CELESTE POV
The bag came off my head, and someone shoved me forward so hard I nearly fell.
"Move."
I fell into a room that smelled like expensive perfume and desperation. Six other women stood there, all of us wearing red dresses that had been brought to our holding cells that morning. None of us spoke. What was there to say?
We were about to be sold like furniture.
A woman in all black walked down the line, checking us like cattle. She stopped in front of me, grabbed my chin, and turned my face side to side.
"This one's the pharmaceutical heiress," she said to someone I couldn't see. "The one who stole from her own father. She'll fetch a good price—the rich ones always love a fallen angel."
I jerked my chin away from her grip. "I didn't steal anything."
She laughed. Cold. Mean. "They all say that, honey. Doesn't matter now. You're goods. Act like it, or we'll make you act like it."
Another woman down the line started crying. The sound made my stomach twist, but I forced myself to stay frozen. The unidentified letter had said to make Dante Morelli buy me. That meant I couldn't break down. Couldn't look weak.
I had to look like something worth having.
The thought made me want to vomit.
"Line up," Black Dress Woman ordered. "When your number's called, you walk onto that stage, you stand where they tell you, and you smile. Make the buyers want you. The more they want you, the faster you get sold. And trust me—you want to get sold tonight. The ones who don't..." She didn't finish. She didn't have to.
Music started playing somewhere beyond the door. Loud. Pulsing. The sound of wealth and power and people who thought they could buy anything.
Including us.
One by one, the women ahead of me disappeared through the door. I heard the announcer's voice, heard the yelling of bids, heard the bang of a gavel.
Sold. Sold. Sold.
Then it was my turn.
"Number Seven," Black Dress Woman said, grabbing my arm. "That's you. Remember—smile, or else."
She pushed me through the door.
The lights hit me like a physical force. Blinding. Hot. I couldn't see the crowd at first, just a sea of shades beyond the stage.
Then my eyes adjusted.
Men. Dozens of them. Maybe a hundred. All watching me with expressions that went from curious to hungry to coldly calculating.
This was hell. This had to be hell.
"Our final item tonight is particularly special," the announcer said, his voice booming through speakers. "Twenty-five years old, highly trained, former pharmaceutical executive. Starting bid: one million dollars."
A million dollars. For me. For my life.
I wanted to scream. Wanted to run. Wanted to fight my way off this stage and disappear.
Instead, I lifted my chin and scanned the crowd, looking for the man from the letter. The man who'd destroyed my family.
Dante Morelli.
And then I found him.
He stood near the back, hard to miss even in a crowd. Tall, dark-haired, with a face that belonged on old statues of warrior gods. But it was his eyes that trapped me—storm-gray and intense, looking at me like I was a puzzle he wanted to solve.
Or a butterfly he wanted to pin to a board.
This was the man whose signature had been on the purchase papers. The man who'd taken Armitage Pharmaceuticals. The man who might have killed my father.
And I needed him to buy me.
The anonymous message had been clear: Make him buy you. It's the only way you'll ever get close enough to learn the truth.
So I did the hardest thing I'd ever done in my life.
I stared straight at him and didn't look away.
"Two million," someone called out.
"Three million!"
The voices mixed together, but I kept my eyes locked on Dante Morelli. I was sending him a message, though I wasn't sure what it said. Maybe: I'm not afraid of you. Maybe: I know who you are. Maybe: Buy me so I can destroy you.
His eyes narrowed slightly. Interested.
Good.
"Five million."
His voice cut through the noise like a knife. Deep. Commanding. The kind of voice that made people follow without thinking.
The room went quiet. Five million was apparently a lot, even here.
I should have felt relief. He was bidding. The plan was working.
Instead, I felt like I was standing on the edge of a cliff, about to jump into darkness with no idea how far I'd fall.
"Five million going once," the speaker said. "Going twice—"
"Six million!" Another man stood up, glaring at Dante. "She's mine, Morelli."
No. No, no, no. It had to be Dante. The letter said— Dante stood slowly, and even from across the room, I felt the shift in power. Felt the way everyone else became smaller when he moved.
"Ten million."
The number hung in the air like thunder.
Ten million dollars.
For me.
"Ten million going once... twice... sold to Mr. Morelli!"
The crowd burst into applause and whispers. I barely heard them. My heart was hammering so hard I thought my ribs might crack.
He'd bought me.
Dante Morelli—the man who destroyed my family, who might have killed my father—now owned me.
And I'd made it happen.
Black Dress Woman grabbed my arm and pulled me off the stage. My legs were shaking so badly I could barely walk. She dragged me down a hallway, through another door, into a small room where they took the chains from my wrists.
"You're lucky," she said. "Morelli's not the worst one who bids here. He gets bored fast, but at least he doesn't hurt them. You'll probably be free in a month."
A month. I had a month to find out who killed my father, to gather proof, to plan my revenge.
It wasn't enough time.
It would have to be.
"He's waiting for you," Black Dress Woman said, opening another door. "Don't keep him waiting. Men like that don't like to wait."
She shoved me through the door.
I stumbled into a private room. Expensive. Dark. And standing by the window was Dante Morelli.
He turned when I entered, and up close, he was even more dangerous than I'd imagined. Beautiful in the way a gun or a knife was beautiful—deadly and accurate and built for damage.
"Celeste Armitage," he said softly. "I know who you are."
My blood turned to ice.
He knew. God, he knew.
"I know your father killed himself because of what you did to his company," Dante continued, walking toward me slowly. Like a predator circle prey. "I know you stole millions. I know you're a criminal who belongs in jail."
I forced myself to stay still. Forced my face to stay blank.
"And I know," he said, stopping exactly in front of me, so close I could feel the heat of him, "that you were staring at me during that auction like you were hunting me instead of the other way around."
His hand came up, fingers grabbing my chin the way Black Dress Woman had earlier. But his touch was different. Careful. Almost interested.
"So here's what's going to happen," Dante said, his storm-gray eyes burning into mine. "You're going to tell me the truth. All of it. Why you looked at me like that. What you want. What you're planning."
I had two choices: lie and risk everything, or tell a version of the truth that might keep me alive.
"I looked at you like that," I said softly, "because I recognized your name from the papers that destroyed my family. And because I needed you to buy me."
His eyes widened slightly. Surprised.
"Why?"
This was it. The moment everything either worked or fell apart.
"Because," I said, letting real pain bleed into my voice—pain that wasn't fake, wasn't planned, "you're the only person left who might tell me the truth about what really happened to my father. Everyone else says he killed himself. But I know he didn't. He wouldn't have left me."
Something flashed across Dante's face. Something that looked almost like guilt.
"And you think I know something?"
"Your company took over Armitage Pharmaceuticals right before he died. You have access to everything—files, notes, information I can't get from a jail cell." I took a shaky breath. "I don't care what happens to me anymore. I just need to know the truth about my father. Even if it breaks me."
It was the truth. Twisted, imperfect, but true enough.
Dante stared at me for a long moment. Then he released my chin and stepped back.
"You're either the bravest woman I've ever met," he said slowly, "or the dumbest. Maybe both."
"Probably both."
The corner of his mouth almost—almost—smiled.
Then his phone rang.
He pulled it out, glanced at the screen, and his entire face changed. Went cold. Dark. Dangerous in a new way.
"Yes?" he answered.
I couldn't hear the other side of the talk, but I watched Dante's face shift through emotions I couldn't read. Surprise. Anger. Something that might have been shock.
"When?" he asked. "How long ago?"
Pause.
"And you're sure it's connected to the Armitage deal?"
My heart stopped.
"I'll be there in twenty minutes." He hung up and looked at me. Really looked at me. "Change of plans. We're leaving now."
"What's wrong?"
"Your father's office was just broken into. Someone stole all the files linked to his death investigation." He grabbed his jacket. "And according to my source, they left a message on his desk."
"What message?"
Dante's jaw tightened.
"'Ask Celeste who sent her the letter.'"
The world turned sideways.
Someone knew. Someone knew about the mysterious letter. The one that told me to make Dante buy me.
Which meant someone had been watching me this whole time.
And they'd just exposed themselves.
"Who sent you a letter?" Dante ordered, grabbing my arm. "What letter?"
I opened my mouth to answer and heard glass break.
The window burst inward. Something metal clattered across the floor.
Dante's eyes went wide. "Get down!"
He threw himself on top of me as the room erupted in smoke and fire and screams.
And in the chaos, I heard a voice—familiar, female, totally impossible—whisper in my ear: "Three years, Celeste. I've been waiting three years. And now the real game starts."
Then everything went black.