The gavel's crack was still ringing in my ears when the stage lights shifted, turning the room into a blur of gold and shadow.
My name or rather, my number ,was already being replaced by the next lot on the auctioneer's lips.
Just like that, I'd been erased.
The curtains closed behind me with a heavy sweep of velvet, cutting off the view of the crowd, but their voices still seeped through, a hum of conversation, the shuffle of money changing hands.
Somewhere in that mess of sound, I could still hear the faint echo of his bid.
Just one number.
One hand in the air.
And the room had fallen silent.
A gloved hand gripped my arm, cold and impersonal, yanking me off the narrow stage platform.
My knees wobbled from standing still so long, but the chain between my wrists forced me upright. If I stumbled, I'd drag the weight of my own shame with me.
"Lot Twenty-Three," one of the handlers barked, already leading me toward the back corridor.
"Sold to Alpha Kieran Gray, make sure she's cleaned up before…"
"She's fine as she is," another voice interrupted.
I didn't recognize it.
I looked up.
He was there.
The tall man from the front row , Kieran Gray.
Up close, he was worse than I'd imagined, he was taller, broader.
His suit fit too perfectly, the black fabric catching the dim backstage light like it had been stitched just for him.
His face was all sharp lines and shadows, his jaw set like stone, his eyes even darker than I remembered under the chandeliers.
"Release her," he said.
The handler hesitated, glancing at a clipboard
"Sir, we're required to…"
"Do I look like I care about requirements?"
The chain around my wrists loosened with a reluctant clink.
The handler muttered something under his breath, but one sharp look from Kieran shut him up.
I rubbed at my wrists, feeling the shallow grooves the metal had left in my skin. My freedom was an illusion, I knew that, but the absence of those chains made my chest loosen just a little.
Kieran's gaze dropped briefly to my wrists before meeting my eyes again.
He didn't smile, he didn't even blink.
"You walk with me," he said simply.
It wasn't a request.
I followed because there was nothing else to do, his stride was long and unhurried, like he owned every hallway we passed through.
And maybe he did.
The handlers melted out of his way without question.
I caught a few of their murmurs, That's him?… He paid in full?… Didn't even bargain?
The corridor narrowed before opening into a side exit.
A single black car waited, sleek and silent under the rain-speckled light of a streetlamp, the driver stepped forward to open the rear door.
Kieran stopped beside the car and turned slightly toward me.
"Inside," he said.
I stared at him. "What's your problem with doors?"
His brows pulled together the tiniest bit, like he wasn't used to people talking back to him.
Then, without warning, he stepped closer.
Not enough to touch me, just enough for his presence to fill the air between us.
"My problem," he said quietly, "is with wasted time. Get in."
I slid into the car without another word, partly because the warmth inside was a relief, partly because something in his voice made my spine tighten.
The leather seats were soft enough to sink into, but I sat stiffly, my hands folded in my lap.
Kieran followed, closing the door with a solid click that seemed to shut the rest of the world out.
The car moved, as rain streaked across the windows, blurring the city lights into smears of gold and red.
I glanced at him from the corner of my eye.
He wasn't looking at me, his gaze was on the passing streets, but the air between us felt heavy, threaded with something I couldn't name.
"Why me?" I asked finally.
"Does it matter?"
"Yes."
He didn't answer right away.
The silence stretched, broken only by the hum of the engine.
When he did speak, his voice was low.
"Because you're not like the others."
I frowned. "You don't even know me."
"I know enough."
I didn't like the way he said it.
Like he'd been watching longer than I realized.
Like he already had a plan and I was just a piece of it.
The car turned, leaving the crowded streets for a quieter road lined with dripping trees.
I pressed my palms against my knees, trying to steady the restless thud of my heart.
Where was he taking me?
"You're not going back," Kieran said suddenly.
I turned to him.
"Back where?"
His eyes finally met mine, in them, I saw no hesitation.
"Anywhere you've been before."
The words should have been a comfort.
They weren't.
Because if I wasn't going back, it meant I was going somewhere new.
Somewhere I had no control over.
Somewhere that belonged to him.