Moscow, Russia. February 9 2015

My name is Nathalia Petrakova. I am 19 years old, a young woman from a small, poor village in Russia. My given name is Nathalia, but I was taught to believe that my destiny lay beyond our village, beyond the reach of my father's expectations. I am looking for a husband in a different country for a better life. I came to Moscow with a desperate hope to meet men for marriage. That is where I met Sergi.

I come from a poor village called Zarnitsa, a place of mud roads and wooden houses, where my mother, father, and two brothers live. Life there is hard, and the future is bleak. My father wants me to stay and marry Viktor, a man his age, a man who smells of stale vodka and cigarette smoke. I do not want this. I want more than a life of hardship and submission. So I look for a different way. I cannot pay for my studies, and I cannot leave my father's house without permission, a prisoner of tradition.

One day, on a rare trip to the nearest town, Olgino, I met a man named Sergi at a gym. He noticed me, and he told me I could meet a wealthy British man on the internet for marriage. He said it was a way for a girl like me to find a new life, a new beginning. But I must first take pictures and write my story for the website. Sergi is a Russian man the same age as my father, maybe 45. He has a dark beard and a round belly. He wears a leather coat and dark pants, and his hair is dark like his beard. His eyes are dark like the night, and they hold no warmth. Sergi is not tall, but he is a huge man, maybe 170 cm tall and 100 kg.

I said yes to his proposal. I was so full of hope. Sergi said I must come to the Radisson Slavyanskaya Hotel in Moscow to take pictures and meet other girls who wanted a rich husband.

On February 26, I took the train to Moscow, a journey of many hours. I arrived at Moscow Kiyevsky Station and walked to the hotel. The hotel is a 500-meter walk from the train station, a grand, modern building that felt like a different world from my village. I went to room 168 in the hotel. There, I met Sergi. Sergi was excellent, and he introduced me to other girls. We were five girls, all Russian, all with the same desperate hope in our eyes.

I made pictures, made a story, and had fun with the other girls. It was a new and excellent time for me. I felt like I was already starting my new life. After the photos, I went back to my father's house and waited.

One month later, on March 28, I got a call from Sergi. A man wanted to meet me. The man's name was John. Sergi said John was asking many questions and wanted to see me. So I must go back to the hotel on April 1 and video call John. Sergi would translate for John, as I speak very little English.

I felt so excited. I took the train to Moscow again, my heart pounding with nervous anticipation. I went to the hotel and met Sergi. We were in room 168 again. Sergi had a laptop on the desk, the screen a bright, glowing portal to a new life. The video program was running, and Sergi told me I must be very kind. I knew I had to be. I spoke very poor English, but I did my best.

John called with a video program. He was an old, fat, bald, white British man. My heart sank, but I forced a smile. But I must not show disgust; he could make me a better life than in Russia. John said he lived in London and showed me the window. I saw many buildings; it was beautiful. My heart was happy for the chance at a better life, a chance to escape.

I did not understand much of what John and Sergi said, but I felt happy. John was friendly. Sergi translated for me: John wants his wife to cook, clean, and have sex with him. I knew this, and it was ok. I could learn English, and I could go to school.

When we were done talking, Sergi said I must go to the lobby and wait for him. So I did. I took the lift and went to the entrance. I stayed at the bar. It was 6:30 p.m., and I had a drink. Soon, two men came to me. They were massive. The man on the left was 2 meters tall and 150 kg. A very, very big man with blonde hair and blue eyes. He wore jeans and a leather coat. The man on the right was more petite than the man on the left, maybe 185 cm tall and 95 kg, but with dark hair. I did not see his eyes. He wore a leather coat as well.

These men said I must go with them, but I protested. I was not ready to go; I had to wait for Sergi to hear if John wanted to marry me. The man on the left said, "No delay; you go now."

They pulled me outside the hotel. There was a car waiting, a dark blue sedan with four doors. The driver was a man in his 30s with long brown hair and a bright pink shirt. The men pushed me into the car, and we went driving. We drove to the bus station. I know Moscow is not good, but I know street names, not.

Around 8 p.m., we arrived at the bus station on Uralskaya Ulitsa. The tall man spoke to the shorter man and told him that Elena was waiting in Prague for us. I saw many buses waiting to depart the station, their engines humming in the night. The shorter man, still holding tight to my arms, said "Come." He pulled me to the bus and got on with me. I waited for Sergi and John to come. I wanted to tell my family goodbye. The short man said "no," and we must get on the bus now.

I still wanted a better life, so I went on the bus with the short man. His name was Andrei. We sat in the back of the bus, and at 8:45 on April 1, the bus left Moscow. Andrei said the bus goes to Prague, where he would give me to Elena, and she would bring me to London to meet John.

Soon, I saw no husband, no new life for me, only darkness. I am a captive. I am not a bride.

Sincerely,

Nathalia Petrakova