THE BILLIONAIRE'S PRICE

Raymond's point of view My phone buzzed again. I did not see it. People whose names made my stomach hurt had been sending me messages all night. People who wanted their cash. People who were no longer patient. Instead, I kept my eyes on the computer in front of me and added the last item to the auction catalog for tomorrow. Three hundred and forty-two pieces of jewelry and art that would sell for more than I could make in ten lifetimes. At midnight, the auction house was empty. It was just me and the sound of the air conditioning and the weight of everything I could not buy. "One more hour," I said to myself as I rubbed my eyes. They felt like sandpaper. For five years, I had been working at Ashford's Auction House. I really liked the job. I loved touching old paintings and holding jewelry up to the light. I loved learning the stories behind each piece, like who owned it before, where it came from, and why someone gave it up. But lately, work was the only place where I felt like I was going down slower than anywhere else. I was here at midnight on a Tuesday instead of sleeping because of my sister Maya's hospital bills. Leukemia. Even though we would hear the word a thousand times, it still did not feel real. Maya was just 22 years old. She should have been worried about her first date and college exams, not her chemotherapy schedule and blood counts. But here we were. The hospital also wanted money. A lot of money. Money that was not real. I looked through the catalog one more time. I wrote a description and took a picture of each item, and they all had a starting price. A painting by Monet. Earrings from the 1920s with emeralds. A piece of art that cost more than my apartment. And every single piece would sell tomorrow night to people who would not even think twice about spending millions. Maya's life could be saved by one of those sales. One of those things could pay for the treatments that the good hospital wanted to give her. The one that had the best chances of living. The one I could not pay for. I laughed and leaned back in my chair. It did not come out right. Bitter. I am tired. What if I put one more thing on the list? Something that might really sell. The idea was silly. Totally crazy. But my fingers were already typing before my brain could stop them. I typed, "Lot 343." "One Year of Marriage to Isla Raymond." The starting bid is $10 million. I looked at what I had written. Then I laughed again, and it sounded the same. This was how my life had changed. I was so desperate that I joked about putting myself up for sale at an auction house. I was so tired that it was funny. My phone buzzed once more. A message from a guy named Viktor. Not funny any more. *Pay up by Friday, or we will take it out of your paycheck. I was shaking as I put the phone down on the desk. You could not just ignore Viktor. He was the kind of person you could borrow money from when the banks said no. And now he wanted his money back with interest that I could not figure out. I read what I had written again. The fake listing was right in front of me on the screen. One year of being married. Ten million dollars. It was so dumb that it made me feel bad to think about it. But at least someone will see it and smile tomorrow. At least someone would find it funny how desperate Isla Raymond had become. I put it in the catalog. I made the dumbest choice ever. I knew I had to delete it by morning as I turned off my computer and packed my things. I should get up early, come in, and get rid of it before anyone sees it. But I did not care because I was too tired. I was too tired to think clearly. And to be honest? I wanted to stop there for a while. I wanted the whole room full of rich people tomorrow to see that the girl running the auction was so broke she was trying to sell herself. It took twenty minutes to get home. My car was old and made weird sounds at every stoplight. The radio did not work. But the quiet was worse than any noise it would have made. My apartment was small and dark. To pay for Maya's first round of treatment, I had to sell most of the furniture. There was only a bed, a table, and a couch with a stain that I could not get out. I kept the apartment cool to save money on the heating bill. I looked at my phone. Three more messages from people I still owe money to. The hospital sent me one message to ask about the next payment. Sarah, my best friend, sent me a message asking if I was okay. I was not feeling well. I had not been okay in so long that I could not remember what it felt like. But the auction was tomorrow. I would wear a borrowed dress and act like everything was fine tomorrow. I would laugh at rich people who bought things that cost more than my car. While my sister was in a hospital bed, I watched the numbers on the screen go up and up, hoping that the cheaper treatment would be enough. No one would know that the girl in the pretty dress was really falling apart. At least three hundred rich people would come into Ashford's Auction House tomorrow night. They would drink champagne and make bids on valuable items. My listing was buried on the last page of the catalog, in the joke section that most people would never even look at. Lot 343. One year of being married to me. Ten million dollars is the starting bid. I did not think anyone would really bid on it. I had no idea how wrong I was.