The darkness pressed in from all sides. Tricia's eyes strained, but the shadows swallowed every shape, every corner. She tried to remember how she had ended up here, but her mind refused to cooperate. Her head throbbed. Her wrists ached where thin ropes had rubbed the skin raw, but at least they hadn't tied her completely. One misstep and she could fall, and then… she couldn't even imagine what would happen.
This isn't real, she thought desperately. It can't be real. Dad would never… The thought froze midway, and she realized that her father's absence was proof enough that this was no ordinary situation. Her heart pounded in her chest like a frantic drumbeat. She tried to steady her breathing, but every inhale came sharp and ragged. She was alone. Completely alone. And something about the quiet made her skin crawl.
Footsteps. Heavy, measured, echoing across the concrete floor. She swallowed hard, trying to calm herself. They weren't coming toward her. They weren't even looking at her yet. They were something else entirely, something that made the hairs on her arms rise. Then came the voices. Not talking, just calling numbers. The cadence was deliberate. Mechanical. Cold.
"Lot thirty seven. Five million."
The words hit her like a thunderclap. Her mind froze. Five million? She blinked rapidly, trying to understand. Then came the next bid. "Six million." And another, climbing higher. They're bidding on me? Her stomach twisted. Her chest felt too tight. Her mind recoiled from the idea, tried to reject it, but deep down, she knew the truth. Every number that passed through that room was a promise, a claim. They weren't bidding for art, or jewelry, or even for something replaceable. They were bidding for her.
A gavel slammed somewhere in the darkness. "Sold."
Silence fell like a shroud. Her pulse thundered in her ears. The air felt heavier now. She could barely breathe. She took a cautious step forward, and the rope rubbed again, reminding her that she had no real freedom. Every instinct screamed at her to run, but where could she go in this pitch-black cage?
Then, through the darkness, he appeared. Tall, imposing, the kind of presence that made every other person in the room seem smaller. The sharp lines of his suit caught what little light filtered through the room. Hands clasped calmly in front of him, movement deliberate. Adrian. The name didn't exist yet in her mind, but somehow it fit. It fit the dominance radiating from him, the absolute control in every step, every measured breath.
Her stomach flipped. She wanted to hate him immediately. She wanted to spit, to scream, to run and escape the certainty of his gaze. But something else stirred beneath the fear a shiver of awe, of recognition that this man was not ordinary. He didn't speak. He didn't need to. The room waited. And in the waiting, Tricia realized that she had never felt so small, yet so vividly alive, in her entire life.
The two men who flanked her stepped forward, gentle enough not to hurt, firm enough to ensure she had no choice. They guided her forward. Each step echoed, long and hollow, bouncing off walls she couldn't see. She dared a glance at him again. Cold. Calculated. Unreadable. She didn't want to meet his eyes, but when she did, she felt it. That tiny, sharp slice of something she couldn't name. Assessment? Curiosity? Or maybe recognition of her own defiance. She wasn't crying. She wasn't begging. She was terrified, yes but she was not submissive.
I hate him already, she thought, letting the words sting in her own mind. I hate him and everything he represents. I will not let him break me.
The silence stretched, almost unbearable. He made no move to comfort her. He didn't offer explanation. He didn't smile. He didn't touch. All he did was observe, like a predator evaluating its prey, and Tricia realized something dangerous: he was not underestimating her.
Her heart raced. Why did he buy me? The question throbbed at the back of her mind, impossible to shake. Not for money she could see the extravagance in the room. Not for appearance her clothes were plain, her hair tangled from the night. Then what? The thought made her stomach churn with equal parts anger and fear. She would find out. She had to. And if he thought she would sit quietly and let herself be cataloged like some prize, he had another thing coming.
They stepped out of the auction hall. Dim city lights spilled through tall windows, the glitter of a life she had never touched before mocking her situation. She inhaled sharply. Every breath felt stolen. And then she realized that she could see him more clearly now the tailored suit, the calm but rigid posture, the subtle shadows along his sharp jawline. He didn't walk beside her; he was ahead, leading her, but not speaking. He set the pace. She followed. Every instinct screamed to run, but her limbs were stiff with fear.
This is only the beginning, she told herself. And though fear pressed against her ribs, a spark of something stronger burned inside. I will survive. No matter him. No matter anyone.
Adrian paused at the door of a penthouse she didn't recognize. It was lavish without being ostentatious, the kind of place that made every other apartment feel small and insignificant. She realized, for the first time, that she was completely at his mercy. The thought should have terrified her more than it already did. And yet, behind the fear, there was clarity. I will not be a victim. Not to him. Not to anyone.
She stepped inside. The room smelled faintly of leather and polished wood, of a life she would never have imagined. He remained at the far end, still calm, still observing. Silence stretched. It was heavier than chains. And then she let herself think it, let herself truly feel the edge of her anger and fear.
So this is the man who bought me.
He didn't move. He didn't speak. But she felt it anyway: the invisible weight of power pressing down on her. And she didn't flinch.
I will survive this. I will not break. And I will find out why.
That thought was small, fragile, and defiant. It was enough.
Because for Tricia Bernard, this auction was only the beginning. And survival was the first step in a game that had just begun.