BIDDING WAR FOR THE VIRGIN HEIRESS

Episode 2 - Sold

The limo ride was silent except for the faint hum of rain against the windows. Emma sat stiffly on the leather seat, her hoodie dripping into a puddle beneath her sneakers. Ashford sat opposite, reading something on his tablet, unmoved.

“Where are we going?” she finally asked, voice barely above a whisper.

“To the venue,” he replied.

“What kind of venue holds… this kind of thing?”

“A secure private estate in the Upper East Side. No media. No interruptions. Everything has been arranged discreetly.”

Emma stared at him. “You do this often?”

Ashford met her gaze with something unreadable in his eyes. “Only once.”

The ride ended at iron gates three stories high. Guards with earpieces stood under umbrellas, checking credentials. Cameras followed the car until it passed through.

Inside, it was a different world.

Crystal chandeliers. Marble floors. Polished staff in black uniforms. Billionaires in tuxedos sipping champagne and whispering in dark corners.

And all of them—every single one—turned to stare when Emma entered.

She hugged her hoodie tighter around herself.

“Miss Winslow,” Ashford said gently. “There’s a dressing room prepared for you upstairs. Hair, makeup, wardrobe. You’ll be escorted in twenty minutes.”

“I didn’t agree to anything.”

He nodded. “You still don’t have to. But if you’re going to stand in that room and command a hundred million dollars, you may want to look the part.”

Before she could answer, two silent attendants approached and led her up a grand staircase.

Her dressing room was a palace: soft golden lighting, white velvet furniture, racks of gowns. One stood out—a sleek, blood-red satin dress that shimmered under the lights.

It looked expensive. Dangerous.

Like it belonged to someone braver than her.

“We’ll help you change,” one of the women said softly.

Emma swallowed and nodded. As they worked, a thousand thoughts tore through her mind. Her hands trembled as they zipped her in. Her makeup was done quickly, flawlessly. Her hair curled and pinned into soft waves.

When she looked in the mirror, she didn’t recognize herself.

Twenty minutes later, she stood behind heavy double doors, her name being read aloud to a crowd of billionaires.

“Presenting… Miss Emma Rae Winslow, heiress to the Winslow fortune.”

The doors swung open.

She stepped into silence. A hundred eyes. Ten bidders. And at the far end of the room, a raised platform with a single black leather chair.

It felt like a throne. Or a target.

Emma walked forward slowly, trying to keep her legs steady. She sat. Bright lights flashed on. Ashford’s voice echoed in the marble hall.

“The bidding for Miss Winslow’s hand in marriage will begin at five million dollars. Gentlemen, please place your bids.”

Paddles lifted. Numbers flashed on screens. Ten million. Fifteen. Twenty-five.

Emma sat frozen, her hands locked in her lap, heart racing so loud she could barely hear the bids climbing higher and higher.

Forty. Fifty. Seventy-five.

Then—

“One hundred and twenty million,” Ashford announced.

A stunned hush fell over the room.

Emma looked up.

The man who had placed the final bid stood near the back. Tall. Dark hair. Clean lines of a tailored black suit. Sharp jaw. Icy eyes that pierced through her.

He didn’t smile. Didn’t gloat. Just stared at her with the cold stillness of a storm waiting to break.

“Sold,” Ashford said, his voice barely audible.

Emma’s throat dried. Her stomach dropped.

The man stepped forward.

Ashford cleared his throat. “May I introduce… Mr. Damon Knight. CEO of Knight International. Billionaire investor. And now, by contract… your husband.”

The room burst into polite applause.

Emma couldn’t move.

Damon Knight’s eyes never left hers as he climbed the steps to the platform. He held out his hand.

She didn’t take it.

“I’m not doing this,” she whispered.

“You already have,” he said, voice low, deep, and unreadable.

The contract was signed. The lawyers stepped in. The marriage was declared binding. Cameras flashed. Witnesses applauded.

And just like that, Emma Rae Winslow belonged to Damon Knight.

Later That Night — The Drive to His Estate

Emma sat stiffly beside him in the back of yet another car. Her red dress clung to her skin. Her hands were cold.

“You’re not going to say anything?” she asked after a long silence.

Damon finally turned his head. “What would you like me to say?”

“I don’t know. Maybe why you bid on me like I was an object. Why you spent a hundred and twenty million dollars just to own me.”

He looked at her then. Really looked.

“I didn’t buy you,” he said slowly. “I bought what marrying you gives me.”

“And what’s that?”

He didn’t answer.

The rest of the ride was silent.