Chapter Two
1061 Words
Maddie's Pov
The moment the auctioneer’s gavel hit the podium, my fate was sealed.
The guard gripping my wrist didn’t wait for me to steady myself. He dragged me backstage with the same indifference someone might have when tossing out the trash.
The muffled sounds of the next auction echoed behind me, but I barely heard it. My legs moved on instinct, but inside, I felt hollow.
Someone snapped their fingers in my face.
“Earth to Twenty-Five.”
I flinched.
A different handler stood in front of me, an older woman with sharp eyes and an even sharper tongue. She wore all black, her silver hair pulled into a severe bun.
“Strip,” she ordered.
I froze. “What?”
She sighed like I was the most exhausting person she had ever met. “Buyers expect their property to be presented a certain way. The dress you’re wearing? Not good enough. Strip.”
I didn’t move. Not out of defiance—no, that had been beaten out of me a long time ago—but because my body physically locked up.
The woman didn’t have patience for hesitation. She waved a hand, and two guards stepped forward. Before I could react, they ripped the dress from my body in one brutal motion, leaving me exposed.
Shame burned through me, but I clenched my jaw and forced myself not to react. That was what they wanted.
A new outfit was shoved into my hands—a thin, silky slip that barely covered anything.
“Put it on.”
With shaking fingers, I pulled it over my head. It was softer than the last dress, more delicate, but it made me feel even more vulnerable.
A pair of heels were tossed at my feet. I slipped them on without a word.
“Good girl,” the woman murmured, stepping back to inspect me. “Much better.”
I didn’t know what was better about this.
My body wasn’t my own anymore—it hadn’t been for years—but somehow, this felt worse. Like a fresh layer of humiliation on top of an already unbearable weight.
A man in a suit appeared at the doorway, nodding at the woman.
“He’s ready for her.”
The woman’s lips curled into a satisfied smirk. “Escort her to the car.”
I was led through a back exit, where a sleek black car was parked under dim yellow lights. The air outside was cold, but I welcomed the sting against my skin. It was the only thing that felt real.
A driver in an all-black uniform opened the back door. I hesitated.
“Get in,” one of the guards muttered.
I stepped inside, sinking into the leather seat. The door shut behind me with a soft click.
And just like that, I was alone.
No sounds. No orders barked at me.
Just silence.
For the first time in years, there were no chains around my wrists. No collars, no cuffs, no one telling me where to stand, what to do, how to please.
But the invisible shackles were still there. They always would be.
I curled into myself, rubbing at the tender skin around my wrist where bindings used to be.
This wasn’t freedom. This was just another kind of prison.
Minutes passed, maybe more. I didn’t keep track.
Then the car door opened again.
I tensed.
Damian slid into the seat beside me, his presence swallowing the space between us.
He smelled of expensive cologne—something dark, musky, with a hint of smoke. The scent wrapped around me, suffocating.
He didn’t look at me right away. His fingers tapped against his phone screen, confirming the transfer of money.
Two million.
That was my price tag.
After a moment, he put the phone away and finally turned his attention to me.
His ice-blue eyes studied me, calm and unreadable.
I stared straight ahead, refusing to meet his gaze.
He didn’t speak. Neither did I.
The driver started the engine, and the car pulled away from the underground auction house.
The city blurred past us—neon signs, shadowed alleyways, the occasional flash of headlights. People walked the streets, laughing, arguing, living their normal lives.
I used to be one of them.
But that was before.
Before my family was slaughtered in our own home. Before I was dragged from the wreckage of our estate and thrown into the back of a van. Before I was sold for the first time, then the second, then the third.
I had been seventeen when it started.
Now, I was twenty-two.
Five years of being passed from one owner to the next. Five years of existing in the shadows, never truly living.
I didn’t cry anymore. I had run out of tears long ago.
Damian still hadn’t spoken.
I stole a glance at him. He sat relaxed, one hand resting on his knee, the other lightly tapping against the car door.
Everything about him screamed control. Power. A man who was used to having the world at his feet.
But what was I to him? A plaything? A pet?
I clenched my fists in my lap. It didn’t matter. Whatever he wanted, whatever role he expected me to play—I’d learned how to survive.
The car drove further from the city, heading toward the outskirts where the air smelled cleaner, where the streets became lined with towering iron gates and sprawling mansions.
I used to live in a house like this once.
A sharp pain stabbed through my chest at the memory. I forced it down.
The car slowed as we approached an estate, stopping in front of an iron gate that slid open at the press of a button.
We pulled up to a mansion—no, a fortress. High walls, sleek marble, and windows tinted too dark to see inside.
The engine turned off.
Damian stepped out first, and for a second, I thought maybe he’d leave me in the car. Maybe he’d changed his mind.
Then the back door swung open, and he stood there, waiting.
I took a deep breath, then stepped out onto the cold stone driveway.
His eyes flickered over me, but whatever he was thinking, he didn’t say it.
Instead, he turned and walked toward the entrance.
I followed.
Because that was all I could do.
- Writer
