"Now we have onstage our last leverage - An untouched collateral. A delicate one." The auctioneer's voice slicked over the crowd like oil, his glance meaningful. "Daughter of a traitor and the last asset of the Ashford estate. - Seraphina Ashford!"
The lights dimmed. Murmurs died. Followed by pin drop silence while the host's voice still reverberated in the huge hall of the Black Ledger Auction.
In the sudden, absolute vacuum of sound, Seraphina felt the world narrow down to the pulse thrumming in her throat. The black silk blindfold was a mercy and a curse; it hid the demons watching her, but it amplified the darkness of the den she was being marched into.
'Let the game begin.' She thought, her breath shallow.
Two sets of heavy footsteps broke the silent curse. Rough hands that didn't grab her; but hovered, a silent threat of force.
"Ten steps ahead. Turn right." A voice rasped in her ear.
Seraphina didn't wait for them to lead her. She moved.
She didn't walk like a girl being sold; she walked like a queen reclaiming a ruined throne. Each strike of her diamond-studded heels against the marble was a rhythmic heartbeat—steady, precise, unbroken.
She was a vision of elegance draped in the wreckage of a dynasty, a stark, shimmering contrast to the monsters lurking in the shadows of the hall.
If they expected a broken heiress dragged to the slaughter, she would starve them of that satisfaction.
She reached the tenth step and paused. The atmosphere changed instantly. The scent of cedarwood, gun oil, and old money pressed in on her. She heard the soft clink of a signet ring against the crystal.
The silence wasn't just quiet anymore; it was predatory. They weren't just looking at her. They were weighing her soul against their bank accounts.
The moment she flipped and turned towards her right, the silence thickened. Someone shifted. A chair scraped against the carpet. A glass paused mid air.
They were measuring her.
The blindfold erased their faces, but not their presence. She could feel the weight of their attention like fingertips against bare skin.
"We begin at two million!" With Seraphina's powerful entry, the host didn't need more efforts on convincing and as calculated, in no time three voices were already bidding.
"Three million."
"Three and a half."
"Four million."
The bids rose with unsettling ease — calm, cultured voices negotiating ownership as if she was a rare sculpture reclaimed from a fallen dynasty.
Seraphina stood like stone. Beneath the silk, her eyes were wide, but her face was a mask of cold porcelain. She wasn't cowering. She was listening. She cataloged every inflection, every rasp, every arrogant drawl. She was memorizing the voices of her enemies, filing them away for the day she would burn their worlds to the ground.
"Five-"
"Ten million."
The voice didn't just cut through the bidding; it silenced the room. It was a low, magnetic baritone—rich, dangerous, and utterly bored.
The hall gasped. For the first time in the history of the Black Ledger, Braxton Haven had spoken.
The name alone was a death sentence. Haven was the shadow that haunted the Nexus syndicate, a man of lethal silence and whispered atrocities. He didn't participate. He observed. He didn't buy. He took.
Until now.
Not to mention, he wasn't someone you wanted to provoke. At least not over a girl for sure, no matter how irresistible she seemed.
But there were always some exceptions and…
"Twelve million!" A young tycoon from the Asgard syndicate interrupted, wanting to test what was so special about this lady that even Braxton Haven was tempted to bid.
"Twenty." Braxton replied. The word was lazy. Final.
"Twenty fiv-" the guy was on it, but another man sitting next to him stopped him midway. This time the host didn't dare to make any noise till both the members were done outbidding one another.
Fortunately the Asgard member didn't push any further and the host looked at him as well as Braxton before announcing carefully.
"Twenty million going once, going twice.."
And the hammer struck. "Sold!!"
The host wiped the sweat off his forehead, knowing if not for the timely break in bidding, there could have been a possible bloodbath between Asgard and Nexus.
Seraphina's fingers curled into her palms, her nails biting into her skin. 'That's Braxton Haven' she heard someone whisper.
The name sent a jolt of pure, unadulterated ice through her veins. She had heard the stories—of the previous underboss who crossed him and simply ceased to exist.
To be bought by a tycoon was one thing; to be acquired by the King of Nexus was another. He hadn't just purchased her freedom; he had claimed her as his territory.
"Virelli won't let this go," someone whispered as she was led away. "This isn't a sale. It's a declaration of war."
The guards on her arms changed. The smell of the auction hall faded, replaced by the sharp, sterile scent of expensive cologne and cold rain.
"This way," a new voice commanded.
Seraphina forced her legs to move, even as her heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird. She had survived the fall of her family. She had survived the auction block. But as she heard a new set of footsteps approaching—slow, deliberate, and heavy with the weight of absolute power—she realized the "game" hadn't even started yet.
The footsteps stopped directly in front of her. She could feel the heat radiating from his body, the sheer physical gravity of the man who now owned her.
A hand, gloved in leather, tilted her chin up.
"Prepare her," the magnetic voice commanded, inches from her ear. "The basement."
The word 'basement' felt like a shroud. Before she could breathe, before she could find her voice, he was gone, leaving only the scent of smoke and the terrifying promise of the dark.