Chapter 9: The auction
1318 Words
THE AUCTION
The rest of the day was strangely quiet.
After the maids left, I finished my food alone. The house felt too big and silent, like it was holding its breath. I wandered around for a while, pacing in the long hallways, touching things I didn’t understand, trying not to think too much about why I was here.
When the sky outside started to turn orange, my phone pinged.
A message notification from an unknown number. I clicked on it but the user has no profile.
Then the message content caught my eyes.
“ I’ll be home late. Do not leave the estate.”
Oh, it was him.
That was it. No greeting, no explanation.
Just an order disguised as an update.
I dropped the phone on the bed and lay back, frustrated and restless. At some point I just rolled my eyes and sighed in frustration.
---
I jolted up to the sound of footsteps outside my door.
Three knocks, firm and controlled.
The door opened before I even answered.
Two stylists walked in carrying garment bags, boxes, and a suitcase full of makeup products like they were preparing a corpse for display.
The older one bowed slightly.
“Good evening, Ma’am. The Don instructed that you are to be dressed for tonight’s event.”
“Event?” I sat up. “What event?”
“He didn’t tell you?”
“Of course he didn’t.”
She unzipped the garment bag, and a black dress shimmered inside. Sleek, sculpted and backless.
My gaze greedily followed every diamond on it and I gulped down without realizing. This is definitely expensive.
“You’ll stand out,” the stylist said with a smile that felt rehearsed.
Stand out?
I didn’t even want to be there.
But refusing wasn’t an option. Not with Damien.
---
By the time they were done, I barely recognized myself.
Hair pinned in loose waves, eyes lined in soft black, the dress hugging my body like it knew me better than I knew myself.
The moment they finished, the stylist guided me toward the bedroom door.
“Ma’am, the Don is waiting downstairs.”
My pulse kicked.
I followed them down the staircase, heels tapping softly, dress hugging my figure, breath tight in my chest.
Damien stood by the glass railing, phone in hand, sleeves rolled up, the late-evening light cutting across his jaw. He didn’t look up at first.
Noticing me walking towards him, he casually looked sideways towards me.
His eyes locked with mine. Like that wasn't enough, something flickered in his eyes and the air suddenly changed.
His gaze swept over me with the calm precision of a blade being drawn. Slow, assessing and dangerously controlled. But the tiniest shift in his jaw muscle betrayed him.
He wasn’t prepared for this.
“Sir ma'am is ready”. A stylist grinned.
A beat passed before he spoke.
“Let’s go,” he said, voice lower than usual, as if he had to force it back into its usual steel.
He didn’t offer his hand.
But as I walked past, his eyes followed every step, warm enough to burn and cold enough to freeze at the same time.
That was all the reaction he showed.
And yet… it was more than I’d ever seen from him.
The car ride was silent. Damien didn’t speak, and I didn’t have the courage to start.
But when we arrived, I forgot how to breathe.
It wasn’t a regular auction. It was a mafia playground.
A long marble hall lit with golden sconces. Men in tailored suits, women dripping in diamonds. Armed guards standing like statues. Dark murals on the walls—roses choking skulls, thorned halos, painted suffering.
My heart picked up an exciting pace and I didn’t know where to look first.
Damien finally snapped me out of it. “Stay close.”
He guided me through the crowd, hand on my lower back.
The heat of him, the control of his touch, made my thoughts scatter.
I wanted to be annoyed.
But the paintings… they stole every part of me.
Roses in flames, a girl drowning in charcoal water, a bleeding angel with broken wings.
They were all hauntingly beautiful.
Alive in a way nothing else in my life felt like.
“Do you like them that much?” Damien asked quietly.
I didn’t need to answer. My eyes gave me away already.
He watched me like he was studying a rare creature he wanted to keep, which made me a little uncomfortable.
---
“I’ll go to the bathroom,” I murmured, wanting to slip away.
He nodded without looking away from me.
But before I left, I caught a ghost of something in his expression.
He brought me here on purpose.
Could it be to ease me? Definitely not. How could he know I love paintings?
---
The bathroom was down. Dim and lined with more paintings, but I didn’t make it inside.
Three familiar faces stopped me. Of course I would be a big liar if I say I didn't recognize the faces of these three bitches.
My old classmates. Pink short dresses, Louis Vuitton bag, Barbie hairstyles, pink dolls and thick pink smeared shiny lipsticks.
Always picking on me back then in school. Saying I wasn't ‘classy’ and a stupid tomboy who got lucky to be born rich. I stink of bad luck that it actually killed my mom during childbirth.
Remembering these scenes alone made me grit my teeth but I stayed composed, wanting to walk past them.
I was too drained for arguments.
“Lola?” one of them laughed, covering her mouth with her long nailed fingers. “Oh my God. I almost didn't recognize you.”
I paused in my steps, trying to keep my emotions in check.
The other smirked. “The tomboy fallen heiress pretending to belong.”
Their perfume was strong enough to choke me. Their voices were even worse. Like that of vultures shrieking at their mother's funeral.
“After your father lost his company and wealth, you should be grateful that anyone invited you here at all.”
“I thought you would be picking up trash by now but it seems that you know how to use your p***y to walk your way to the top.” The other added.
I tried to walk past them but the first one grabbed my arm. “Where do you think you are going?” She scoffed.
What a mistake.
The controlled anger in me flared.
The first one screamed when I twisted her wrist backward until her knees buckled.
The second one tried to hit me, but I slammed her head against the marble column lightly.
Just enough to make her slide down holding her scalp.
I was about to send Celeste flying into the wall when I yanked her hair.
She screamed in agony gripping my hand from her hair.
“I might as well end you all tonight. Sounds fun doesn't it?”. I gritted, low, devilish and brutal.
“Exciting.”
I looked up, heart pounding.
It was Damien.
His sudden presence made my pupils contract and my grip on Celeste’s hair loosen as she fell to the ground.
Damien’s gaze fell to the scene.
Three trembling girls on the floor.
Me standing over them, dress perfect, hair a little loose, chest rising and falling.
For the first time since I met him, a surprised smile pulled at his lips.
Interest and something darker, too.
Wait...I just caused a scene here and he doesn't even look mad in the slightest?
Was this man crazy or something?
He stepped closer, voice low and steady.
“Come here,” he said, offering his hand.
And without thinking, I walked up to him and placed my hand in his, giving him a smile that didn't quite reach my eyes.
- Writer
