His Forbidden Scarlett

The highest bidder

Chapter 5: the highest bidder

Scarlett's POV

Leo was the only good thing born from the ashes of my stupid mistake.

For four years, he was my entire world. Chloe joined me in Chicago after I ran from my father's house. We both left everything of our old life behind and worked hard to take care of our small family. I loved him with all the love my broken heart could give. Father tried to reach me severally after I left the house, but I shut him out completely. I wouldn't bring more shame to him and, most importantly, I didn't want to associate my spotless, pure son to the demons of the mafia.

He had my heart, but he had Christian’s face. Especially those same stormy, unreadable gray eyes. Every time I looked at my son, I fight an agonizing war in my heart. I hated Christian for abandoning us, especially for leaving Leo without the fatherly love every child deserved.

Yet every night, when Leo fell asleep with his head against my collarbone and Chloe thought I'd slept off, a treacherous longing would ache in my heart. I hated that I still remembered the warmth of Christian's touch. He was probably married now or banging a w***e, still regarding me as my father's daughter while I sobbed. I was utterly screwed.

On one rainy Tuesday, I had just returned home from my second job at a diner, clutching a small plastic toy and a carton of fresh milk for Leo. I was smiling, thinking of how his face would light up when he saw the toy. He'd seen it when we passed by from his school one afternoon and the want in his eyes was all it took for me to buy the toy for him, even if it was my last penny.

But I never made it up the stairs.

Christian’s fifty thousand dollars didn't last. The black-market medical supplies for a postpartum infection after Leonard's birth ate through the cash. Then Leo got sick. The landlord demanded double rent to keep his mouth shut about my lack of identification papers.

When the fridge went completely empty and Leo’s fever spiked to dangerous heights, desperation made me stupid.

I went to the only man in the slums who traded in quick cash: a ruthless underground loan shark named Marcus. I borrowed five thousand dollars to buy medicine and food. Chloe hadn't joined me back then so she had no idea about my arrangement.

I didn't understand the math of the underworld. All I knew was I had to protect my child. Over time, five thousand turned into ten. Ten turned into thirty. Within three years, Marcus’s thugs were kicking down my door.

"Time's up, princess," Marcus sneered, his heavy boots echoing in my tiny apartment as his men pinned my arms behind my back. Leo was crying in the closet where I had hidden him, his tiny whimpers piercing my heart.

“Stay here Leo. Don't come out, don't make a sound, okay?” I told him sweetly over the banging of our door. He nodded, tears rolling down his cheeks. I gave him the toy I had bought and closed the door of the closet when Marcus broke in.

"I'll get the money! Please, just give me one more week!" I begged, thrashing against their tight grip. "I'll work double shifts! Instalments, anything Marcus!"

"You don't get it, Scarlett. You don't have a week," Marcus laughed, a repulsive, yellow-toothed grin spreading across his face. "A girl with your face? Your body? You're worth way more than thirty grand on the private market. The southern territories are hosting a masked auction tonight.

Elite bidders. High society freaks."

He grabbed my jaw, his dirty fingers pinching my skin.

"You're going to pay off your debt on the auction block," Marcus whispered. "Let’s see how much the highest bidder thinks you're worth."

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I was dressed in a floor-length slip that felt like nothing. A black blindfold covered my eyes, while a heavy leather collar rested tight against my throat. I could hear the clinking of champagne glasses, the low.murmurs of wealthy devils and the heavy scent of expensive cigars and cologne. It was the exact smell of my father's dining room.

I was back to the danger of the mafia but this time, not as the priceless daughter of an underboss but as a w***e. I could only imagine what state Leo was in right now.

"Up next, gentlemen, we have a truly rare delicacy," the auctioneer’s booming voice echoed over the microphone. "A young, rare beauty, perfect for... whatever your heart desires. Let's start the bidding at fifty thousand dollars."

The crowd erupted.

"Sixty thousand!" a gravelly voice called out from the front row.

"Eighty thousand from the gentleman in the back!"

Panic clawed at my chest. I pulled against the heavy iron chains binding my wrists to the stage floor, the metal rattling violently. Tears soaked through the blindfold. If I was sold tonight, I would never see Leo again. He would grow up alone in that tiny apartment, crying for his mother and not even Chloe would be able to fill my absence.

"One hundred thousand!" another man shouted with slimy anticipation. "One hundred and twenty!"

"Going once at one hundred and twenty thousand..." the auctioneer called out, the wooden gavel hovering. "Going twice..."

The air left my lungs. My knees shook. This was the end.

"One million dollars."

The room went silent.

The voice came from the shadows at the very back of the room, near the heavy exit doors. It was a deep, velvety baritone. So undeniably familiar. A voice that had haunted my nightmares and my deepest, darkest fantasies for four years.

Christian.

My heart stopped in my chest. The chains rattled as my whole body began to tremble. No, no, no.

No f*****g way.

"One... one million?" the auctioneer stammered, his confident facade cracking over the microphone. "Sir, the bid stands at one million dollars. Do I hear one point?"

Silence. No one spoke.

Bang!

The gavel slammed down, the sound echoing through the silent theater. "Sold! To the gentleman in the back.”

I heard footsteps echo across the marble floor, moving closer and closer to the stage. Each step sent a jolt of pure terror through me. The scent of rain, expensive leather, and a familiar, dark cologne filled my senses, drowning out the cigars and the sweat of the room.

Suddenly, a rough, leather-gloved hand gripped my jaw, his fingers digging into my skin with a possessive strength. He yanked my face up. With a sharp flick of his wrist, he tore the blindfold away.

The bright stage lights blinded me for a fraction of a second. But when my vision cleared, I found myself looking straight into those stormy, unreadable dark eyes. He looked older. Harder. Darker. He didn't look at me with pity or love; his gaze scanned my bruised wrists, my bare shoulders with indifference.

"Get up, Scarlett," Christian hissed, his voice was colder than I remembered. "We have a family reunion to attend."