“Boss, better claim this one.”
“Think she’s worth the fight?”
“Will we get a taste?”
I swallowed the bile rising in my throat, the meaning of their words dawning on me. My mind raced. Was I about to be one of those women, an object for their amusement?
At the end of the room, the stage loomed, bathed in soft light. My feet faltered, but Matvet’s iron grip pushed me forward. The voices grew louder, filled with anticipation.
A woman was waiting at the base of the stage, dressed in a sleek black dress that clung to her figure. Without a word, she took my hand and guided me up the steps.
My legs felt weak, trembling as I ascended. The moment I was on the stage, the room fell silent. I could still feel the weight of their stares, especially when the lady thrust me into the spotlight. A single harsh beam followed my every move.
Standing by the side, she took the microphone, and her voice sliced through the silence as she announced.
“The auction will begin shortly.”
Auction?My stomach churned.
I scanned the crowd, the dim light revealing snippets of their faces. One of them held a glass of whiskey, his lips curled into a smirk as he stared at me. He whispered something to the girl on his lap. She looked lifeless, her expression void of anything but exhaustion.
Another man was on the phone. He caught my eye and winked, but the gesture made me nauseous. Further back, a younger man sat with two women clinging to him. His smirk was cruel, but he had Artur’s gray eyes. I thought he was imposing until Artur appeared at the door.
He strode in, his presence charging the air. Every step he took exuded a power that made every man in here behave. He sank into the empty sofa, the very sight of him sending a shiver down my spine. I stepped back instinctively, putting distance between us, though I knew it wouldn’t matter. He was the worst of themall. His good looks were nothing but a mask for the darkness that roiled beneath.
The woman on the microphone cleared her throat, snapping the room’s attention back to her.
“The auction begins now.”
Of course, they had been waiting for him.
“Alessia Romero,” she began, her tone clinical. “Twenty-three years old, daughter of an Italian banker. A young woman with no connections to protect her and no unpaid debts.”
The audience listened, hungry. I was no longer a person; they reduced my identity to a list of selling points like a commodity.
“Every inch of her is untouched,” she added with cruel finality, and a wave of jeers erupted. “The bidding starts now.”
“Twenty thousand,” someone called, and I flinched as if struck.
The numbers climbed, and each shouted offer felt like another nail in the coffin of my humanity. My chest rose and fell in shallow, panicked gasps.
“Sixty thousand.”
“Seventy.”
The men roared with excitement, and I clutched at my chest. My breath came in shallow gasps. I was being sold. Like cattle. Like property. I squeezed my eyes shut, willing myself to disappear.
“Two hundred thousand going once—”
A commotion erupted at the back of the room. Voices clashed, anger rising in sharp bursts. I dared to open my eyes, but the stage light made it impossible to see.
Artur stood abruptly, his eyes remaining on me for a moment. He said nothing, his cold gaze sweeping the room before he turned and left.
The sight of him leaving, abandoning me to the wolves, was worse than anything I had imagined. The men below continued to fight over me, their voices blurring into a deafening roar.
This was my reality now. I stood there, stripped of hope, my will crumbling under the weight of their desires. And I understood what it meant to be powerless.
Chapter Eight