Chapter 130: The Hammer Falls, Lots and Lambs
Lafu’s eyes darted around the ballroom, panic clawing at her chest. For close to thirty minutes she had been searching, pushing through clusters of masked guests, scanning every shadowed corner, every alcove, every staircase landing. No emerald gown. No gold-and-emerald filigree mask. No Leitana.
Her heart hammered so hard she could feel it in her throat.
She rushed over to where Stacy and Marco stood near one of the tall arched windows, both of them looking just as frantic.
“Did you guys see her?” Lafu asked the second she reached them, voice tight.
Stacy shook her head, chest heaving. “No. We checked the back corridors, even the little bodega room near the service stairs. Nothing. Shit, Ravial is going to kill us if we lose his wife.”
Marco rubbed his jaw. “We are definitely losing our jobs and maybe lives. We were supposed to keep eyes on her at all times.”
Lafu pressed her lips together. “We need to split up again. I’ll take the….”
“There she is,” Marco said suddenly, voice high.
They all turned.
Leitana was descending the grand staircase, slow, careful steps in those unfamiliar heels. The emerald gown shimmered under the chandelier, her curls slightly mussed. And a tall, broad man in a black tuxedo walked beside her, his hand resting possessively on her waist.
Lafu exhaled sharply, relief flooding her so fast her knees almost buckled.
Stacy’s eyes narrowed. “Who is that guy?”
Lafu watched the way Leitana looked up at him, soft, trusting, a little shy and something clicked.
“I think that’s Ravial,” she whispered.
Marco blinked. “No shit. That’s him. But what the hell is he doing here?”
Stacy tilted her head, lips curving. “So cute. Maybe he’s here to watch over her. Though didn’t she say she didn’t tell him we were coming?”
Marco snorted. “Yeah. So what is he doing here?”
Leitana spotted them then, her face lit up. She hurried down the last few steps, Ravial’s hand still on her waist as they crossed the floor toward the group.
When she reached them she leaned close to Lafu and whispered, barely audible over the music.
“Mi Ravial is here.”
Lafu nodded, trying to keep her face neutral.
Ravial inclined his head to the group, cool, polite, unreadable behind the white mask. His gaze slid to Leitana, lingering for a long, possessive second then he released her waist, turned, and walked away without a word.
Stacy let out a low whistle. “Damnnn… that man is intimidating. With the blindfold he’s always scary, but with that mask he looks like a god who took human shape….and a scary one at that too.”
Marco smirked. “More like a demon who decided to play dress-up.”
Lafu ignored them both and turned to Leitana.
“Where did you two go?” she asked quietly. “You were coming down from upstairs. Did you… go to the auction?”
Leitana’s face flushed pink, her ears, cheeks, and neck.
“No,” she said quickly. Too quickly.
Marco’s brows shot up. “Ohhh, you minx. You both fucked, right? Damn.”
Leitana looked away. cheeks burning hotter. She didn’t want to lie. But she also didn’t want to admit it out loud. It felt… salacious. Wrong. Even though it had felt so right at the moment.
Lafu sighed, half exasperated, half relieved.
“Did he tell you why he’s here?” she asked. “Or how he knew we would be here?”
Leitana shook her head. “No. No he did not.”
Lafu nodded slowly.
Marco shrugged. “I mean, he’s a powerful man. He probably knows about this kind of thing. And you know the company is already doing its own investigation on Celeste. He’s probably here for that.”
Lafu glanced toward the grand staircase, people were starting to drift upward in small groups, masks glinting, champagne flutes in hand.
“Anyway, guys,” she said quietly. “It’s time we go upstairs too. I noticed most people heading up.”
They all nodded, giddy, scared, but ready.
Lafu looked at Leitana one last time.
“You good?”
Leitana took a shaky breath then nodded.
“Yes.”
They moved together, slipping into the slow current of masked guests climbing the marble stairs.
The red carpet runner muffled their footsteps.
The music faded slightly behind them.
Upstairs waited the auction.
Upstairs waited the proof.
And somewhere in the shadows…
Ravial was watching.
The group made their way up the stairs, people chatting amongst themselves in low, excited murmurs. The steps were wide enough for six to walk abreast, the red carpet runner thick and plush underfoot, muffling every sound except the soft rustle of silk gowns and the distant throb of music from below. Leitana stayed close to Lafu, her hand brushing the older woman’s arm for reassurance. Stacy and Marco walked just behind, hands linked, masks glinting under the wall sconces.
At the top of the staircase stood a big red door, lacquered, imposing, flanked by two black-suited men with earpieces and stone faces. A third man, taller, silver-haired, wearing a plain black mask stood directly in front of it, holding a velvet tray.
He raised a gloved hand as they approached.
“Names and invitations,” he said, voice flat and practiced.
Lafu stepped forward smoothly.
“Madame Élodie Duval and her interpreter, Camille Moreau,” she said in crisp English, handing over the printed scan. “The Laurents follow.”
The man checked the list on his tablet, nodded once.
“Welcome.”
Then he gestured to the tray.
“Rules,” he said. “No phones. No recording devices. No chatter once inside. Drop your phones here.”
A wooden box lined with black velvet sat on the tray already half-full of sleek devices.
Marco muttered under his breath, “Shit.”
Stacy squeezed his hand. “We knew this might happen. We’re good.”
One by one they placed their burners in the box aside from Leitana whose phone was in the van. The man closed the lid with a soft click.
“Silence is mandatory,” he repeated. “Raise your paddle only when bidding. No exceptions.”
He opened the red door.
They stepped inside.
The room was smaller than the ballroom below but no less opulent deep crimson walls, low crystal chandeliers dimmed to a seductive glow, rows of velvet chairs arranged in a semi-circle facing a small raised platform draped in black silk. A single spotlight waited above it, currently dark. The air smelled of expensive perfume, cigar smoke, and anticipation.
Lafu scanned the seats.
“Front row,” she whispered. “Best view, best audio for the wires.”
They moved quickly sliding into the four seats at the very front left. The chairs were plush, high-backed, almost throne-like. Leitana sank into hers, heart hammering so loud she was sure the person beside her could hear it.
Two men took the last two seats in the front row right beside them.
Greg Harlan and Victor Langston.
Both masked, both smiling, shark like smiles.
Harlan inclined his head toward Leitana.
“Madame Duval,” he said in perfect French. “A pleasure to see you again.”
Victor’s smile widened. “Indeed. You have excellent taste in… acquisitions.”
Leitana smiled but said nothing.
Marco muttered under his breath, “Creep.”
Stacy elbowed him. “Shh.”
A hush fell over the room.
A man stepped onto the platform, tall, thin, dressed entirely in black, a mask shaped like a raven’s beak. He carried a small silver bell.
He rang it once, sharp, and clear.
Silence became absolute.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, voice smooth and cultured, “welcome to the Midnight Selection.”
A low ripple of murmurs, excited, and hungry.
He waited until it died.
“Tonight is not like other nights. Tonight, we offer something rare. Something exquisite. The finest talent from across agencies, models, performers, companions who seek… exceptional patronage.”
His smile was thin and sharp.
“You know the rules. Paddles are under your seats. Write your offer clearly. Raise it when the lot is presented. The highest bid wins. Terms are private, binding, immediate. No negotiations after the fall of the hammer.”
He paused.
“Tonight’s format is simple. Each lot will appear. You will bid. The winner claims their prize tonight. Duration and details are between buyer and seller.”
Another murmur, thicker this time.
Stacy leaned toward the group, voice barely audible.
“I don’t know, guys… this sounds less like an auction and more like a secret society than anything else.”
Marco nodded grimly. “Yeah. And we’re in the front row.”
The raven-masked man lifted a hand.
“One more thing,” he said. “Reach under your seat.”
Everyone did.
Leitana’s fingers closed around a small black paddle, smooth ebony, edged in silver, a number etched on the front: 14.
She pulled it out, heart in her throat.
The man on the platform smiled.
“Number your bids clearly. Raise high. The hammer falls at my discretion.”
He rang the bell again.
“Coming forward… Lot One.”
A side curtain parted.
A girl stepped out, barely twenty, stunning, wearing only a sheer black slip that left nothing to the imagination. Her mask was white dove feathers, eyes wide behind it. She walked to the center of the platform, slow, trained, chin high despite the tremble in her hands.
The spotlight hit her.
The room inhaled.
The raven man spoke.
“Lot One. Twenty-three years old. Five-foot-nine. Agency: Eclipse Models. Specialties: runway, editorial, private companionship. Starting bid: one hundred thousand.”
Paddles rose, slow at first, then faster.
Leitana’s stomach churned.
She stared, horrified as numbers climbed.
Two hundred thousand.
Three-fifty.
Five hundred.
The girl stood perfectly still, trained, obedient.
Leitana’s hand flew to her mouth.
Oh Papa God…
Tears pricked her eyes.
This was real.
This was happening.
Right in front of her.
And she was watching.
Marco leaned close, voice shaking.
“We’re getting all this, right? The wires…”
Lafu nodded, her jaw tight.
“Every word.”
The hammer fell.
“Sold. To paddle seven. Five hundred and seventy-five thousand. Congratulations.”
The girl was led off.
Leitana felt sick.
Another curtain parted.
Another girl.
And another.
And another.
Each more beautiful than the last.
Each more broken behind the mask.
Leitana whispered, her breath trembling.
“Papa God… plis…”
The numbers climbed higher.
The paddles flashed.
The room hummed with hunger.
And Leitana sat frozen, tears slipping silently down her cheeks beneath the mask, watching the proof they had come for unfold in real time.