Chapter 2 Sold
\[Lilia\]
The red satin lifted, and the lights nearly blinded me.
For a heartbeat, the world was nothing but white and noise. The applause. The laughter. The murmurs of strangers. My body trembled under the weight of their eyes. The metal collar around my neck pressed down harder with each breath, and the thin lace straps they forced me into felt colder than bare skin.
I gripped the bars of my cage as the auctioneer’s voice boomed across the hall.
“Lot seventeen,” he announced with a smooth, empty smile. “Age twenty-two. Untouched. Healthy. A rare prize for refined tastes.”
My stomach twisted. The dress—if I could call it that—was only garter straps covering the barest of my body. The air was icy. My teeth were gnashing, tiny hairs on my arms standing up, bumps rising on my skin. I rubbed my palms over my arms to create friction, but it was useless.
The other girls shivered too, hugging themselves for warmth. None of us spoke. We didn’t dare.
“Starting at one million rubles,” the auctioneer declared.
Almost instantly:
“One million.”
“Two.”
“Five.”
The numbers struck like blows. One after another. I clutched the bars tighter, trying to stay upright as the world spun.
“Ten million.”
“Fifteen.”
“Twenty.”
The voices grew louder, harsher, more eager. Every number stripped another piece of me away.
“Thirty million!”
“Thirty-five!”
The hall murmured. I could feel their hunger even from here.
“Forty million!”
A hush fell over the crowd. Then, from the shadows, a voice spoke. Calm. Steady.
“Fifty.”
Silence.
The auctioneer blinked, then grinned wider. “Fifty million rubles! Going once… going twice…”
The gavel cracked against the podium.
“Sold.”
Applause scattered across the hall. My stomach dropped. Fifty million. That was what my life was worth.
The cage door opened. Two men entered. They didn’t speak as they unlocked the chain on my collar. Their gloved hands were impersonal, but firm enough to make me stumble.
I didn’t look at their faces. My eyes stayed on my bare feet as they led me offstage, down a dim corridor. The sound of the hall faded behind us. The smell of polished wood gave way to cold concrete.
We stopped in a wide room lined with the other girls, all of us standing in thin lace and chains. The air was even colder here. My teeth clenched until my jaw ached.
What are we doing here? Are we waiting for our new owner?
I hugged myself, rubbing my arms for warmth. My head swam with dread, coiling and tightening in my stomach.
Just then, a heavy cloth dropped over my shoulders. I startled, squeaking as my heart lurched into my throat.
“Relax. I’m not going to hurt you.”
The voice behind me was deep, a low baritone that made my blood run cold. Large hands clasped my arms gently, but firmly enough to keep me still.
Was he the one who purchased me?
I couldn’t move. My neck stiffened like a rod. The other girls gasped audibly, but I couldn’t tell if they were terrified of him or of me. My body trembled all over.
“I’m Valentin,” the voice said again. “Your new master’s right hand.”
He tugged my arm lightly, turning me to face him.
I looked up. My eyes widened. He was huge—built like one of those actors from action movies I’d seen on TV. Military-cropped black hair, sharp nose, piercing hazel-green eyes with a small stud in his thick left eyebrow. His white shirt hung open at the collar, tucked loosely into black jeans that fit his muscular frame. My head barely reached his chest.
“Boss just hit the jackpot,” he commented, scanning his gaze over my exposed body.
I shrank back, clutching the coat he had given me to cover myself. His large hand slid to my lower back while his other hand took the chain leash attached to my collar, looping it around his wrist.
He was about to lead me out when the handler jogged down the hallway, a red velvet clipboard in her hand.
“Wait, Mr. Morozov, you forgot to sign here.” She panted, holding out the clipboard to Valentin. Her gaze didn’t even linger on me. It was like I didn’t exist—just another disposable item after they’d bled money from me.
I had been sold for fifty million. That was my worth.
“Come, little sweet,” Valentin said after signing the document. “Let’s get you to your new home.”
New home.
That wasn’t my home. That was my new prison. A new hell for me.
I bit the inside of my cheek to hold back tears. My eyes fixed on my toes as we walked down the corridor. Fear and anxiety rumbled in my stomach, dulling even the pain in my knee. The anesthetic was fading, and I could feel the wound searing under the bandage.
Valentin stopped, tugging the leash so I halted too.
“Are you alright?”
No. I wasn’t. I wanted to shout, to cry, to run. But my voice retreated down my throat. A single tear slipped down my cheek instead.
He sighed and scanned my body. His hand brushed my knees; I hadn’t even noticed how badly they were shaking.
“Damn. You’re bleeding.” His voice carried anger, but not at me. “They lied. Boss is going to kill me if he sees this.”
Even someone his size could be afraid of his boss.
He looked into my face, then wiped the tear from my cheek with his thumb.
“Don’t ruin that pretty face. We’ll hope boss still accepts you despite the damages.”
Damages.
The word stabbed deep. Like I was an object with no warranty, no replacement. And what did they do to damaged goods?
“If not,” Valentin said quietly, “you’ll be free from this world.”
His words confirmed my thoughts. Human life meant nothing to them. Valentin might have been gentle, but he was dangerous. He was only following orders to deliver me safely to whoever owned me now.
I swallowed another tear and breathed deep.
He frowned, then swept me off my feet without warning. I gasped in surprise but didn’t protest. It would be useless.
Valentin carried me into an elevator, then through the underground parking where rows of expensive cars gleamed under dim lights. He stopped in front of a black Mercedes-Benz sedan, opened the passenger seat with one hand, and set me inside.
The strong scent of tobacco filled my nose, making me scrunch it instinctively.
He opened a small compartment under the dashboard. My eyes caught the silver revolver glinting in the faint light, and I stilled. But instead of reaching for it, he pulled out a medicine kit.
He examined my wound, frowning at the rough stitching. With careful hands, he cleaned the dried blood, dabbed betadine, and plastered the bandage fresh.
I watched him work. Considering his bulk, his hands were surprisingly gentle, like I was glass that could shatter. My heart skipped a beat, but I forced it down and pretended I didn’t feel it.
He gave me a small smile.
“See? All done. Now, let’s head back to the mansion. Boss is waiting for you.”
Mansion.
Boss.
Those words smothered everything else inside me except dread and fear.