Chapter 3 Lot Seventeen
1163 Words
“What exactly did you find first?” I demanded.
Cassian Blackwood did not answer.
Of course he didn’t.
He simply turned and walked into the building as though silence itself obeyed him.
I should have left then.
Every instinct I had was screaming at me to run, to get back into the rain, to return to the hospital and hold Liam’s hand until sunrise.
Instead, I followed the man who made common sense feel weak.
The lobby was vast and immaculate.
Black marble floors reflected the chandeliers overhead like pools of liquid gold. Soft music drifted somewhere unseen. Everything smelled expensive—polished wood, fresh flowers, wealth.
And danger.
A woman stood behind a curved desk of smoked glass. Perfect posture. Perfect hair. Perfect indifference.
She looked at me once, then lowered her gaze respectfully to Cassian.
“Mr. Blackwood.”
So the name did mean something here.
He gave a slight nod.
“Is she cleared?” he asked.
“Yes, sir. Candidate seventeen has been prepared.”
Candidate.
The word sent a chill through me.
“I’m not a candidate for anything.”
The woman ignored me entirely.
Cassian’s eyes flicked to mine.
“That attitude will be inconvenient.”
“Then I hope it ruins your evening.”
Something close to amusement touched his face.
Again.
I hated that I seemed to entertain him.
The woman came around the desk carrying a tablet.
“Miss Rowan, please sign entry consent.”
I stared at the screen.
Lines of legal text blurred together.
Temporary contract acknowledgment. Discretion clause. Voluntary attendance.
“This is insane.”
“Yes,” the woman replied calmly. “Please sign.”
“I’m not signing something I haven’t read.”
Cassian spoke before she could.
“Then read faster.”
I glared at him.
He held my gaze without effort.
Every second of eye contact felt like losing ground.
My fingers tightened around the stylus.
Liam.
Days.
I signed.
The woman took the tablet back instantly.
“Wonderful.”
“I don’t think that word means what you think it means,” I muttered.
No one reacted.
Two attendants appeared as if summoned from the walls themselves.
Women dressed in black with expressionless faces.
“This way.”
“I’m not going anywhere with strangers.”
“You entered a building with one,” Cassian said dryly.
I turned sharply.
“You are unbelievable.”
“No,” he said quietly. “I am inevitable.”
Arrogant bastard.
The attendants led me down a private corridor lined with mirrors and soft lighting.
I glanced back once.
Cassian had not followed.
He stood near the desk speaking quietly into his phone, posture relaxed, as though selling human contracts was merely another appointment in his schedule.
The attendants took me into a dressing room.
Designer gowns hung along one wall.
Jewellery glittered beneath spotlights.
A vanity table overflowed with cosmetics I could never afford.
I stopped dead.
“No.”
One attendant folded her hands.
“You will be dressed for presentation.”
“I am not being presented.”
The second attendant stepped closer.
“You may choose the blue gown or the black.”
“I choose the door.”
Neither woman smiled.
I crossed my arms.
“I came to hear an offer, not play doll.”
The first attendant’s expression softened by half a degree.
“If you wish to maximise bidding interest, presentation matters.”
The words made bile rise in my throat.
“I’m not livestock.”
“No,” she said. “You are rarer than livestock.”
My pulse kicked.
“What does that mean?”
She looked away instantly.
“Please choose a gown.”
Every answer in this place came wrapped in more questions.
I chose the black dress purely because it looked harder to humiliate someone in black.
It fit like it had been made for me.
That unnerved me more than anything.
The fabric skimmed my body elegantly, falling to my ankles with a slit high enough to make me uncomfortable.
My damp hair was dried and brushed loose.
Minimal makeup.
No heavy glamour.
They wanted me recognisable.
Myself—but improved for sale.
I stared at my reflection.
I looked like someone else.
Someone expensive.
Someone with choices.
The lie stung.
A knock sounded.
The door opened.
Cassian stepped inside.
The attendants immediately lowered their eyes and left without a word.
We were alone.
My heartbeat betrayed me by speeding up.
His gaze moved over me once.
Slowly.
Not leering.
Assessing.
Then it returned to my face.
“Acceptable.”
I let out a short laugh.
“Thank God. I was desperate for your approval.”
He ignored the sarcasm and crossed the room.
Up close, he smelled like cedar and winter air.
“You clean up well,” he said.
“I’d say the same, but evil clearly requires less effort.”
His mouth almost curved.
Almost.
“Stay angry tonight,” he said quietly.
“What?”
“It will increase bids.”
For one stunned second I couldn’t speak.
Then fury roared through me.
“You absolute—”
I shoved him.
Hard.
He barely moved.
Instead, one hand shot out, catching my wrist before I could swing again.
Heat flared where he touched me.
My breath caught.
His eyes darkened slightly.
We both felt it.
Whatever it was.
He released me at once.
“Interesting,” he murmured.
“What is wrong with you?”
“Many things.”
Then he stepped back.
“Come.”
“I’d rather die.”
“Dramatic.”
“My brother’s in hospital while you stage this circus.”
Something unreadable crossed his face.
“For tonight,” he said quietly, “this circus may save him.”
I hated that he could be right.
He led me through another corridor toward double doors.
Noise swelled beyond them.
Voices.
Music.
The sound of people enjoying themselves.
My stomach twisted.
Cassian stopped before the entrance.
When he spoke again, his voice was lower than before.
“No matter what happens in that room, do not leave the stage unless I tell you.”
I stared at him.
“Why would I listen to you?”
“Because there are men in there I would not trust near you.”
The blunt honesty unsettled me.
“And you?”
His grey eyes locked onto mine.
“You should fear me most.”
Then the doors opened.
The ballroom beyond glittered with wealth and predatory attention.
Hundreds of eyes turned toward us.
A raised stage stood in the centre beneath a spotlight.
An older man in a tuxedo smiled into a microphone.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he announced smoothly. “Thank you for your patience.”
Cassian’s hand brushed the small of my back.
Even through fabric, the contact sent heat through me.
I stiffened.
Then the auctioneer smiled wider.
“Lot Seventeen has arrived.”
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