The backstage of the auction house was thick with the mingling scents of cheap incense and the stench of money.
Bahr tossed a heavy chunk of gold onto the table, the dull thud of metal against wood resonating through the room. "This should cover 10 million Berries."
"More than enough, more than enough!"
The manager, a fawning man, immediately bent to pick it up, greed practically oozing from his squinted eyes as his fingers brushed against the gold. His weighing motions were dripping with sycophancy. "Such generosity from our esteemed guest!"
He turned and shot a glance at the guards behind him. "Bring out Product No. 15!"
Two guards dragged Pascia forward, the chains scraping harshly against the floor.
Her blue-purple hair clung messily to her cheeks, and the iron collar around her neck still bore the numbered wooden tag. Those eyes, which had once shimmered with exotic allure on stage, were now hollow with terror—like a body stripped of its soul.
"Look at her, sir—this figure, this beauty! Truly worthy of your status!" The manager rubbed his plump hands together, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes bunching up. "We have even rarer goods in the back. Would you care to take a look?"
Bahr's gaze swept past Pascia's trembling shoulders. "No need. Remove the collar."
"Right away!" The manager hurried forward, pulling out a key and clicking the lock open. The moment the iron band fell, a ring of reddened bruises was revealed on Pascia's neck. She instinctively hunched her shoulders, her blue-purple lashes lowering further, like a small animal drenched in a downpour—even her breathing was timid.
Bahr extended his hand, palm up, stopping in front of her.
Pascia's lashes trembled violently. Her eyes flickered over Bahr's well-defined fingers before she quickly lowered her head again, her lips pressed into a bloodless line.
"Stay with me for a month." Bahr's voice wasn't loud, but it carried an unshakable certainty. "After that, I'll give you enough money to return home. Whether you stay or leave will be your choice."
Since he had paid, he certainly wasn't doing charity.
Pascia's body jolted slightly, a faint glimmer of hope piercing through the deadened fear.
She bit her lower lip, hesitating for a moment, before finally lifting a trembling hand and lightly placing it in Bahr's palm. Her fingers were ice-cold, fragile as frost, sending a faint tingle through his skin.
"That's better." Bahr closed his hand around hers, pulling her into his embrace in one smooth motion. His arm wrapped firmly around her waist, the hem of Pascia's skirt brushing against his wrist, carrying the faint scent of exotic spices mixed with the lingering sweat on her skin—an oddly compelling tension.
Miss. Valentine pursed her pink lips slightly, but her gaze drifted toward the corridor outside.
Well, in a few days, this newcomer will probably be dumped on some island or another. No point getting worked up over it.
In the shadows of the corridor's corner, Shalria lurked like a cat stalking prey, daring only to peek out with half her face exposed. Her Bubble Headgear had long been torn off and discarded on the floor, her golden hair sticking messily to her sweat-dampened temples. Those usually haughty eyes were now glued to Bahr's retreating back, unblinking.
The entire world seemed to blur into indistinct colors—only that figure remained sharp, as if carved into her vision.
Her lips moved soundlessly, repeating the word "Master" over and over. Her cheeks burned with an unnatural flush, her breathing ragged and trembling, her chest rising and falling violently.
But when she saw Bahr's hand resting on Pascia's waist, it was as if someone had seized her heart in a vice. She froze, the lace scarf around her neck clenched between her teeth, her incisors sinking into the silk, leaving faint bite marks.
That arm—that curve around the waist—it should have been hers!
"Filthy slave…" The words hissed between her teeth as her nails dug deep into her palms, beads of blood slowly welling up between her fingers.
How dare she touch Master…
In her eyes, that blue-purple-haired dancer had instantly become an unbearable eyesore. Even sharing the same air made her feel suffocated.
Then, when her peripheral vision caught sight of Miss. Valentine, Porche, and Perona, Shalria's pupils constricted violently, her face draining of color until it was paler than the scarf around her neck.
So… so Master already has this many women by his side?
Is that why he cast me aside?
The moment the thought surfaced, it felt like something had burrowed into her chest, twisting and tearing at her insides.
Shalria clapped a hand over her mouth, stifling the sob that threatened to escape, but her eyes instantly reddened. She glared at the backs of those three women, her teeth grinding audibly, a voice in her mind chanting on repeat:
Kill them… kill them all…
Master was hers. Hers alone.
Without Master, how could she live? Those women—they didn't even have the right to stand near him.
Bahr remained oblivious to Shalria's hidden gaze, his attention entirely on the woman in his arms. The Celestial Dragon lurking in the shadows was as insignificant as a speck of dust.
Who would bother paying attention to the movements of an ant?
"Let's go back." Bahr tightened his hold around the trembling figure in his arms, his tone calm but firm. "This place is about to become chaotic."
Miss. Valentine and the others said nothing, silently following.
As they passed the shelves, Bahr's peripheral vision caught sight of an old man curled up in the shadows—long, curly hair, a silver beard, glasses perched on his nose, and a vertical scar running down his right eye, faintly visible in the dim light.
"Dark King" Silvers Rayleigh.
Bahr didn't pause, walking past as if he hadn't seen him.
Rayleigh tipped his head back, taking a swig of liquor, the liquid trickling down his jaw and into his collar without a care. Watching Bahr's retreating figure, a faint smile curled at the corners of his lips.
"Not a bad young man," he murmured to himself.
Shalria trailed after Bahr like a vengeful spirit, step for step. But once they stepped outside the auction house, watching that figure grow further and further away, her feet suddenly stilled, her nails biting deep into her palms.
Should she chase after him?
Her heart clenched as if gripped by an invisible hand. She feared that if she showed herself now, Master would shove her away in disgust—and if that happened, she would truly lose him forever.
No…
Shalria bit down hard on her lip, the taste of blood spreading across her tongue. Her eyes burned with twin flames of madness as she stared at Bahr's back.
She had to drag Master back. Shackle his ankles with the thickest chains, just like back in East Blue—force him to look only at her, to lavish her with that rough, scorching affection again.
Send the guards to capture him? She nearly laughed aloud at the thought.
Master's strength was a terror carved into her bones. Those useless guards wouldn't even get close before being slaughtered.
Call upon the God's Knights? The idea surfaced only to be crushed immediately. Those old bastards only cared about "heretics"—if they acted, they'd kill Master for sure. But she wanted him alive. Hers, and hers alone.
Ah—the Marines!
Shalria's eyes suddenly lit up, as if she'd found the sole glimmer of light in a pitch-black night.
Have the Marines send an Admiral. Their strength would be enough to restrain Master. Then she could step in to "plead for mercy," giving her the perfect excuse to take him back to her palace…
Her fingers brushed against the long-faded bruise on her neck—where Master had once fastened a collar with his own hands. The phantom warmth of that memory sent heat coursing through her body, her breath turning ragged.
"Master…" she whispered soundlessly in the direction he had gone, her voice thick with suffocating possessiveness.
"You can only be mine."
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