Bella wore a wine-red off-the-shoulder dress that hit mid-thigh. Her delicate collarbones gleamed like crystal under the lights, and her jade-white legs were elevated by eight-centimeter heels. Her waist swayed with each step, her figure impossibly graceful—every glance and smile radiating captivating allure.
Her dazzling beauty made the guard forget to check her credentials.
"Damn it! I stole an ID for nothing!" Watching the guard stand there like a statue, Natasha felt a pang of irritation.
She'd dressed carefully too, yet the guard's eyes slid right past her as if she were invisible. How was that fair?
"See? Cup size doesn't matter—it's all about presence. Pure presence."
Bella shot her a smug look. Natasha's outfit was actually stunning: a strappy dress that exposed smooth skin below the neckline, with a cutout design at her lower abdomen revealing a delicate navel like a work of art. The only reason she'd been ignored was because a certain someone had cheated.
Of course, Bella would never admit to using magic.
Magic? Who used magic? Got any proof?
"Three o'clock," Natasha murmured. Being slightly shorter, she used Bella as cover while pulling out a compact mirror to survey the room.
Bella glanced over casually. Several burly men in black suits guarded a large door. Guests who knew better pretended not to notice—in their minds, that door led to a private lounge where important people discussed matters of state.
Only those with invitations could enter. Everyone else would be turned away.
"Let's go." They moved at an unhurried pace, ascending to the second floor with elegant steps before heading toward the door.
The bearded man stationed at the entrance frowned. He handled security and guest verification, and he knew exactly what went on behind that door—better than most of the buyers, even.
Men going in didn't surprise him. But two women? That was unusual. They hadn't started selling men yet, had they? Were these two planning to buy a woman for themselves?
Then again, Parisian society was... open-minded. Women together—hell, stranger arrangements weren't uncommon in this city.
"I'm a friend of Senator Anthony. Daisy Johnson. My name should be on there." Bella's eyes shimmered faintly as she lightly tapped the roster in his hand.
The man's vision blurred. He looked down at the list. Daisy Johnson? The name seemed familiar... or did it?
Still resisting? Bella frowned slightly and increased her psionic output.
His willpower crumbled. When he looked at the roster again, he was absolutely certain he saw Daisy Johnson's name.
"Welcome, Miss Johnson. Room 15, please."
Bella left behind a trail of pleasant laughter, sliding an arm around Natasha's waist as they entered. The other guards nodded knowingly—clearly another pair buying a woman for private use.
The Charm spell had its limits. It could create brief confusion, but it couldn't fundamentally flip someone's allegiances.
The bearded man watched them go, shaking his head with a rueful sigh. He muttered something in French that roughly translated to: "When even the pretty ones go for each other, what's left for the rest of us?"
A waiter led them to Room 15.
Inside: a sofa, drinks, an ashtray, and a massive display screen. On the sofa's armrest sat a bright red button.
This time, Bella didn't ask what the button was for. She sat quietly and waited for the auction to begin.
Rooms were assigned first-come, first-served. The broker might have connections, but he couldn't reserve specific rooms for everyone—there were powerful figures from every sector attending. High officials and wealthy elites despised being micromanaged by some middleman, and even more, they hated the idea of anyone knowing they were involved in this kind of business. The guests changed each time, and so did the rooms.
When they arrived, there were still ten minutes before the auction started.
Natasha checked her phone. No signal.
At the moment, they couldn't contact Bryan.
"Sit still." Seeing Natasha's restless energy, Bella pressed a hand on her shoulder.
Their plan was simple: buy Kim, then refuse to pay. After completing the rescue, whether they ran or fought their way out depended on how things unfolded.
If their operation failed, Bryan could move in and extract her by force.
One overt plan, one covert. Two layers of backup.
Bella settled onto the sofa and immediately felt something off. A faint presence brushed against her psionic senses. What was that?
At first she thought it was a surveillance camera. Then she realized it wasn't. Gradually, it clicked—she couldn't decide whether the broker's move was impressively bold or pathetically paranoid.
He didn't dare install cameras, but he'd hidden listening devices throughout the rooms. Collecting dirt on powerful figures, maybe? Insurance for blackmail or survival when things went south?
The broker's paranoia put them in an awkward spot.
Common sense told her that whoever was monitoring these rooms wouldn't bother eavesdropping on bloated dignitaries. Given the choice, they'd naturally tune in to beautiful women chatting about private matters—and she and Natasha fit that profile perfectly.
Sitting in complete silence would be suspicious.
She grabbed Natasha's hand, appearing affectionate while writing in her palm.
Bug. The message was clear.
Natasha's eyes swept the room, checking the usual spots where devices could be hidden. She quickly realized it was pointless—even if they found it, so what? They were here to rescue someone. They had to pretend they hadn't noticed.
She looked at Bella. What now?
Bella wrote quickly in her palm: Act lewd.
Natasha caught on immediately. She adopted a languid expression. "Ugh... my feet are killing me. Come here and rub them."
That's abuse of power! Bella glared at her, then wrote: Not lewd enough!
Natasha was a natural. Her expression shifted instantly—sultry, inviting, devastatingly soft. Her tongue traced her lower lip, her gaze heavy with desire. "Tonight, let me be on top, okay? Please~?"
God help me. Bella felt her composure waver.
To maintain the act, she replied in a voice dripping with sweetness. "No more—I need rest tonight. You little vixen, you've left me completely sore."
"Then let me massage it for you..."
"Absolutely not—don't touch me there, not here, ah—!"