"Get up. All of you." The guard barked his order, his deep voice echoing off the damp concrete walls.
The pitch black holding cell smelled heavily of stale sweat, pure fear, and iron. Aria pressed her spine against the freezing stone wall, trying to control her ragged breathing. Beside her, a young girl named Chloe whimpered into her hands.
"Why are you so calm?" Chloe asked, her voice shaking violently. "They are going to kill us. Or worse."
"Because crying will not open that locked door," Aria replied, scanning the absolute darkness for any structural weakness. "Panic wastes energy. We need to watch the guards and wait for a mistake."
"You do not understand, Aria," Chloe sobbed, gripping Aria by the torn sleeve of her shirt. "My mother told me about the Syndicate. They buy people and hunt them in the private woods for sport. The worst monsters in the city are upstairs right now."
"Keep your voice down," Aria commanded gently. "Nobody is hunting us tonight. Just do exactly what they say. Do not look them in the eyes."
"It is not just a normal auction," Chloe whispered, leaning closer so the guards outside would not hear. "A guard was talking earlier. He said the big bosses are looking for a specific girl. They want the Architect's daughter. He said she holds the key to the missing vault."
Aria felt a cold, jagged knot twist violently in her stomach. She stopped breathing for a fraction of a second. The Architect. That was her father's underground moniker. He had been dead for six months. Murdered in cold blood.
"What vault?" Aria asked, fighting to keep her tone completely flat.
"I do not know," Chloe cried softly. "Just some ledger or secret bank account that belongs to the dead Architect. A man in a solid gold mask is offering a bounty for the girl with grey eyes. Your eyes, Aria."
"My father is dead," Aria stated firmly. "They have no reason to look for me. They have nothing."
"Move!" The heavy steel door screeched open. Blinding light flooded the tiny cell, forcing Aria to shield her face. Two massive guards stepped inside, grabbing Chloe by the hair.
"No! Please! Take her! She has the grey eyes! She is the one you want!" Chloe screamed, thrashing wildly and pointing a shaking finger at Aria.
"Shut your mouth," the guard growled, tossing Chloe aside into the corner. He locked his dead, empty gaze on Aria. "You. The boss wants you on stage right now. Get moving."
Aria was violently shoved forward. Her bare feet scraped against the rough concrete floor as they dragged her down a narrow corridor. The air rapidly grew thicker, heavy with the suffocating scent of expensive cigars, aged whiskey, and exotic perfumes.
The guards thrust her roughly through a heavy velvet curtain.
Blinding, white hot spotlights hit her face instantly. Aria stumbled onto the polished wooden stage. She blinked rapidly, trying to adjust her vision. Below her sat a sprawling sea of masked faces. Politicians, cartel lords, and corporate titans hid their identities behind porcelain and gold. This was the dark, beating heart of the elite underworld.
"Ladies and gentlemen of the Syndicate," a charismatic voice boomed through the massive overhead speakers. The auctioneer, a tall man wearing a tailored crimson suit, stepped beside her. He grabbed her chin with a bruising grip, forcing her to look directly at the crowd of monsters.
"Let me go," Aria hissed through her tightly clenched teeth, trying to pull her face away.
"Quiet, little bird," the auctioneer murmured softly into her ear. Then he raised his silver microphone. "Tonight, we begin our evening with an exquisite rarity. We do not just have beauty on this stage. We have pedigree. The rumors are completely true, my esteemed guests. Standing before you is the sole surviving bloodline of the late Architect."
Gasps and excited murmurs rippled through the dark room like wildfire.
"He owed our faction millions!" a voice shouted angrily from the back tables.
"I want her to pay for his outstanding debts," another masked man yelled, slamming his heavy fist on a glass table. "Five hundred thousand!"
"Eight hundred thousand!" a woman's voice countered sharply. "She will look absolutely lovely locked in my glass display case."
Aria felt a suffocating wave of powerlessness crush her chest. Her father's legacy, his entire life of careful planning, was reduced to this degrading spectacle. She was nothing but a commodity to these wealthy psychopaths.
"One million," grunted a heavy, gravelly voice in the very front row.
Aria looked down at the bidder. A massive man with a terribly scarred face and a silver skull mask sat leaning back in his velvet chair. Hector Vargas. The most brutal cartel boss in the southern territory. He was old enough to be her grandfather and infamous for torturing his acquisitions to death over several weeks.
"One point five million," another voice called out hesitantly from the shadows.
"Two million," Vargas snapped back immediately, pulling a heavy black revolver from his coat and setting it loudly on his table. "And I will personally gut anyone who speaks another number. Do we have a problem here?"
"Mr. Vargas," the auctioneer laughed nervously, sweat beading on his forehead. "This is an open market."
"I said two million," Vargas repeated.
Absolute silence fell over the sprawling room. The other bidders slowly lowered their numbered placards, completely intimidated by the cartel leader's direct, violent threat.
"We have two million from Señor Vargas," the auctioneer announced, a greedy smile finally stretching across his face. "Going once. Going twice."
Aria closed her eyes tightly. The sheer panic was choking her. She needed a weapon. She needed an escape route right now. Her mind raced, flooded with a terrifying, electric surge of adrenaline. She prepared to jump off the stage and run.
"Fifty million."
The new voice was heavily distorted, echoing loudly from the premium speakers mounted on the ceiling. It originated from the pitch black VIP balcony suspended high above the main stage.
The entire hall erupted into chaotic, confused whispers. Vargas stood up furiously, kicking his chair backward.
"Who dares insult me?" Vargas roared, pointing a fat, ringed finger at the darkened balcony window. "Show your face! No one crosses the Vargas cartel!"
"Your pathetic cartel is nothing but dust," the synthesized voice replied through the speakers. It was cold, completely devoid of any human emotion. "Fifty million. Hand the girl over to my personal guards right now, or I will burn this building to the ground with everyone inside."
The auctioneer swallowed hard, his charismatic facade crumbling into pure, unadulterated terror.
"Sold!" the auctioneer screamed into the microphone, not even bothering to count down properly. "Sold to the exclusive VIP guest!"
"You cannot do this!" Aria yelled, struggling fiercely as two massive enforcers in full tactical gear stormed the wooden stage.
"Keep walking and do not make a sound," one of the enforcers ordered, grabbing her fragile arm with crushing, unbreakable force.
They dragged her violently off the stage, away from the furious screams of Vargas. They pulled her up a spiral steel staircase. Aria fought them, kicking and thrashing her body, but they were simply too strong.
They shoved her roughly through a set of heavy oak doors into a sprawling, dimly lit suite. The doors clicked shut behind her, the locks engaging with a heavy thud.
The large room was silent. A single glass wall overlooked the chaotic auction floor below.
"Show yourself!" Aria demanded, her chest heaving as she backed away from the locked doors. "What do you want from me? My father left me absolutely nothing! I do not have the vault!"
"He left you," a deep, resonant voice said from the darkest corner of the room.
Aria froze completely. That was not the synthesized, robotic voice from the auction speakers. This voice was real. It was smooth, highly dangerous, and terrifyingly familiar to her ears.
A tall figure stepped slowly out of the darkness. The ambient city light caught his sharp jawline, his piercing blue eyes, and the perfectly tailored black suit that fit his broad shoulders.
Aria felt her blood run entirely cold. The fiery adrenaline vanished in a single second, replaced by a bottomless, suffocating pit of pure dread.
It was him. Keiran Cross.
The ruthless underworld kingpin. The exact monster who personally ordered the brutal execution of her father six months ago.
Cross walked slowly toward her, his gaze sweeping over her trembling frame with absolute, chilling predatory focus. He stopped just inches away from her face, invading her personal space completely.
"You," Aria breathed out, her voice breaking as she looked up into his cold eyes. "You killed him."
Cross tilted his head slightly, a dark, wicked smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth.
"Mine," he whispered softly.