ANYA'S POV
Darkness. Not the kind that comes with sleep.
Not the gentle dark before dawn.
This was thick. Smothering. Absolute.
I inhaled sharply and instantly regretted it. The air smelled metallic. Like rust and old stone left damp for long. My lungs burned with the coldness of it.
Everything hurts. Not a clean cut or a broken bone. Just a dull, deep ache, like I've been run over by a cart and left in the mud.
My fingers twitched. Cold iron met my skin.
I stilled. Slowly, carefully, I moved my palm again.
Bars. Vertical. Close together.
My heartbeat began to pound harder. This wasn't a hospital bed.
I forced myself to sit up. The motion made my head throb, but I pushed through it and tried to stand. I immediately fell forward.
My knees slammed against stone. My legs wouldn't separate.
Panic surged, sudden and violent. I reached down with shaking hands.
Cold metal circled both ankles. Thick iron shackles.
Bound together with a short chain. Not long enough to step normally.
Only enough to shuffle. My breathing became shallow.
Slow down. Think.
Dad. His eyes, blank. The blood.
The memory hit, a brutal, jarring flash. The thwip. The crimson staining his shirt, his body crumpling. My scream. A black void after that. Not this darkness. A different one.
Then, snatches. Muffled voices. The cold solemnity of a ceremony. The oppressive weight of black clothes, the scent of lilies and sorrow. Julian's hand, tight in mine, then gone.
And after. The drive. A lone car. The rain. Someone. A sudden, blinding light in the rearview. A sickening impact, the screech of tires, the crunch of metal. Airbag. Pressure. Then nothing.
Until now.
My voice scraped out of my throat like broken glass.
"If I was hit. Why wasn't I in a hospital?"
Why was I chained? Why did it smell like a dungeon?
My hands explored the ground beneath me.
Stone. Rough. Uneven. Cold. Nothing about this felt modern. It felt like I was deep underground.
A faint sound echoed above me. Fabric shifting.
I froze.
A thin line of light pierced the darkness. It widened slowly.
Curtains being drawn.
The strip of light expanded until it flooded the entire space, forcing me to squint against its intensity.
Shapes formed. Blurred figures sharpened.
And the truth settled like ice in my veins.
I was inside a cage. And I wasn't alone.
The space was enormous. Circular.
Tiered rows of seating rose upward in layers, forming an arena of observers.
Balconies curved along the upper walls, draped in dark velvet.
Private boxes.
Crystal chandeliers hung high above, casting golden light over polished stone.
And everywhere.
People.
Dozens.
Hundreds.
All wearing masks that covered the upper halves of their faces.
Black.
Gold.
White.
Elegant clothing.
Designer suits.
Custom jackets.
Expensive watches glinting under the light.
They sat comfortably. Relaxed. Watching me.
Other cages lined the platform.
Men. Women. A girl who looked far too young.
All dressed in plain white cloth.
Barefoot. Bound. Displayed.
My stomach dropped. This wasn't a prison.
It was a marketplace. A low murmur rippled across the hall.
Soft laughter. Measured whispers.
The sound of gloved fingers tapping armrests.
I forced myself to straighten, though the chain between my ankles made the movement awkward.
Never curl inward. Never look small.
A voice echoed through the arena.
Smooth. Refined. Amplified unnaturally.
"Lot Seventeen."
My cage jerked forward.
Hidden wheels screeched softly as it rolled toward the center of the stage.
Because my feet were chained together, I stumbled violently and caught myself against the bars.
A ripple of restrained amusement moved through the audience.
Not loud. Not crude. Just entertained.
Heat burned across my cheeks. Humiliation cut sharper than fear.
I forced myself upright again. Slowly. Deliberately.
The voice continued.
"Female. Estimated age twenty. Healthy condition. No prior damage."
My jaw tightened. No prior damage. As if I were furniture.
"As confirmed by examination. Untouched."
The air in the hall shifts. I can almost feel it. Shoulders square up.
Eyes go sharp. A couple of old men lean forward like they've just caught a whiff of something rare.
My mind snagged on the word. Untouched.
Arguments. Silence.
My pulse pounded harder. This wasn't just kidnapping.
Something had gone terribly wrong.
"Opening bid."
The first voice came calmly.
"Thirty thousand dollars."
Another from the left tier.
"Fifty thousand."
"Eighty thousand."
The numbers rose casually at first. Businesslike.
Detached. I lifted my gaze and studied the crowd.
Most were older. Silver hair.
Wrinkled hands adorned with gemstone rings.
Expensive boots. Tailored coats.
Men who looked like officials. Business tycoons. Rich people.
Respectable. Powerful. That made it worse.
This wasn't a hidden criminal den.
It was organized. Public. Sanctioned.
"One hundred thousand."
"One twenty thousand."
"One fifty thousand."
The auctioneer's tone remained pleasant.
Encouraging.
"As stated, confirmed pure."
The jump was immediate.
"Two hundred thousand."
"Five hundred thousand."
"Eight hundred thousand."
Energy hummed through the arena.
Some of the older men who had been lounging lazily now leaned forward with open interest.
A man in silk gloves smiled faintly as he raised two fingers.
"1 million."
The sound of murmurs thickened. My stomach twisted.
They weren't bidding on me. They were bidding on that word.
The thought felt almost desperate now.
As if that fact could somehow shield me.
But it couldn't.
The bidding climbed rapidly.
"3 million."
"6 million."
The white-haired magnate hesitated this time.
Another voice rose from an upper balcony.
"50 million."
The arena quieted slightly. The price was becoming excessive.
My pulse thundered in my ears. If the price kept rising. I would belong to someone who wanted me badly.
And that was far more terrifying than belonging to someone indifferent.
Silence hovered for a moment.
Then. A voice cut through everything.
Low. Controlled. Unhurried.
"Double."
END OF CHAPTER 1