BID ON MY HEART

The velvet choker was a noose, its cold kiss a constant reminder of the gilded cage. The air backstage was a thick cocktail of desperation, Chanel, and decay old money masking the scent of fear. Ellie stood in line, a statue among statues. Six other women, sculpted from silk and silent shame. Their heels clicked in uniform rhythm; their dresses were cut from the same bolt of exquisite torment. Powder perfected their faces into lifeless porcelain, but nothing could hide the raw panic in their eyes,the quick flicker of a prayer, the tremor of a held breath. Her father’s ghost whispered in her ear. I’m sorry, baby. Two million dollars. A sum so vast it had its own gravity, crushing the air from her lungs. Tonight, her value was a question. The answer would be shouted by strangers. The handler’s approach was all sharp angles and sharper sounds, heels cracking like ice on marble. Her fingers, cold and efficient, tugged at Ellie’s straps, smoothed her spine. “Stand straight. Smile. Don’t look afraid.” Ellie clenched her hands until her nails carved half-moons into her palms. The pain was an anchor. The backless dress was a betrayal, the fabric so thin the stage lights felt like a searchlight on her soul. From beyond the heavy curtain, the world hummed. Crystal chimed. Low laughter rumbled. It was the sound of appetite. Five years. The thought was a shard of glass in her chest. Five years ago, her nails were stained with acrylics, her hair tangled with sunlight. Five years ago, she breathed. Five years ago, she was loved. By him. Kael. His laugh was a real, warm thing. His hands were perpetually smudged with ink from scheming into the early hours. He had a way of finding her in any crowd, his gaze a steady harbor. Then came the avalanche,the lies, the crash, the blood-money she took to vanish from his life. It was to save you, she thought, the words ash in her mouth. It was supposed to save you. The curtain parted. Light, brutal and blinding, washed over her. As her vision cleared, shapes solidified into men in black, their faces hidden behind sleek masks. Their collective gaze was a physical weight. “Lot Number Seven,” the auctioneer’s voice boomed. “Twenty-six. Artist. Untouched.” Untouched. The word was a brand. She locked her knees, forced her expression into vacant serenity. Inside, her heart was a wild thing trying to beat its way out of her ribs. “One hundred thousand.” “One fifty.” “Two.” The numbers were abstract, meaningless sounds. A high-pitched ring filled her ears. This was someone else’s nightmare. A man in the front row shifted, and the motion—controlled, predatory—sent an instinctive chill through her. For a fleeting second, a familiar scent cut through the stifling perfume: sandalwood and cold rain. Kael’s scent. No. It was a phantom, a trick of a breaking mind. He was oceans away, a king in a different world. He despised her. Yet the memory flooded her anyway: Kael pulling her into a rain-slicked alley, his voice rough. “I don’t care about the money, Ellie. I care about you.” She had kissed him then, tasting the storm on his lips. Two days later, she had destroyed him. “Five hundred thousand.” The voice came from the shadows at the back. Deep. Unruffled. Her eyes strained to find its source. A tall, broad-shouldered figure in a black mask. Her pulse stuttered. “Six hundred,” another voice countered. “One million.” A reverent hush fell. The auctioneer’s grin widened. “We have one million. Do I hear one one?” “Two.” The same voice from the shadows. Calm. Absolute. Ellie’s legs trembled. That voice. “Two million.” “Three.” “Four.” This was no longer a bid. It was a duel. Two titans clashing over a spoil. Her hands were blocks of ice. “Four million five hundred thousand!” the auctioneer cried, voice cracking with excitement. The masked man in the back rose. Slowly. Deliberately. The room’s attention pivoted to him. He didn’t speak until the silence was complete, then delivered the final, devastating blow. “Five.” The quiet was profound, smothering. Bang. “Sold! To Number Twelve!” The gavel’s crack was a sentence. Ellie swayed, the numbers—five million dollars—echoing in the hollow of her skull. The handler materialized, grip vise-like on her arm. “Congratulations,” she said, tone bored. “He’s among our most… substantial clients. You’ll be well kept.” Kept. The word settled on her like a chain. She was led to a private room, all gilt and velvet, a beautiful coffin. Time lost meaning. In the ornate mirror, a stranger stared back—pale, hollow, a doll awaiting its owner. The door opened. Footsteps, measured and heavy, approached from behind. She didn’t turn. A hand landed on her bare shoulder. The touch was firm, claiming. She flinched. “Look at me.” That voice. The one from the shadows. The one from all her dreams and every nightmare. She turned. He lifted the mask. Time stopped. Ice-blue eyes, now hardened to arctic chips. A jawline sharp enough to cut. The same mouth, but curved into a smile that held no warmth. Kael Vance. Age had carved him into something harder, fiercer. But it was him. Every atom in her body screamed it. The oxygen vanished from the room. Her lips parted, but her voice had died. He tilted his head, studying her ruin, his eyes dark with a vengeance she could taste. “Hello, Ellie.” Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic, trapped bird. Only one shattered syllable escaped. “You.”