Sold to the Alpha Prince

Chapter 3: The Price

The bidding didn’t resume. Not really.

There were murmurs — a cough, a rustle, the sound of one man shifting in his seat as if to protest — but none of them dared speak above the stillness that followed the offer. Not after that voice.

Ten million.

It wasn’t the number that quieted them. It was the way it was spoken. Calm. Controlled. Absolute. A voice that didn’t ask, or suggest, or even command. It simply ended the conversation.

Lina didn’t lift her head. She didn’t move at all. She kept her eyes on the floor, the polished marble blurred slightly by the sheen of her own sweat. Her breathing was shallow. Her chest rose and fell in quiet, careful rhythm. The silver bar fixed to her ankles kept her legs apart, her knees aching, her body trembling under the heat of a dozen stares — and one she couldn’t locate.

She didn’t know who he was.

But she felt him now. Somewhere in the room. Heavy. Still. Waiting.

“Sold,” the auctioneer said at last, and even he sounded smaller. “To the northern box.”

There were no cheers. No congratulations. Only silence and the soft sound of coins being gathered from the table, a glass being set down a little too hard, a muttered curse that died before it reached the end of a sentence.

Then the chain at her throat was pulled.

Not sharply. Not cruelly. But with enough force that she had to rise, and when her legs wouldn’t support her, the handlers caught her elbows and dragged her upright like she was weightless.

Her ankles were still bound. Her wrists still tied behind her back. The gauze across her chest clung to her like second skin. Her breasts lifted with every breath, her n*****s still hard from the cold and exposure, and the oil between her thighs made every step slippery and unsteady.

They didn’t cover her.

They didn’t give her time to adjust.

They led her off the stage like a trophy being presented, and she followed because she had no choice. Her knees nearly buckled. Her head stayed bowed. Her cheeks burned as she walked past the men who hadn’t won her — men who had named her worth in coins and insults, men who had laughed at the way she shook and begged with her silence.

“She’s smaller than she looked.”

“She’ll cry before midnight.”

“Would’ve paid more if I knew she bruised that easily.”

She didn’t respond.

She didn’t flinch.

She was still performing. Even now. Even naked, owned, and trembling. She could feel her thighs brushing slick against each other, her pulse a wild thing caged beneath her skin. She didn’t know if she was going to a cage, a kennel, or a bed.

She only knew he was waiting.

And he had paid ten million to make her his.