When she turned me toward the mirror, I didn't recognize myself.
I looked like a doll. A beautiful, breakable doll.
"You're very pretty," she said softly. "You'll fetch a high price. That's good. High price usually means better treatment."
"This is insane," I breathed. "It's 2024. How is this happening?"
"Money makes anything possible, dear. And powerful men like their entertainment." She squeezed my shoulder. "Be brave. It'll be over soon."
Over. As if being sold to a stranger was just a temporary inconvenience.
The auction started an hour later.
I watched from backstage as girls were paraded out one by one. Men in expensive suits called out numbers like they were bidding on artwork. Some girls went for a few hundred thousand. Others for millions.
One girl tried to run. They caught her before she made it five steps, dragged her back, and the bidding on her dropped dramatically. Lesson learned: don't run.
"Isabella Martinez!" My name echoed through the warehouse.
This was it. My life as I knew it was over.
I walked onto that stage on shaking legs, my vision blurred by unshed tears. The lights were so bright I could barely see the men bidding on me.
"Twenty-two years old, college educated, no criminal record," the auctioneer announced like he was selling a car. "A rare find, gentlemen. Let's start the bidding at one million."
"One million!" someone called out.
"One point five!"
"Two million!"
The numbers climbed higher and higher. I stood there, frozen, as men decided my worth in dollars and cents.
"Four million!"
"Four point five!"
I wanted to scream. To run. To fight. But the Russian's men stood at the edges of the stage, hands resting on guns hidden beneath their jackets.
"Five million!" A new voice, heavy with a different accent. Middle Eastern maybe.
The room went quiet. That was my father's debt. Paid in full.
"Five million going once," the auctioneer began. "Going twice"
"Ten million."
The voice came from the back of the warehouse. Deep. Cold. Absolutely commanding.
Every head turned.
A man stepped into the light, and my heart stopped.
He was tall easily over six feet with dark hair styled perfectly and grey eyes that cut through the room like knives. His suit was black and fit him like it had been made specifically for his body. Which it probably had been, because this man radiated wealth and power in a way that made every other buyer look like children playing dress-up.
But it was his face that made my breath catch. Handsome didn't cover it. He was beautiful in a brutal, dangerous way. Sharp cheekbones. Strong jaw. A mouth made for cruelty.
And those eyes. God, those eyes were empty. Soulless. The eyes of a man who'd killed without hesitation and slept soundly after.
"Mr. Moretti," the auctioneer stammered, suddenly nervous. "We didn't expect I didn't know you were interested in"
"Ten million," the man repeated, his gaze locked on me. "Do I need to repeat myself?"
"No! No, of course not. Ten million from Mr.
Moretti." The auctioneer was sweating now. "Anyone willing to go higher?"
Silence. The kind of silence that comes from fear.
Nobody was stupid enough to bid against this man.
"Sold!" The gavel came down like a death sentence. "Sold to Mr. Dante Moretti for ten million dollars!"
I didn't know who Dante Moretti was. Didn't know why everyone looked terrified when he spoke. Didn't know what he wanted with me.
But as he walked toward the stage with the grace of a predator approaching prey, I knew one thing with absolute certainty:
My life had just been bought by the devil himself.
He climbed the stairs, each step measured and deliberate, until he stood directly in front of me. Up close, he was even more intimidating. Taller. Broader. Radiating danger like heat from a flame.
"Look at me," he commanded.
I didn't want to. Looking at him felt like staring into an abyss. But something in his voice made disobedience impossible.
I lifted my eyes to meet his.
He studied me like I was a puzzle he was solving. His gaze traveled from my face down my body in the thin white dress, and I'd never felt more exposed in my life.
"What's your name?" His accent was Italian. Smooth and cultured despite the brutality in his eyes.
"Isabella." My voice came out as a whisper. "Bella."
"Isabella." He said it slowly, tasting each syllable. "Do you know who I am?"
"No."
"Good." Something that might have been satisfaction flickered across his face. "Keep it that way. You don't need to know anything except this: you belong to me now. Your father's debt is paid. You'll come with me, and you'll do exactly as I say. Understood?"
"I'm not property," I said, finding a spark of defiance despite my terror. "You can't just own a person."
His eyes narrowed. Then, to my shock, he smiled. It wasn't a kind smile. It was the smile of a wolf who'd found interesting prey.
"You have fire." He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, the gesture almost tender except for the ice in his eyes. "Good. I'd be bored with a woman who broke too easily."
Before I could respond, he turned to the auctioneer. "Have the payment transferred within the hour. If there are any problems, you know what happens."
The auctioneer nodded frantically. "Of course, Mr. Moretti. No problems. Everything will be handled."
Dante turned back to me, extending his hand like a gentleman asking for a dance. "Come, Isabella. We're leaving."
"What if I refuse?"
"Then I'll carry you out. Your choice." His tone suggested he didn't care either way.
I looked at his outstretched hand. Looked at the exit behind him where freedom used to exist. Looked at the Russian mobsters who'd sold me like merchandise.
I had no choices left.
So I placed my trembling hand in his.
His fingers closed around mine, strong and possessive, and he led me off the stage like I was already his wife instead of his purchase.
The crowd parted for him like the Red Sea. Nobody spoke. Nobody even breathed too loudly. This man commanded respect through fear alone.
Outside, a sleek black car waited. Not an SUV like the Russians had used. This was something expensive and foreign a Rolls Royce, maybe. The kind of car I'd only seen in movies.
A driver in a perfect suit opened the back door.
Dante gestured for me to enter. "After you."
I climbed in, my legs weak, and he slid in beside me. The door closed with a soft click that sounded like a jail cell locking.
The car pulled away from the warehouse, away from my old life, and toward whatever hell awaited me.
"Where are you taking me?" I asked, proud that my voice didn't shake.
"Home," Dante said simply, pulling out his phone to type something.
"Your home, you mean."
"Our home now." He glanced at me, those grey eyes unreadable. "You'll have your own room. Your own space. I'm not a monster, Isabella."
"You just bought a human being for ten million dollars."
"I bought you for ten million dollars," he corrected. "There's a difference."
"What difference?"
He leaned closer, so close I could smell his cologne expensive, masculine, intoxicating. His voice dropped to a whisper that sent shivers down my spine.
"Because now that you're mine, I'll kill anyone who tries to take you from me."
It wasn't a threat.
It was a promise.
And somehow, that terrified me more than anything else that had happened tonight.