The Thief and the Ruthless Mafia

Auctioned to him. Emelia's POV

The cold metal of the cage digs into my skin as I’m pushed forward. My hands are tied tightly, the ropes biting into my wrists, but there’s no use in resisting. I can’t escape. I stumble as I’m shoved onto the stage, the harsh lights blinding me for a second. The murmur of the crowd grows louder, like the rumble of a distant storm. Humiliation crawls under my skin, squeezing around my chest, choking me.

I don’t want to look at them—at their faces in the crowd, all waiting, all watching like vultures. But I can’t stop myself. I meet their eyes, one after another, and I feel the disgust, like an invisible hand reaching out to grab me. My heart beats faster with each second. I wish I could disappear. I wish the floor would open up and swallow me. But there’s nothing.

I stand there, trembling, feeling the heat of their stares burning me, and I can feel my own failure crushing me. My mind races, thinking of everything that led me here—every mistake, every choice that brought me to this point. I feel the bile rise in my throat. I want to scream, but no sound comes.

The bidding begins.

A voice calls out from the crowd, deep and rough, the offer too high to ignore. The number hangs in the air, tight like a noose around my neck. My stomach turns as another man calls out, then another. Each bid makes my skin crawl, each one a reminder that I’m nothing but an object. My fate is being decided by strangers, and all I can do is stand there, silent and broken.

I don’t know how long it lasts—how many bids come and go—but I feel the power, the money, pressing down on me. Each bid is a reminder of how small I am, how desperate. I hear their voices, their laughter, and it’s like a drumbeat in my ears, growing faster, louder, until I can’t breathe.

And then it happens.

The final bid cuts through the noise like a knife. It’s low, confident, and all-consuming. “Five hundred thousand.”

I freeze. I don’t need to look to know who it is. That voice. The voice I’ve tried so hard to forget, the one that haunts my dreams. Him.

The crowd falls silent, and I can hear the auctioneer’s voice shaking as he announces the winner. My stomach turns, and I swear I feel the world tilt, spin around me. My vision blurs, and I can’t breathe.

Him. Why him? Why now?

They pulled me from the stage, my body moving on its own, my mind barely processing what’s happening. My heart races, and I feel panic creeping in. I don’t want to face him. Not like this. Not now.

I wanted to get my revenge on him, and not face him this way.

But there he was, Standing in front of me. His eyes lock onto mine, cold, calculating, and they cut through me like he can see everything—every weakness, every fear, every mistake. He steps closer, and I instinctively pull back, but there’s nowhere to go. His presence is overwhelming, suffocating.

“Long time no see, I've missed you.” His voice was cold and full of dominance, while his hands trailed down my collarbone, but I snitched, making him flinch and he gave out a thunderous laugh, which seemed mocking also.

“You’re mine now,” he says, his voice low, almost soft, but it sends a chill down my spine. “I’ve been looking for you. Ever since that night.”

I flinch. That night. The night that changed everything. The night I was too weak to fight back.

His fingers graze my arm, and I flinch, but I don’t pull away. I can’t. Not now. Not with everyone watching. I feel trapped in my own body, every nerve on fire, my mind a whirl of fear and confusion.

“I know you didn’t want this,” he continues, his eyes never leaving mine, “but you don’t have a choice now. You’re in debt. Desperate. And now I own you. I bought you to keep you from anyone else.”

His words hit me like blows to the chest. My heart stutters, and I struggle to catch my breath. I want to fight, to scream, to run—but I can’t. It’s useless. There’s nowhere to go. I am trapped.

“You’ll have a better life,” he says, as though that’s supposed to comfort me. “You’ll never have to worry again.

The words hang in the air, suffocating me. He’s not giving me a choice. He never did. He already owns me. I’m his. The weight of it presses down on me, suffocating me, crushing me.

His grip tightens on my wrist, and I don’t even try to pull away. What’s the point? I’m already his. He’s taken everything from me—my freedom, my dignity, my choice.

“You’re mine now,” he repeats, his voice firm, final. There’s no room for negotiation, no room for rebellion. His words were lame and firm, and it immediately dawned on me that I am nothing but a prisoner now.

My mind races. I want to scream, to break free, to escape. But I can’t. I’m drowning in despair, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.

The world around me blurs, and I try to stop the tears threatening to fall. Not here. Not now. I won’t give them the satisfaction of seeing me break.

He leans in, his breath hot against my ear, sending a shiver down my spine. “Don’t fight it,” he whispers, his voice smooth, but there’s nothing gentle about it. “This is your life now.”

His fingers curl around my wrist, pulling me closer, and I have no choice but to follow. My mind is a mess of fear, confusion, and hopelessness. I try to pull away, but my body betrays me. I’m weak. I’m broken.

And there’s nothing left for me but him.

I’m his. And I can’t escape.

The choice was never mine.

And it never will be again.