THE ALPHA'S OBESSION

The highest bidder

Anna

The room was cramped and buzzing with chatter, filled with women of all shapes and sizes. Some sat in corners with their arms crossed, others leaned against the walls, whispering behind cupped hands. I sat on the edge of a wooden chair, trying to pretend I didn’t hear the murmurs.

But then my name floated through the air, wrapped in sharp, gossipy tones.

“She’s the one,” a brunette said, nodding toward me. “The one selected by him.”

I blinked, my stomach twisting. Him. The word seemed to carry more weight than any name.

“Who?” I asked, unable to keep my voice from trembling.

A tall woman with striking green eyes leaned forward. “The mean, arrogant billionaire. Don’t tell me you don’t know who he is.”

I shook my head. “I don’t.”

She exchanged a knowing look with another woman before speaking again. “My best friend was his… property. For a while.”

The way she said property made my skin crawl. “What do you mean, property?”

She tilted her head, her voice dropping to a near whisper. “She lived in his house, under his rules. She said it was like walking on broken glass every day,one wrong move, and you’d bleed. Then… one day, she was gone.”

I swallowed hard. “Gone?”

“They said it was an accident,” the woman continued, “but no one believed it. And she’s not the only one. Seven other women before her. All gone. Mysteriously.”

The words hit me like cold water down my spine. My heart began to pound in my chest. “Seven?” I repeated, my voice cracking.

She nodded gravely. “You should be scared.”

I didn’t need to be told twice. A lump formed in my throat, and suddenly the air in the room felt too thin. I tried to focus on my breathing, tried to push away the icy dread curling in my gut, but their stares didn’t help. Some looked at me with pity; others with a grim kind of satisfaction, like they were relieved it wasn’t them.

Before I could process anything else, the door creaked open. The sound sliced through the whispers, pulling everyone’s attention. Two women stepped inside, dressed in all black,sharp suits, stern faces, not a hint of warmth in their eyes.

“You,” one of them said, pointing directly at me.

I froze. “Me?”

“Come with us.”

The green-eyed woman beside me muttered under her breath, “God help you.”

My legs felt heavy, but somehow I stood. Every pair of eyes followed me as I crossed the room. I told myself to stay calm, that maybe they just wanted to talk, but the pit in my stomach told me otherwise.

They led me down a narrow hallway without saying a word. My footsteps echoed faintly against the tiled floor. At the end of the hall, we stepped outside into the dim glow of a parking lot. The air was cool, carrying the faint scent of gasoline and rain.

One of the women reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a strip of black fabric.

“Blindfold her,” the other said.

I took a step back instinctively. “Why?”

“It’s the procedure,” the first one replied flatly. “Stand still.”

I wanted to argue, to demand answers, but fear had already sealed my lips. My pulse roared in my ears as she wrapped the fabric over my eyes, pulling it tight. Darkness swallowed me whole.

A hand gripped my arm,firm, unyielding,and guided me forward. My shoes clicked against the pavement as they steered me to what I assumed was a car. The faint metallic scent of the door handle hit my nose just before they pushed me inside.

The leather seat was cold against my skin. The door slammed shut, trapping me in muffled silence.

Then, without warning, the engine roared to life.

I felt the sudden jerk as the car sped forward, the vibrations humming beneath me. I gripped the edge of the seat, trying to steady my breathing. The blindfold pressed against my eyelids, and the blackness made everything worse—every bump in the road, every sharp turn felt amplified.

Somewhere deep inside, a voice kept whispering that I might not be coming back.

And yet, all I could do was sit there, in the dark, as the car zoomed off into the unknown.

I was lifted out of the car, my body stiff and aching, carried as if I were nothing more than a piece of wood. The blindfold scratched against my skin, pressing darkness against my eyes. I could only hear footsteps and the muffled sound of a door closing somewhere far behind us.

Then, my feet touched the ground,soft, warm. A rug. Whoever held me let go, and I stumbled slightly before regaining my balance. My pulse thundered in my ears as I strained to make out the sounds around me. The air smelled faintly of leather and something sharp, metallic.

Footsteps approached. Slow. Deliberate.

“Take her blindfold off,” a voice ordered,low, smooth, but cold enough to cut through bone. I recognized it instantly. The same icy voice that had haunted me since the moment I was taken.

Rough fingers tugged at the knot behind my head, and the cloth slid away, the light burning my eyes after hours,or maybe days,of darkness. I blinked rapidly, my vision swimming before the room came into focus.

It was large, dimly lit, and expensively furnished. The rug beneath me was thick and blood-red, stretching across polished wooden floors. The man stood a few steps away, tall and broad-shouldered, his dark suit fitting like a second skin. His eyes,cold, calculating,fixed on me with an intensity that made my stomach knot.

“Leave us,” he said without looking away.

The two guards obeyed instantly, disappearing through the door. The click of the lock that followed was like a gunshot in the silence.

I turned toward it, heart hammering. “What do you want from me?” My voice came out hoarse, trembling despite my effort to sound strong.

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he walked closer, each step unhurried, his gaze never breaking from mine. He stopped just in front of me, close enough that I could see the faint shadow of stubble on his jaw.

“You’ve been causing problems,” he said finally, his voice calm but laced with something dangerous. “And I don’t like problems.”

My throat went dry. “I don’t even know who you are.”

“That’s the point,” he replied, almost with a hint of amusement. “The less you know, the better your chances of staying alive.”

He crouched down, so we were at eye level. I could smell the faint scent of his cologne,rich, intoxicating, and entirely wrong for the situation. His hand reached out, not to strike me, but to tilt my chin up.

“You’re going to tell me everything,” he said quietly, his tone as soft as it was menacing. “And you’re going to do it without lying.”

“What do I know? And what do I have to tell you?”

“You'll tell me who you are and what you are.” He whispered.

“And if I don’t?” I whispered.

His lips curved into the faintest, most chilling smile. “Then, Anna, this room becomes the last place anyone ever sees you.”