Chapter 3

"This must be some kind of mistake," I stammered into the microphone, my voice shaking.

Faye stepped forward, taking the microphone from my numb fingers. She gave the crowd a charming, apologetic smile. "Alana is just a little shy."

She turned to me, her eyes sparkling with malice. "Don't be modest, Alana. It was your idea, remember? To auction off a dinner date for such a good cause."

She winked, a silent, vicious threat. Play along, or else.

I looked out at the crowd, my eyes searching for Declan. He was sitting at his table, a look of approval on his face. But he wasn't looking at me. He was looking at Faye, a proud smile gracing his lips for her quick thinking and her "generosity."

The crowd, catching on, burst into applause. My heart turned to ice.

"Let's start the bidding at ten thousand dollars!" the auctioneer boomed.

The bids came fast and furious. Twenty thousand. Fifty. One hundred. Each number was a fresh wave of humiliation, making me feel like a piece of meat on a butcher's block.

Faye leaned close, her breath hot against my ear. "See that man in the corner? The one in the red tie? He' s already up to two hundred thousand. He' s been wanting to get his hands on you for a while."

My stomach churned. I knew the man. A greasy, old real estate mogul who had cornered me at a party once, offering to be my "sugar daddy."

The price soared to half a million dollars.

Suddenly, I felt a strange looseness at my shoulder. The strap of my dress.

The sound of fabric tearing, amplified by the microphone still near me, echoed through the silent ballroom.

I gasped, clutching the front of my dress as it started to slide down. A wave of murmurs and camera flashes swept through the room.

Faye' s voice, just loud enough for everyone to hear, was filled with fake concern. "Oh, dear. I was worried you'd be clumsy and ruin this dress too. Good thing I brought a wrap for you."

She draped a silk shawl over my shoulders, her touch lingering. The reporters in the front row scribbled furiously, their faces full of admiration for the kind, thoughtful Faye Lamb.

"Sold! For five hundred thousand dollars to Mr. Henderson!" the auctioneer cried, banging his gavel.

The greasy mogul, Henderson, made his way to the stage, his eyes roaming over my body. He wrapped a sweaty hand around my waist. The touch made my skin crawl.

I looked at Declan. His eyes met mine, a flicker of cold annoyance in their depths, but he didn't move. He just sat there, watching as another man claimed me.

I remembered a time in college, during a student art show. I' d worn a slightly revealing costume for a performance piece. Declan had been so jealous he' d made me change, hissing that no one else was allowed to see me like that.

I had thought it was love.

Now I knew better. It was just the possessiveness of a man who saw me as his property. A property he was now willing to let another man handle.

The last embers of affection for him died in that moment. My eyes went cold. My heart went numb.

"Don't touch me," I warned Henderson, my voice low and sharp.

He just grinned, his grip tightening. "Come on, darling. You're mine for the night." He started to pull me off the stage.

I was no match for his strength. I scanned the crowd, my eyes pleading for help, but found none. The guests and the media just watched, entertained by the drama. They whispered amongst themselves, their words like tiny, sharp stones.

"Serves her right, thinking she could marry into the Lamb family."

"She was always just a gold-digger."

I was a circus act. I finally understood the vast, unbridgeable gap between my world and Declan' s. His love had been a beautiful lie, a cage disguised as a palace.

I let out a bitter laugh and stopped struggling. What was the point?

"Wait!" Faye' s voice suddenly rang out. She was holding a contract, her face a mask of distress. "There' s a problem with the legal terms! Oh, Declan, I' m so sorry, this is my fault."

She looked at him, her eyes wide and innocent. "I consulted a lawyer friend, and auctioning a person, even for charity, is illegal. It could be considered a form of trafficking. I didn't realize... I' ve made such a mess."

The room erupted in chaos.

Henderson' s face turned purple with rage, his dream of a night with me shattered. He started yelling, demanding compensation for the public embarrassment.

To smooth things over, Declan stood up and, with a tight jaw, offered Henderson a lucrative partnership on a new tech project. The deal was signed on the spot, a multi-million dollar apology.

The farce was over.

Declan' s eyes, cold and hard, locked onto mine. He jerked his head toward the exit. A silent command. Follow me.

In the car, the silence was thick and heavy.

"That project was worth two hundred million dollars," he said, his voice dangerously quiet. "All because of your little stunt."