Chapter 1 – Sold to the Devil
Chapter 1 – Sold to the Devil
The spotlight blinded me.
I wasn’t supposed to be here—not under the glittering chandeliers, not in a gown worth more than my rent, and definitely not standing on a stage like some prize to be sold.
My plan had been flawless. Or so I thought.
Slip into New York’s most exclusive charity auction with a forged invitation. Blend in with the city’s wealthiest sharks. Collect evidence on Damian Blackwood—the billionaire with bloodstained rumors clinging to his empire—and slip out before anyone noticed.
Easy.
But somewhere between champagne glasses and velvet ropes, everything went wrong.
Now a thousand eyes watched me as the auctioneer’s voice echoed through the ballroom.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we present our next mystery date of the evening!”
My stomach dropped.
Wait. No.
This wasn’t happening.
I stumbled back a step, heat crawling up my neck as a hostess guided me into the spotlight. The silk dress clung too tightly, the heels pinched, and every breath in the air seemed to taste like money and danger.
“This lovely lady will enjoy an unforgettable evening with the highest bidder,” the auctioneer boomed, his words slicing through my panic. “Shall we start at ten thousand dollars?”
The crowd murmured with amusement, champagne glasses clinking.
I wanted to scream that this was a mistake. That I wasn’t supposed to be on this stage. That I was here for the story, not the sale.
But my voice caught in my throat, trapped by the weight of a hundred glittering stares.
And then I saw him.
Damian Blackwood.
He leaned back in his seat like a king surveying his kingdom. Midnight hair, broad shoulders filling his tux, a glass of whiskey cradled in his hand as though the world itself belonged to him.
Every whisper I’d ever heard about him suddenly felt too small. Too tame. This wasn’t just a man—this was danger carved into flesh and bone.
And his eyes were on me.
Piercing. Cold. A storm behind steel.
I felt stripped bare, every secret I’d ever carried dragged into the open beneath his gaze.
The auctioneer cleared his throat.
“Ten thousand dollars. Do I hear ten?”
A man in the front row lifted his paddle.
“Ten thousand!”
“Fifteen!” another voice called.
My pulse thundered. I had to get off this stage. I had to—
“Twenty-five.”
The room silenced. The voice was smooth, rich, commanding.
Damian Blackwood had spoken.
All at once, the bidders shifted uncomfortably. No one looked at him directly, but I could feel the ripple of tension spreading like fire through the crowd.
“Do I hear thirty?” the auctioneer asked, his tone suddenly hesitant.
Silence.
Not a single paddle lifted.
No one dared.
Damian’s lips curved in the faintest shadow of a smile. Possessive. Certain.
“Sold!” The gavel struck like a death sentence. “To Mr. Damian Blackwood.”
Gasps scattered through the ballroom, whispers rising in their wake.
But all I heard was the pounding of my own heart.
I came here to expose Damian Blackwood.
Instead, I had just been bought by him
