I WAS SOLD TO THE UNDERWORLD KING

CHAPTER FOUR

The walk from the auction room stayed with me even after the voices faded behind closed doors. Each step forward felt like it was taking me deeper into something I couldn't see, something that had already decided how this would end. My mind raced ahead, creating pictures I couldn't stop—dark rooms, locked places, hands that wouldn't hold back.

Nothing about what I had just seen suggested anything different.

The men guiding me didn't say a word. Their grip was firm, their steps steady as they led me through hallway after hallway that all looked the same. The walls were smooth and plain, the lights dim enough to blur the shapes of everything around me. It was quiet in a way that felt controlled, like even sounds had to follow rules here.

I tried to remember where we were going.

Turn left. Straight ahead. Another turn.

It didn't take long to realize it didn't matter.

Every path looked the same. Every door we passed was unmarked and unexplained. The deeper we went, the more the memory of the outside world faded, becoming something far away and impossible to reach.

We stopped.

One of the men stepped forward and opened a door without knocking. He nodded for me to go inside.

I paused for just a moment before stepping forward.

The room was not what I had expected.

It was quiet, clean, and completely ready. The light here was softer, warm enough to make the space feel almost… like a home. A bed was against one wall, neatly made. There was a small table, a chair, and a shelf filled with things that didn't seem to belong in a place like this—water, folded clothes, even a few brand-new items.

I stood just inside the doorway, my body stiff as I looked at everything.

This wasn't a jail cell.

There were no ties. No chains. No obvious signs of control.

That was what made it so strange.

"Inside," one of the men said from behind me.

I stepped further into the room.

The door closed.

The sound was soft, controlled, nothing like the loud slam of the cage from before. A lock clicked, quieter than I thought it would be, but it felt final.

I stayed where I was for a moment, listening.

Nothing happened next.

No footsteps. No voices. No movement outside the door.

The silence grew.

I turned slowly, looking at the room again, my eyes scanning every detail. The bed looked unused. The table's surface was clean, empty except for a glass of water. The clothes folded neatly on the chair were my size.

That detail felt wrong.

This had been prepared.

For me.

I walked toward the table, my steps careful, my eyes still fixed on the door. The glass of water caught my eye first. My throat felt dry, the stress from earlier still in my body, but I didn't reach for it right away.

I didn't trust it.

Instead, I stepped back, creating space between myself and everything in the room.

Minutes passed.

Or maybe more.

Time didn't feel normal anymore.

I stayed watchful, my body reacting to every small sound—the faint hum of something behind the walls, the soft movement of air from a vent above me. Each noise caught my attention, making it harder to relax.

Nothing happened.

No one came in.

No orders were given.

The silence became heavier with each second, turning the room into something strange, something I couldn't understand based on what I had just been through.

I sat down eventually.

Not fully relaxed, not at all, but enough to rest my legs. The chair felt strong beneath me, more solid than I expected.

My hands rested on my legs, my fingers clenching and unclenching without me realizing it at first.

I stayed like that for a long time.

Listening.

Waiting.

Nothing changed.

At some point, the stress turned into something quieter, something that made my body feel heavier. My eyes drifted to the bed, then away again. The thought of lying down didn't feel right, but standing there all night wasn't an option either.

I moved slowly, walking towards the bed with caution.

The sheets were clean.

Untouched.

I sat on the edge first, my posture still stiff, my attention fixed on the door as if I expected it to open any second.

It didn't.

I lay back carefully, one slow movement at a time, my body fighting it even as it gave in to the tiredness I had been holding back. The softness of the mattress felt strange, almost wrong in a place like this.

Sleep didn't come easily.

Every little sound pulled me back, every change in my surroundings dragging me awake again. My mind replayed everything—the bus, the cage, the auction, the voices calling out numbers as if none of it mattered.

I turned onto my side, my eyes only half-closed, my body never fully resting.

Finally, sleep came.

But it didn't last.

I woke up more than once, each time confused, each time needing a few seconds to remember where I was. The room looked the same every time I opened my eyes, unchanged, quiet, waiting.

When I woke up again, the light in the room hadn't changed.

There were no windows.

No way to know how much time had passed.

For a moment, everything felt far away, disconnected from real life. Then the memory returned, sharp and sudden, pulling me back to the situation I couldn't escape.

I sat up slowly, my body stiff, my mind already awake.

Nothing had changed.

The room was still untouched.

The door was still closed.

I stayed still, listening again, my focus on the silence.

Then the door opened.

The sound cut through everything.

I froze.

My reaction was fast, immediate, my body tensing before I could stop it. My heart started beating faster again, the brief feeling of peace disappearing as quickly as it had come.

Footsteps followed.

Slow. Steady.

I didn't move.

By the time he stepped inside, I was already getting ready for something I couldn't guess.

Caius Virel entered without rushing.

Up close, he looked exactly as he had at the auction. Calm. In control. Every move was careful, every step placed with quiet confidence. There was no obvious anger in him, nothing that suggested he would hurt me right away.

That didn't make it easier.

If anything, it made it harder to understand.

The door closed behind him.

He didn't speak right away.

His eyes rested on me, steady and focused, taking in every detail without needing to ask. It wasn't rushed. It wasn't casual.

It was exact.

I stayed where I was, sitting on the edge of the bed, my hands resting beside me, my body unable to completely hide the tension running through it. My attention stayed on him, watching for any movement that might give me something to prepare for.

He stepped closer.

Not enough to fully enter my space, but enough to make the distance between us feel deliberate.

The silence lasted.

It wasn't uncomfortable in the way I expected. It held something else, something heavier, something that made it hard to look away even when I wanted to.

Then he spoke.

"It's good to see you again."

The words settled quietly into the room.

I didn't answer.

I couldn't.

For a moment, I thought I had heard him wrong.

My mind tried to put his sentence somewhere that made sense, tried to connect it to something I had missed, something I had forgotten.

But there was nothing.

I had never seen him before the auction.