The Auctioned Bride
905 Words
The room was ice-cold.
Not from the temperature, but from the atmosphere—the silence was suffocating, the tension was heavy, and every eye in the hall was on her.
Ariana Blake.
Draped in a simple satin gown that clung to her like a second skin, she stood on the small platform like an artifact on display. Her hands trembled by her sides, her eyes were lowered, and her lips were bitten raw from the urge to scream.
But screaming wouldn’t change anything.
Her stepmother stood beside the auctioneer with a proud, satisfied smile. As if selling Ariana to the highest bidder was an act of grace, not betrayal.
"Ladies and gentlemen," the auctioneer's voice rang through the air, "we now present the final offering of the night. Eighteen years of age, untouched, and obedient. Ariana Blake, daughter of the late Alexander Blake."
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
Not because of her—but because of the name. Alexander Blake had once been powerful, a king in the real estate world before his mysterious death three years ago. Ariana’s fall from grace had been public, scandalous. And now… pitiful.
A man in a burgundy suit raised his number.
“₦20 million,” he barked.
“₦30 million,” someone else countered.
She squeezed her eyes shut. Every bid felt like another piece of her soul being sold.
And then—
A new voice. Deep. Calm. Dangerous.
“₦100 million.”
Silence fell.
Heads turned. Mouths opened. Even the auctioneer hesitated.
From the back of the room, he stepped forward—Dominic Viero.
Every inch of him radiated quiet power. Black suit. No tie. Cold eyes. And presence—he didn’t walk; he commanded.
Ariana raised her eyes for the first time.
And their gazes locked.
Something passed between them. She didn’t know what it was—hatred, curiosity, fear?
He didn’t blink.
“I said,” he repeated, voice sharper, “₦100 million.”
No one dared speak again.
The gavel came down with a final, echoing bang.
“Sold.”
Just like that, Ariana's life changed.
---
•••
The limo smelled of leather, faint cologne, and control.
Ariana sat stiffly in her seat, her hands in her lap, staring at the man beside her—the man who now owned her. Dominic hadn’t said a single word since leaving the auction. He didn’t look at her, didn’t acknowledge her existence beyond the occasional glance.
"Why did you buy me?" she asked, voice small.
Stillness.
Silence.
Then finally—his voice.
"Because I could."
She turned to him, confused. "That’s not an answer."
"It’s the only one you need."
That shut her up.
He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t yell. But the authority in his tone left no room for questions. Still, she couldn’t help herself.
“I didn’t choose this.”
“I know.”
"Then—"
"But now you're mine," he cut in, eyes like sharp blades. “So I suggest you stop talking like you have a say.”
Ariana flinched.
---
•••
The Viero Estate was nothing short of a fortress.
Tall iron gates. Security cameras in every corner. Marble floors that gleamed like mirrors. And a silence that made even her breathing sound loud.
A maid showed her to her room.
“Sir says you’ll stay here until you’re trained,” the woman said.
Trained?
Like a dog?
The room was beautiful—too beautiful. It didn’t feel like it belonged to her. Nothing did.
Not the silk sheets. Not the crystal chandelier. Not even the soft robe laid on the bed.
She stood by the window and looked out at the dark, endless yard. Her freedom was somewhere beyond those gates. But she had no way of reaching it.
Not now.
Not with him watching her.
---
•••
That night, dinner was served in silence.
Dominic sat at the head of the table, phone in hand, eyes never lifting.
She sat opposite, barely touching her food.
“You’ll eat,” he said without looking up.
Her eyes narrowed. “You can’t control everything I do.”
Finally, he looked at her.
“Yes. I can.”
And with that, she picked up her fork.
---
•••
Midnight.
She couldn’t sleep.
She wandered the halls in silence, wrapped in her robe, eyes scanning the elegant paintings and antique vases. This place was a prison disguised as a palace.
Then—footsteps.
Heavy. Sharp.
She turned and saw him.
Dominic stood by the railing, looking out into the night.
He heard her, of course. But he didn’t turn.
“You’re awake,” he said.
She stayed quiet.
“You’re not used to silence, are you?”
“No,” she whispered.
He turned slowly. His eyes weren’t just cold—they were haunted.
“This house,” he said, voice lower, “was never built for love. It was built for power.”
"Then why bring me here?"
A beat.
Then another.
“I don’t know yet.”
He walked past her without another word, but she felt it—the shift in the air, the way her heart skipped when his shoulder brushed hers.
---
•••
That night, she dreamed of fire.
And chains.
And him.
Always him.
Watching her from the shadows—not as a monster. But as something darker. Something broken
- Writer
