

The last entry is dated June 28th, 900 pm local time in the UAE, and is marked final session completed, archive closed.

The police are not releasing the contents of these files publicly out of respect for the family and the memory of the victim, but law enforcement sources speaking on condition of anonymity have confirmed that the contents indicate that Selene Dubois likely died during the last session on June 28th, 2022, just 5 days after her disappearance.

The body has never been found and probably never will be.

Testimony from Nadia and other witnesses indicated that the network had established methods for disposing of bodies, including dissolving them in acid or burying them in remote desert areas where they would never be recovered.

On July 17th, 2024, what would have been Selen’s 25th birthday, a French court officially declared her dead based on the body of evidence presented by investigators.

Isabelle held a private memorial service in Lion, attended by friends, relatives, and people who were simply moved by the story.

There was no coffin at the ceremony, only a photograph of Seline, a smiling, vibrant young woman with the Eiffel Tower in the background taken a year before her tragic trip to Dubai.

In her speech, Isabelle said, “My daughter dreamed of changing the world for the better, working in international organizations, helping people.

Instead, she fell victim to those who use people’s trust and kindness as a weapon against them.

I don’t want her story to be forgotten.

I want every girl, every woman to know that even organizations that call themselves saviors can be wolves in sheep’s clothing.

” A 24-year-old model from Minsk disappeared in Dubai in July 2019 after a private party at the mansion of an influential person.

Officially, her agency reported that she had left the country spontaneously and lost contact.

But 3 years later, evidence emerged that the girl had been drugged, stripped naked, and placed in a transparent glass cube in the middle of the desert, where she died of thirst and heat stroke over several days while being watched on camera.

Her body was burned along with the cube so that no traces remained.

This is a story about how public humiliation in a culture of honor can cost a life and how money and power allow crimes to be committed without consequences.

Victoria Sergevna Costukovich was born on March 23rd, 1995 in Minsk, Bellarus.

She grew up in an ordinary middle-class family.

Her father worked as an engineer at a factory and her mother was a school teacher.

From childhood, she was tall and beautiful.

And at the age of 16, she was noticed by a modeling agency scout on the street who suggested she try her hand at modeling.

Victoria agreed, began attending castings and modeling for local clothing brands.

By the age of 20, she had become one of the most sought-after models in Minsk, modeling for magazines, participating in fashion shows, and signing contracts with several Bellarian and Russian companies.

She earned well by local standards, but dreamed of more of an international career of shoots in Paris, Milan, and New York.

In 2017, she signed a contract with the international agency Elite Models, which promised to promote her in Western markets.

The first two years of working with Elite were successful.

Victoria traveled to Turkey, Greece, and Spain for shoots, worked with famous photographers, and appeared in international publications.

But the real big money in the modeling business was not in studios and on catwalks, but at private events for wealthy clients.

The agency offered its models additional income, working as hostesses at private parties, on yachts, and in villas in Dubai, Monte Carlo, and on islands.

Officially, it was just a job, attending events, chatting with guests, and creating a good atmosphere.

Unofficially, everyone understood that sometimes more was expected of the models.

Victoria initially refused such offers, but when modeling contracts became less frequent and her money ran out faster, she agreed to try it.

In June 2019, the agency offered her a week-long trip to Dubai to work as a hostess at a series of private events.

The pay was generous, $5,000 a week, plus all expenses paid, including flights, accommodation in a five-star hotel, and meals.

Victoria agreed and flew to Dubai on June 7th.

The first few days went smoothly.

She attended parties on yachts and in skyscraper penous, socialized with wealthy businessmen from different countries, drank champagne, smiled, and took selfies.

The work was easy, though sometimes unpleasant when the men became too intrusive.

But the agency warned her to be friendly, not rude to clients, and professional.

On June 14th, Victoria and three other models from the agency were invited to a private party at a country villa in the desert about 60 km from the center of Dubai.

The organizer was an influential member of the local elite whose name the agency did not disclose, saying only that he was a very important client and that they needed to make a good impression.

The models were warned that there would be about 20 guests at the party, all men.

The atmosphere would be relaxed and the dress code would be evening wear.

On the evening of June 14th, a black minivan with tinted windows picked up the girls.

The driver did not speak English, only nodded and gestured for them to get in.

They drove for about an hour on the highway, then turned onto a dirt road and bumped along the desert for another 20 minutes until they arrived at a large villa surrounded by a high wall.

The gate opened automatically and the car drove into the grounds.

The villa was luxurious.

A two-story white stone building with large panoramic windows, an illuminated swimming pool, palm trees, fountains, and marble walkways.

Inside, everything was expensively furnished with dark wood and leather furniture, Persian rugs, crystal chandeliers, and paintings in gold frames.

Guests had already gathered on the terrace by the pool.

Men in white dish dashas, traditional Arab clothing and western suits, talking, smoking hookah, and drinking.

The owner of the villa greeted the models personally.

A man of about 45, tall, strongly built, with a short beard and dark eyes, dressed in a white dish dasha and a black bish, a cloak worn by people of high status.

He spoke English with an accent, introduced himself simply as Muhammad, invited the girls in, and said that the evening was just beginning.

He instructed the servants to show them a room where they could leave their belongings and change if necessary.

The party went on as usual.

The models socialized with the guests, drank champagne, and danced to the music that was turned on later.

The atmosphere was relaxed, but Victoria felt tense.

The men looked at the girls openly as if they were merchandise, discussing their appearance among themselves in Arabic, thinking that they did not understand.

One of the models, a girl from Ukraine, spoke a little Arabic and translated what they were saying to Victoria.

The comments were rude, sexual, and humiliating.

Around midnight, the owner of the villa approached Victoria, sat down next to her on the sofa, and started a conversation.

He asked her where she was from, how old she was, whether she liked Dubai, and what her plans for the future were.

Victoria answered politely but briefly, trying to keep her distance.

Muhammad poured her more champagne and said that she was very beautiful and that he would like to get to know her better.

He put his hand on her knee and squeezed it slightly.

Victoria removed his hand and said that she was only there for work, for socializing, nothing personal.

Muhammad smiled and said that everything could be discussed, that he was willing to pay well for company.

He named a price, $10,000 for the night.

Victoria refused firmly, saying that she was not a prostitute, that he was mistaken about her.

She stood up to leave.

Muhammad grabbed her wrist, squeezed it hard, his face becoming stern.

he said quietly, so that others couldn’t hear, that she didn’t understand who she was talking to, that here he decided who was who.

Victoria tried to pull her hand away, but he held on tight.

She raised her voice and said loudly that he should let her go, that she would not tolerate such treatment.

Several guests turned around, and the conversations died down.

Muhammad let go of her hand and stood up, his face impassive, but his eyes burning with anger.

Victoria, angry and frightened at the same time, couldn’t hold back.

She said loudly in English so that everyone could hear, that he was a pervert who bought women because he couldn’t get them any other way, that she was not a thing that could be bought with money, that he and his friends were disgusting, and she regretted agreeing to come here.

There was complete silence.

All the guests looked at Victoria and Muhammad.

No one moved or spoke.

In Arab culture, public insults, especially those concerning a man’s honor, masculinity, and dignity, are one of the most serious sins.

Victoria, not fully aware of this, had just dealt Muhammad a blow that could not be left unanswered.

Muhammad stood motionless for a few seconds, then nodded slowly, as if he had made a decision.

He beckoned to one of the servants and said something briefly in Arabic.

The servant nodded and quickly left the room.

Muhammad looked at Victoria with a cold gaze and said quietly, but clearly in English that she had made a big mistake and would now have to pay for her disrespect.

He turned and went inside the villa.

Victoria stood there confused and the other models ran up to her asking what had happened and advising her to leave immediately.

But there was nowhere to go.

They were in the desert 60 km from the city without a car and without any contact with the agency.

Victoria took out her phone and tried to call, but there was no signal, either deliberately jammed or simply unavailable in this area.

A few minutes later, the servant returned with a tray holding four glasses filled with a juice-like drink.

He said in broken English that the owner apologized for the misunderstanding and offered the girls refreshments before their return trip, adding that the car would be brought soon.

The models exchanged glances.

Victoria hesitated, but one of the girls took a glass and drank it, saying that it was better not to aggravate the situation, just to drink and leave.

The others also took glasses and drank.

The drink was sweet, fruity, with a slight hint of something bitter, but not unpleasant.

After a few minutes, Victoria felt dizzy.

Her legs became wobbly and her vision blurred.

She tried to sit down, but fell onto the sofa, her body not obeying her.

She heard the other girls start to fall, too.

Someone screamed, but the sound was distant, muffled.

Then everything went dark and she lost consciousness.

She woke up to a bright light shining in her eyes.

Her head was splitting, her mouth was dry, and her body achd.

She opened her eyes and squinted against the unbearable sun.

She tried to cover her face with her hand, but her hand moved slowly and clumsily.

Gradually, her vision cleared, and she saw where she was.

She was lying on a bare concrete floor inside a small room with glass walls.

The walls were completely transparent without frames or joints, as if they were a single glass cube.

The room was about 3 m by 3 m and about 3 m high.

The ceiling was also glass, through which she could see the blue sky and the merciless sun.

Around the cube for many kilometers stretched desert, sand, stones, not a single plant, not a single sign of life.

In the distance, mountains were visible, blurred by the haze of heat.

Victoria sat up and looked at herself.

She was completely naked with no clothes, jewelry, or anything else on her body.

Her skin had already begun to reen from the sun, although she did not know how long she had been lying unconscious.

In the corner of the cube stood a small video camera on a tripod, a red light glowing to indicate that it was working.

nothing else, no water, no food, no belongings.

She jumped to her feet, rushed to the glass wall, and began pounding on it with her palms, screaming and calling for help.

The glass was thick.

Her blows were almost inaudible.

Her voice was swallowed up by the emptiness of the desert.

She tried to break the glass with her fists, but only broke her knuckles, blood smearing across the transparent surface.

The glass didn’t even crack.

She walked around the perimeter of the cube, looking for a door, a crack, any way to get out.

The walls were perfectly smooth without a single seam.

It was a solid glass box sealed on all sides.

The floor was concrete, cold despite the heat outside, apparently massive to keep the cube stable.

The ceiling was also glass, but too high to reach even if she jumped.

Victoria returned to the camera, stood in front of it, looked into the lens, shouted, demanded to be released, explained that it was a mistake, that she regretted what she had said, and apologized.

The camera stood motionless, recording silently.

She kicked the camera with her foot and the tripod swayed but did not fall as it was bolted to the floor.

The sun rose higher and the heat intensified.

The glass cube acted like a greenhouse and the temperature inside rose rapidly.

Victoria felt sweat breaking out all over her body, dripping onto the floor.

It was becoming difficult to breathe.

The air was hot and stuffy.

She lay down on the concrete floor, which was slightly cooler, and tried to breathe slowly to conserve her strength.

Time dragged on agonizingly.

Victoria didn’t know how many hours had passed.

There were no landmarks, only the sun slowly moving across the sky.

Thirst began to torment her after a few hours.

Her mouth was completely dry, her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, and her lips were cracked.

She licked her lips, but there was almost no saliva.

Her head was spinning from dehydration and heat stroke.

By the evening of the first day, the sun began to set and the temperature dropped.

Victoria lay on the floor, exhausted, sunburned, and tormented by thirst.

Her skin was red, and blisters began to appear on her shoulders and chest, where the sun burned the most.

She tried to think about what to do, how to survive, but her thoughts were confused.

Her head wasn’t working.

It got cold at night.

The temperature in the desert dropped sharply after sunset.

And in the glass cube, without clothes and without the possibility of shelter, Victoria was freezing.

She curled up on the floor, shivering, her teeth chattering.

She couldn’t sleep.

The cold wouldn’t let her, and neither would her fear.

She lay there and looked at the stars through the glass ceiling, bright and countless, indifferent to her suffering.

On the morning of the second day, the sun returned, and the torture began again.

Heat, thirst, pain from burns.

Victoria tried to get up, but her legs wouldn’t hold her.

Her strength was gone.

She crawled to the glass walls, scratched them with her nails, leaving bloody marks, begging someone to save her.

The camera continued to record everything.

Somewhere far away, in a villa in the desert, Muhammad sat in a darkened room in front of a large screen showing the image from the camera in the cube.

He watched Victoria, watched her suffer, watched her slowly die.

For him it was a ritual, an act of restoring the honor she had insulted.

In his culture, honor is more important than life, and public humiliation cannot go unpunished.

Sitting next to him were two of his closest friends, also men of influence and wealth, who shared his views on justice and punishment.

They watched in silence, occasionally commenting that she deserved it, that Western women did not understand respect, that this was a lesson for anyone who dared to insult them.

The broadcast was closed via an encrypted channel accessible only to the three of them.

Muhammad set aside an hour a day to watch, usually in the evening when he returned from work or meetings.

For him, it was like meditation, a way to cleanse himself of anger and restore his inner balance.

On the third day, Victoria hardly moved.

She lay on her side, breathing shallowly, her lips swollen and cracked until they bled, her tongue swollen and blackened, her skin covered with blisters and beginning to peel in places.

Her eyes were sunken, and her dehydration had reached a critical stage.

She no longer screamed or scratched at the walls, but just lay there and stared into space.

Sometimes she moved her lips trying to say something, but no sound came out.

Maybe she was praying.

Maybe she was calling for her mother.

Maybe she was asking for death.

The camera recorded every movement, every breath.

By the evening of the third day, Victoria began to write on the glass.

She used blood from her broken fingers, which she had scratched on the concrete in an attempt to find a way out.

She wrote letters that were crooked, uneven, and smudged.

She wrote a few words in Russian, then in English.

Help, please, mom.

Then Muhammad’s name and the word murderer.

Muhammad saw it on the screen and smiled.

He told his friends that she still didn’t understand, that no one would come, that no one would find out, that the desert was vast, the cube stood in a place where even Bedawins didn’t go because there was nothing to find there.

That even if someone accidentally saw the cube from a distance, they wouldn’t approach it, thinking it was a mirage or someone’s strange installation.

On the fourth day, Victoria stopped moving altogether.

She lay motionless, her breathing barely noticeable, her chest rising and falling weakly.

Her skin had turned gray, covered with a crust of dried blood and dirt.

Her eyes were open, but she saw nothing.

Her gaze was empty, glassy.

Not only was there a camera in the cube, but also sensors that monitored her vital signs, body temperature, heart rate, and breathing.

The information was transmitted to the same screen where Muhammad was watching the broadcast.

He saw her pulse dropping, her breathing becoming slower and slower, her body temperature decreasing.

On the evening of the fourth day, around 9:00, the sensors showed cardiac arrest.

Her pulse dropped to zero.

Her breathing stopped.

Muhammad stared at the screen for a few more minutes, making sure it was all over.

Then he turned off the broadcast, got up, and left the room.

He told the servants it was time to clean up.

An hour later, a truck with a crane pulled up to the cube.

Workers hired specifically for this task and paid huge sums of money for their silence, hooked the cube with cables, lifted it off the ground along with its concrete base, and loaded it onto the truck’s platform.

The cube was heavy.

The glass was thick and specially reinforced, weighing about 2 tons.

The truck took it back to the villa, but not to the villa itself, but to a large hanger located a kilometer away.

The hanger was built specifically for the disposal of waste and unwanted items and contained an industrial furnace for burning garbage, capable of heating up to 1,500° C.

The furnace was rarely used, but was kept in working order.

The workers rolled the cube into the hanger, opened the furnace door, and used a crane to place the cube inside hole without opening it or touching the body.

They closed the furnace door and started the heating.

The temperature rose slowly, first to 500, then to a th00and, then to 1 and a half thousand°.

The glass began to melt, turning into a viscous mass, enveloping the body inside.

The body burned along with the glass.

The bones charred and crumbled, and the organic tissues evaporated.

The process took several hours.

By the morning of the fifth day, only a molten glass lump and a handful of ashes mixed with concrete fragments from the base remained in the furnace.

The workers waited for the furnace to cool down, removed the remains, crushed them with hammers into fine crumbs, and poured them into bags.

The bags were loaded onto a truck, taken to the desert, to another place far from the villa, and buried in a deep pit, which was then covered with sand and stones.

No traces remained, no body, no DNA, no clothes, no personal belongings.

Everything was burned and completely destroyed.

Even the camera from the cube was melted along with the rest.

The memory card was removed in advance and destroyed separately, smashed and burned.

While this was happening, the Elite Models Agency in Dubai began to worry.

Victoria had not been in touch for 4 days.

Her phone was unavailable and she had not returned to the hotel.

The agency manager called and sent messages, but there was no response.

He contacted other models who had been at the same party.

They returned to the hotel on the morning of June 15th, the day after the party, and said that Victoria had quarreled with the villa owner, and that they had all lost consciousness after drinking.

They woke up in the hotel in their rooms with no memory of how they got there.

Victoria was not with them.

They thought she had left separately or stayed at the villa of her own accord.

They did not think much of it at first because this sometimes happened.

Models would stay with wealthy clients for a day or two if they agreed on additional payment.

The agency manager tried to contact the party organizer, but the contact details he had were fake.

The phone was not answering and the email address did not exist.

He contacted the Dubai police on June 18th and filed a missing person report.

The police accepted the report and began an investigation.

They requested information about Victoria’s movements and checked the recordings from cameras in the hotel, at the airport, and on the streets.

The last recordings showed Victoria getting into a black minivan on the evening of June 14th near the hotel.

The car’s license plate number was visible in the recording, but when they checked it, it turned out that the car was registered to a non-existent person with fake documents.

The police questioned the other models, who told them about the party, the villa in the desert, and Victoria’s argument with the owner.

They described the villa and the direction they were heading in, but did not know the exact address, as everything had been arranged through an agency that had received the order from an anonymous client.

The police tried to find the villa and sent patrols to the desert in the direction indicated by the girls.

The desert is huge with hundreds of villas and private residences belonging to rich people, shakes, and businessmen.

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