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Zaya Monroe knew she shouldn't have come. The velvet mask pressed against her face was hot, suffocating. Her heart thumped wildly beneath the black silk dress that hugged her frame like a noose. Around her, wealthy strangers sipped champagne, their laughter echoing under the chandeliers. Everyone here had power, status and secrets. Especially the man she was here to find. She had one goal: to find a way out of the mess her foster brother left her in. And instead, she walked straight into the lion's den. Tonight was one of New York's underground charity auctions.
But charity wasn't the word for it. On stage weren't antiques or art. They were people. Girls. Zaya swallowed hard as another masked girl walked across the stage. Applause. Another man bidding with eyes full of desire, not kindness. "Number 23 two nights, no questions. Virgin." The crowd buzzed. Zaya turned to leave but too late. A hand gripped her wrist. She gasped, whirling around and met eyes like frozen steel.
Tall. Dark. Impossibly composed. His tuxedo was sharp enough to cut. His face was mostly in shadow, but his presence was overpowering. "Who are you?" he asked, voice low and dangerous. Zaya's heart skipped. "I I think you have the wrong person." "No," he said simply. "You're exactly who I'm looking for." Before she could run, he leaned in. "Your name is Zaya Monroe. You've been hiding for a while. And now you're mine."