"Don't do this to me, Mama. Please. I'll find the money somehow."
Lila Greene's voice cracked as she stood in the dim, greasy back room of the diner, clutching the edge of the worn table like it might save her. But her mother wouldn't meet her eyes. She didn't even look at her as she signed the last line of the paper in front of her.
The sound of the pen scratching across the page was louder than the storm raging in her chest.
"You're already two months late, Lila," her mother whispered, wringing her thin, tired hands. Her voice was brittle, like glass about to shatter. "We don't have a choice. They said if we don't… they'll kill us both."
Lila's breath hitched.
"No," she said, shaking her head, panic rushing through her like icy water. "No. We do have a choice. We can figure this out. I can work more hours, sell my car, my….
Her mother finally looked up, and what Lila saw in her eyes made the words die in her throat.
Resignation.
Defeat.
And guilt so heavy it nearly choked them both.
"You think I haven't tried, Lila?" her mother said, her voice breaking. "You think I haven't begged them for more time? Sold everything we had? Look at me."
But Lila couldn't. She didn't want to see what her mother had become, a woman so broken by debt, fear, and bad choices that she would sell her own daughter just to breathe another day.
"I can't do this," Lila whispered.
"You'll survive," her mother whispered back, though she didn't sound convinced.
The sound of boots outside the door made them both flinch.
It swung open with a bang.
Two men in black suits filled the doorway. Broad-shouldered, gloved hands at their sides, their cold, dead eyes sweeping over her like she wasn't even human.
One of them, taller than the other, pulled a folded paper from his jacket and glanced at her mother.
"She's ready?"
Her mother nodded quickly, clutching her apron in both hands. "Yes. Please. Just… don't hurt her."
The man didn't respond. His eyes moved to Lila, and his lips curled into something that wasn't quite a smile.
"You," he said flatly. "Stand up."
Lila's knees locked, but she forced herself to her feet, her chest heaving.
"You can't—" she began, but her voice came out thin. Weak.
The second man moved behind her so fast she barely registered him before his fingers clamped around her upper arm.
Instinct took over. She ripped away, stumbling back into the table, knocking over a stack of plates that shattered on the floor.
"Don't touch me!" she cried.
But the man didn't flinch. He caught her again, his grip like steel, and this time he didn't let go.
"Lila!" her mother cried, wringing her hands.
"Mama!" Lila sobbed, but her mother just stood there. Watching.
Something cracked inside her then, the knowledge that no one was coming to save her. Not even her own mother.
The man's voice was low, bored. "Stop making it harder than it has to be, girl. Don't embarrass yourself."
But it was already too late for that.
The night air outside was icy, but it didn't cool the panic burning through her veins.
A black limousine idled at the curb, its tinted windows hiding whatever waited inside.
One of the men wrenched the back door open and shoved her inside.
She stumbled, catching herself on the leather seat, the scent of expensive cologne and something darker, maybe gun oil, filling her senses.
The taller man slid in beside her, closing the door with a solid thunk.
The locks clicked shut.
Lila pressed herself against the far door, shaking, her fists clenched so tight her nails cut crescents into her palms.
He leaned back casually, draping an arm over the seat, and looked her over with the same shark-eyed boredom.
"You're one hell of a lucky girl," he said.
Her laugh was bitter. "Lucky?"
He smirked faintly.
"You caught the Don's eye," he said. The words made something cold settle in her gut.
The car glided through the Nevada streets, smooth, silent, dangerous.
Lila stared out the window at the blur of glittering lights and the happy, oblivious crowds.
She thought of her little car, her tiny room above the diner, the stack of bills she'd kept hidden under her mattress.
All of it was gone.
Her fingers twisted in her lap as she forced herself to speak.
"Why me?" she whispered.
The man chuckled under his breath.
"Why not?" he said.
That shut her up.
She stared at her reflection in the dark glass and almost didn't recognize the girl staring back, pale, shaking, eyes wide with terror.
When the car finally slowed, her stomach lurched.
They pulled up in front of a towering building of glass and steel, its entrance flanked by two more black-suited men.
Her door opened, and a gloved hand waited.
She almost didn't take it, but the sharp dig of fingers into her elbow made the choice for her.
Inside, the air was cool and perfumed, the marble floor polished to a mirror shine.
Everywhere she looked, people in tuxedos and gowns sipped champagne and dripped diamonds.
And all of them stared.
Some with pity. Some with hunger.
Her escort steered her down a long corridor, through double doors into a darkened room where spotlights blazed down on a low stage.
There were women already on stage, standing stiff and silent. Heads bowed. Some crying.
Bidders sat in leather chairs, murmuring among themselves, their eyes sharp.
A man in a velvet suit turned to her with a smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"This way, Miss Greene. You're the last lot of the night."
She froze.
But another shove sent her stumbling forward into the light.
"All right, gentlemen," the auctioneer said smoothly, his voice echoing through the room. "Our final offering tonight. Virgin. Untouched. Spirited but malleable."
Laughter rippled through the bidders.
Lila's knees shook as she fought to keep her chin up.
"Twenty thousand," someone called.
"Thirty."
"Fifty."
The numbers blurred in her head.
Then silence.
The room seemed to vibrate with his presence, every conversation halting as he entered.
He didn't rush. He didn't even look at her at first.
His tall frame and broad shoulders dominated the space. The impeccable black suit showcasing his physique. His dark hair was tousled, forming a strong jawline and chiseled features that seemed carved from granite. His cold eyes, like two chips of dark ice, seemed to bore into the room. Exuding power and control without revealing a hint of warmth or emotion.
His presence sucked the air out of the room.
Dominic Moretti.
Lila's breath caught.
She'd heard the name whispered at the diner. The man behind the debts. The man you didn't say no to.
The auctioneer cleared his throat. "One hundred thousand, going once.."
"Two hundred thousand," another bidder called quickly.
Then that voice. Low, smooth, cold as steel.
"Half a million."
The room fell silent.
The auctioneer blinked. "Half a million. Going once… going twice… sold."
The velvet-suited man handed Dominic the leather leash clipped to her wrist.
For the first time, his eyes met hers.
Cold. Gray. Unreadable.
Her breath hitched.
He didn't say a word as he turned, the leash taut in his hand, forcing her to follow.
Behind her, the crowd murmured.
Look at the poor thing. At least she's his now. Better his than someone else's.
The words blurred together as the door shut behind them.
The limousine waited outside.
Dominic slid in first, not sparing her a glance as he settled into the seat.
One of the guards gave her a little shove.
She climbed in, sitting rigid, her hands clenched in her lap.
The door closed.
The locks clicked.
Silence.
For what felt like forever, he didn't even look at her.
Finally he spoke.
"You will not cry in front of me again," he said.
His voice was soft and even but sharp enough to cut glass.
She blinked at him, tears still clinging to her lashes. "You can't just buy me."
That earned her the faintest curve of his lips.
"I can," he said. "And I did."
She turned her face away, her chest rising and falling fast, but her gaze kept drifting back to him, drawn against her will.
When his fingers reached out and tilted her chin back toward him, her breath froze.
His touch was gentle. Almost careful.
His thumb brushed her cheek.
And for just a second the coldness in his gray eyes flickered into something else.
Something that scared her even more than his cruelty.
Something she couldn't name.
Then it was gone.
His hand fell away.
He leaned back, his gaze returning to the city lights outside.
And the car glided on toward whatever nightmare waited for her next.