Elara's eyes snapped open to darkness. Cold stone pressed against her back, and the metallic scent of the underground room stung her nose. Her wrists throbbed where ropes had dug in, and a creeping panic tried to rise—but she forced it down. Fear was dangerous here; clear thinking was the only weapon she had.
Voices murmured around her, low and expectant. Somewhere far off, a gavel cracked, sharp and echoing.
Numbers started to echo through the chamber. "One hundred thousand."
"Two hundred thousand."
Her chest tightened. The words sank in like ice: They're auctioning me.
A wave of nausea rose, but she forced herself to sit straighter, taking in the shadows. Men's voices grew rougher, bolder, each bidding more than the last. One voice stood out—a deep, commanding tone that cut through the room like a blade.
She froze. The number he called made the room go still. No one dared outbid him.
Her eyes searched the darkness, but he was nowhere to be seen. The shadows swallowed him whole. Yet she could feel it, a presence like iron curling around her chest. Silent. Calm. Calculating.
"Sold," the gavel came down, and the cold truth sank in. She had been claimed.
The guards released her hands and led her down a corridor, dimly lit, each step echoing off the walls. She stumbled slightly, keeping her head low, trying not to reveal her racing thoughts.
She had no idea who he was—not yet. She didn't know that the man who had paid her price was the kingpin of the city's underworld, a ruthless figure who held power like a weapon. She didn't know that he had a hand, directly or indirectly, in her father's death.
All she knew was the weight of his claim. The heat of possession lingered in the air even as she walked.
And somewhere deep within him, a dark thought had already formed:
She will not escape me. Not ever.
The corridor opened into an elevator with sleek black walls. She stepped in, her pulse racing, but her face remained calm. Every nerve in her body screamed to run, to fight, but her mind stayed sharp. This was not a room for panic. This was a room for observation.
The elevator hummed as it descended. She watched the reflection of her own eyes in the black steel doors, wide and alert, and noticed a faint pulse of heat along her neck. The mark. It had appeared days ago, but now… now it tingled differently, as if aware of the claim made tonight.
The doors opened. Guards stepped aside, and she was led out into a vast, opulent chamber. Light glinted off dark marble, expensive furniture, and abstract art that looked more like weapons than decoration. Luxury was everywhere, but it carried the same threat as the darkness she'd left behind.
She looked around, calm, calculating. If she had to survive, she would need to understand every detail—every exit, every shadow, every silent observer.
A man stepped into the room, tall and dark, eyes like winter steel. He made no move to touch her, say much, or even reveal emotion. He simply observed. And that alone was enough to unsettle her.
He finally spoke, voice low, deliberate. "Welcome."
Elara's lips curved into a faint, neutral smile. Nothing more. She would not give him the satisfaction of fear—not yet.
He studied her silently, calculating, his expression unreadable. For the first time, she felt it: the pull. Not desire. Not love. But a dangerous awareness, the knowledge that she had stepped into a world far bigger and darker than she could yet comprehend.
The doors closed behind him, and the silence of the room swallowed her. She was alone with the man who had bought her.