Chapter 1 One

{Elena's pov}

The chains were too tight. Iron cuffs dug into my wrists, holding my arms in place. The restriction cut deeper with every move, and my shoulders ached from being tied up.

I struggled to breathe, overwhelmed by the thick air, heavy with smoke, sweat, and greed. I had no idea of my memory of identity or my location.

A dull, throbbing pain pulsed at the back of my skull. Making it hard for me to think. I had woken up only minutes ago in this dimly lit room, chained like an animal, surrounded by faceless men in expensive suits. Their eyes devoured me, their whispers filled with dark amusement.

This isn't real. It can't be real. But the rough texture of the wooden stage beneath my knees was real. The too-tight chains were real. The way the men were looking at me– like I was a property, something to be bought– was terrifyingly real.

"She's a rare one," the auctioneer announced, pacing before me. "Untouched. Unspoiled. A woman of her beauty is hard to find these days.'

A shiver ran down my spine. "I'm sure you all know the rules," the auctioneer continued smoothly. "Bidding starts at one million dollars." The room was silenced.

"One million."

The first voice rose from the shadows, smooth and arrogant.

"Two."

Another man. The numbers climbed higher. Three million. Four. My pulse pounded in my ears, a steady rhythm of panic.

I struggled against the chains, my breath coming in short gasps. "P -please.." my voice cracked. "Let me go."

Laughter. I wasn't sure who laughed first, but soon, the entire room was filled with amusement.

"She speaks." one man chuckled. "That's cute."

"Begging won't get you anywhere sweetheart.'' another voice, this one was closer.

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to push down the terror clawing up my throat. Think, Elena think

The name slammed through into me like a fist. It was my name. I was sure of it.

More pieces clicked into place- flashes of a life I couldn't fully grasp. A warm smile. Laughter. A pair of strong arms lifted me. Then - pain. A whispered name on dying lips.

A sudden wave of nausea rolled over me.

Why couldn't I remember?

Why was I here?

"Five million."

The deep, velvety voice cut through the air laced with something sharp and dangerous.

I forced my eyes open.

A man sat at the far end of the room, encircled in darkness. The way he carried himself - the effortless authority, the cold control- made every other man In the room insignificant.

The air shifted.

Everyone knew him. Feared him.

Who is he?

Whispers murmured spread through the room.

"Moretti."

The name sent a chill through me. He sat motionless, his expression a mask, revealing nothing. The shades couldn't fully hide him- his sharp jawline, the expensive watch glimmering under the dim ray, the way his fingers relaxed against the armchair, soothed yet powerful.

His eyes black as midnight were fixed on me. My stomach twisted. Something about him felt familiar.

But before I could grasp the thought, another voice broke through the silence.

"Ten million."

I totter my head, my gaze landing on a man slouching lazily in his seat, a smirk tugging at his lips.

Unlike Moretti, this man was openly amused, enjoying the game.

Dante Romano.

I didn't know how I knew his name, but the moment I saw him, it clicked.

He was dangerous - but in a different way than Moretti. Where Moretti was sharp-edged in silence, Romano was an arrogant charm wrapped in a blade.

And right now he was looking at Moretti, a taunt hidden in his smirk.

"You must want this one," Dante drawled, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. "Or is it because I do?"

The tension in the room thickened. Moretti didn't react. He didn't even blink.

Then, "fifteen million."

The words were spoken without hesitation. I sucked in a breath.

Dante let out a slow, mocking laugh. "Well, well. Isn't this interesting?"

A beat of silence.

Then-

"Sold," the auctioneer declared. "To Nico Moretti."

The moment the gravel struck, Moretti rose to his feet.

Dante stood, taking slow steps towards Nico. His smirk had vanished, replaced by something sharper and darker.

Dante's voice cut through the air like a razor. "She was mine," he growled. "You have taken from me before, but this time, I'm taking her back." His eyes locked into mine, gleaming with malice. "And when I do, Moretti, you'll regret ever coming in my way."

The room crackled with anticipation. Nico didn't move. Didn't blink. He just raised his gun.

The shift was so smooth, so effortless that danger didn't fully register until-

Bang!

Dante staggered clutching his left leg as he let out a sharp, pained groan.

Chairs erupted, and chairs scraped against the floor. The murmuring crowd turned into a wave of movement as people rushed towards the exit. The smell of gunpowder seared the air.

But Nico remained calm, unshaken. He lowered his gun with almost lazy precision and took a step forward, his polished shoes clicking against the wooden floor.

Dante, still clutching his wound glared up at him "You son of a -"

Nico crouched beside him, voice low, lethal. "If you try to stand between me and what's mine again," he murmured, pressing the still-warm barrel of the gun to Dante's jaw "I won't stop at your leg."

Dante's throat bobbed, his fingers twitching as if resisting the urge to retaliate.

Nico straightened and turned to me. He walked towards me slowly and deliberately. Each step felt like a countdown to what I did not know.

I wanted to move, To crawl away, To disappear. But the chains held in place. He stopped just inches from me, towering over me like a shadow. The air between us was thick- suffocating.

My pulse pounded, and I forced myself to look up.

And then I saw him. The unreadable face. The sharp, midnight-blue eyes pinned me in place. A man carved from control, from absolute power.

My stomach twisted. Something about him felt familiar.

A ghost of memory hovered just out of reach- a whisper of something dangerous. My breath hitched as his hand moved.

I flinched, his fingers wrapped around my waist- firm, but not cruel. Not yet. A sharp jolt of awareness shot through it before vanishing. His grip tightened- just enough to make a point.

His voice, when he finally spoke, was soft, yet absolute. "You are coming with me, Elena." The words settled in my chest like a brand.

I wasn't sure if it was a promise- or a threat.