Chapter 2 I'll Test It Myself

Charlie said nothing, his inscrutable gray eyes fixed on the figure inside the gilded cage-not merely a woman, but a young woman whose quiet composure drew his attention even more.

With Charlie offering no reaction at all, Preston had no choice but to hold his breath and wait.

By then, the bidding had already climbed to a staggering fifty million.

A bald man with a cruel glimmer in his eyes spat a curse under his breath. "This is insane. The bid's gone through the roof. But once she's mine, I'll give her a night she won't forget."

Sweeping his arm outward in a show of reckless confidence, he barked out the next number without hesitation, "Fifty-five million."

At that price, the room wavered, the earlier fervor thinning as wallets-and courage-hit their limits.

Baring his teeth in a smug grin, the bald man straightened in his seat, convinced no one would dare challenge him for the fragile beauty he was already claiming as his own for the night.

Revulsion flickered across Charlie's eyes as he took in the bald man's leering posture, the contempt sharp and undisguised. With an offhand motion of his fingers, he signaled Preston forward.

Thrilled by the cue, Preston shot to his feet, lifting the bid card as he began, "Sixty..."

Before the number could fully leave his mouth, Charlie cut in, his voice low, steady, and calm with absolute authority, "One billion."

The word hit like a hammer. Preston froze, his breath catching as disbelief flooded his face. Had Charlie lost his mind? Was he really about to make himself the laughingstock of the entire auction?

In a single stroke, the bid leapt beyond reason, rendering the previous price irrelevant. A stunned hush swept through the hall, swallowing every whisper and gasp.

Crossing the billion-dollar threshold made even the wealthiest bidders hesitate, their confidence faltering.

A ripple of speculation swept the hall as curiosity fixated on the shadowed figure hidden inside the mysterious private room. Who was this man, tossing out a billion as casually as loose change, as if the sum meant nothing at all?

Even the auctioneer-seasoned by obscene displays of wealth-hesitated, momentarily stunned by the figure flashing on the board.

"One billion dollars, once. One billion dollars, twice. One billion dollars, thrice. Sold!"

The gavel came down hard, ending the frenzy without room for dispute.

"Congratulations to the gentleman in Private Room 001 for securing one hundred milliliters of blood from the virgin blood slave, along with exclusive rights to her first night this evening."

Without missing a beat, the auctioneer added, "We'll begin the extraction immediately, and she'll be delivered to your room shortly."

"Wait."

The low, authoritative command cut through the room, snapping every head in his direction.

From the room 001 stepped a tall, intimidating figure, dressed in an impeccably fitted luxury suit and a black mask. Only his gray eyes were exposed-cold, magnetic, and impossible to ignore.

He advanced at an easy, almost lazy pace, yet the pressure rolling off him was suffocating, the unmistakable presence of someone born to dominate without trying.

The bald man's muddy gaze locked onto Charlie, his jaw tightening with barely restrained fury-it was this man who had stolen the indulgence he'd believed was his alone tonight.

Inside the golden cage, the woman sat quietly, a curtain of thick, seaweed-like hair spilling over her shoulders to shield her chest and the most intimate parts of her body.

After a pause, her lashes lifted, and her gaze rose to meet Charlie's as he drew closer, his expression carefully arranged into something gentle and unthreatening.

When their eyes locked, he caught the contrast at once-she looked lost and harmless on the surface, yet there was an unguarded, dangerous beauty swimming in her eyes, one she clearly didn't recognize herself.

His throat tightened, Adam's apple jerking before he could stop it.

Stopping before the cage, Charlie bent his knees and lowered his tall frame until he was level with her, his presence suddenly intimate rather than imposing. With a lazy curl of his finger, he beckoned her over, his voice soft, coaxing, as though calling for a cherished pet. "Come here."

She flicked a brief glance at him, then moved without resistance, crawling forward and slipping her left hand through the bars to place it obediently in his open palm.

Everything about her compliance carried a quiet, rehearsed ease.

Her skin felt impossibly soft against his, so delicate that he didn't dare close his fingers around it, afraid that even the slightest pressure might crush the fragile bones beneath.

A subtle arch of Charlie's brow betrayed his surprise; faced with something this pretty and breakable, even he hesitated over what he planned to do next.

"How exactly do you plan to prove her blood does all that?" He directed the question at the host, yet his gaze never left the blood slave in the cage.

Sensing the crowd's doubt, the auctioneer wasted no time and launched into an explanation. "If a poisoned person drinks it, the toxin is neutralized. If the wounded drink it, their injuries heal. If someone on the brink of death drinks it, their life is extended by years. Please wait a moment, sir. I'll find a suitable subject for the test."

Charlie lifted his brow again, a spark of interest flashing through his eyes.

"I won't wait," he declared with steady voice. "I'll test it myself."

Without warning, a sharp knife flashed into his hand. Before anyone could react, he moved with ruthless precision, the blade slicing across the woman's slender arm in one clean stroke.

Dark crimson spilled down her delicate wrist, the vivid contrast shockingly intimate, almost obscene in its beauty.

She had no chance to dodge; the cut was already there.

Her gaze snapped upward to the man looming before her, terror surging as she took in his handsome, unreadable face.

Pain flooded her nerves, tears blurring her vision as they spilled over despite her effort to hold them back. Years of experimentation had sharpened her body to a cruel edge, every nerve trained to respond too keenly. To her, any stimulus-agony or pleasure alike-multiplied itself without mercy. That shallow slice therefore tore through her like a blade of fire.

Instinct drove her to shrink away from the man before her, yet Charlie held her hand fast, his grip unbreakable.

With calm precision, he lowered himself onto one knee, slipped off his mask, and bent toward her wrist. His tongue traced the wound slowly, reverently, as though tasting something precious and rare.

The moment the blood touched his mouth, warmth surged through his frame, soothing the faint, persistent aches buried deep in his bones.

A dangerous light flickered through his gray eyes as he straightened, casually swiping the crimson from his lips, arrogance and cruelty curling together in his expression while a low chuckle slipped free. Ah. Sweet.

There was no longer any doubt-the blood truly worked.