Chapter 2 The Auction

"Next item," the auctioneer called out, his voice cutting through the heavy room like a blade, loud and deliberate. "A rare one- virgin, untouched, twenty-two, fire in her eyes, gentlemen."

Laughter echoed across the hall, low and smug. Glasses clinked together, the scent of whiskey and cigar smoke thick in the air, curling around every corner like it owned the place.

Anaya stood behind the curtain, barely able to breathe. The mix of money, power, and something cruel made the air feel like it was pressing down on her. Every sound on the other side hit her ears too harsh, too loud.

A hand shoved her forward. "Time to earn your price, pretty thing."

She didn't reply. Her throat felt dry and closed, like she'd swallowed a rock. Her bare feet touched the cold floor, and it chilled her straight to the bone. But she didn't hesitate. She walked when they told her to, moved like she was on strings. What other choice did she have?

The curtain rose.

Her heart didn't just drop, it crashed, deep and hard, like it was trying to bury itself.

The room was darker than she expected. Shadows stretched across thick carpets and velvet chairs. Men lounged like kings, half-hidden behind smoke and dim light. She couldn't see their eyes, only the flash of gold watches, rings, and teeths when they smiled.

But the spotlight, it made her skin crawl. It was cruel and cold and unforgiving.

She stepped forward. The white dress clung to her damp skin like it hated her. Her arms hung by her sides. She didn't look up. That would make it worse. And even if she could fight, scream, run-what was the point?

Everything she'd ever trusted had already betrayed her.

She could still feel where the ring used to rest, like a ghost against her collarbone, even though she'd dropped it.

Her mind kept drifting back to that screen-the thumbnail, the black Ivory suit, the soft words that weren't for her. Jenna's smile. Ethan's eyes, filled with apology but no fight.

She forced the thoughts down.

"Two-fifty."

"Three."

"Three-fifty."

The numbers floated through the smoke. Voices, cutting and unrelenting. She felt every eye on her. None of them warm. Just hungry. Cold. Like jackals circling a kill.

"Three-seventy-five."

Each sounded like a verdict, not a bid. Like pieces of her were being measured, judged, and priced without mercy. Anaya's heart pounded harder with every call. She wasn't just standing in a room full of strangers, she was being picked apart by wolves in tailored suits.

She remembered her father's voice the night before, still with rehearsed calm. "It's only for a while. After this, everything will be fine."

Everything would be fine. As if being sold could ever lead to something fine.

She had sat in silence then, tears threatening but not falling. Just like now. Maybe that's what she'd always been best at, holding herself together just long enough for everyone else to stop noticing.

The spotlight kept burning. Her legs wobbled but didn't give in. Her father's face flashed in her head. The man who had once kissed her forehead goodnight now couldn't even meet her eyes. Not after signing her away like property.

The bidding slowed. Silence crept in like fog.

Maybe they'd changed their minds. Maybe she'd go back behind the curtain. Atleast there, no one stared at her like this.

Then it came.

A voice.

Low. Cold. Steady.

"Five."

The room hushed like someone had cut the air itself. No more glasses. No silk rustling. Just stillness.

She felt it. The voice. It slipped beneath her skin like ice and settled right in her chest.

"Five million," the auctioneer confirmed, slightly stunned. "Going once... going twice... "

Please. Don't.

"Sold."

The gavel struck wood.

Anaya didn't move. Her fingers dug into her palms. Somewhere in the haze, the man who now owned her stood and walked away.

She didn't see his face.

But she knew that voice. She would know it even in her sleep.

The air thinned. The room spun a little, but she stayed upright. She wasn't going to faint. Not here. Not in front of them.

Murmurs started again. Men shifted in their seats, whispering, sipping, watching. But she was done.

She had been sold.

The dress felt heavier now. The ring was gone but the memory of it still tugged at her neck. What used to be her lifeline was now just another lie.

She swallowed hard. No tears.

Not here.

Tears were weakness.

And she had no weakness left to show.

The lights dimmed but the spotlight stayed, trapping her in place. As if she was still for sale. Still on display.

She didn't lift her head.

Even when footsteps stopped at the edges of the stage.

A man leaned in. Not the buyer. Someone else. His cologne was sharp and expensive, but underneath it was something sour, something that reminded her of blood.

"Smile alittle,' he said quietly, his voice greasy with sarcasm. "You just got bought for five million, sweetheart. That's gotta mean you're something special.

She stayed still. She would rather disappear into the floor than let him see her flinch. Her jaw locked. She didn't even blink.

He chuckled and walked off, probably thinking he'd won.

More movement followed. Voices. Another girl would be up next. That's how this worked, fast, cruel, like nobody mattered.

But the spotlight didn't leave her.

Maybe it was meant to punish her. Or maybe they liked it better this way, watching her sit in it, stewing in it, before someone came to claim her.

A hand brushed her arm. This one was gentler. A younger guard maybe. He didn't speak, just clipped a tag to her dress.

It swung lightly against her ribs.

She didn't look at it. Couldn't.

But she felt it, foreign and final. It labeled her like she was nothing else. Not Anaya. Not a girl with dreams, not the daughter of anyone. Just a number on a slip of paper tied to a body.

Her name used to mean something. Anaya Castellanos. The girl with the best laugh in her class. The one who wanted to study. The one who wanted to paint.

The one who lost her mother before she was old enough to fight back.

Labeled. Priced. Packaged.

Her knees buckled. Almost. But she straightened.

Not now. Not here.

She took a shallow breath. Just enough to stay upright. To keep standing.

Because now, she belonged to someone.

And whoever they were...

They were coming.

            
            

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