CHAPTER 9

 Aurelia

There's no way.

I want to believe I'm seeing things. I want to tell myself neither of them are present right now, and all of it is just a figment of my imagination. But I can't. I can't do that; I can't do anything, but I stand there frozen. My hands are twitching nervously at my sides as I think of what to do next.

I don't have the acrobatic skills of the last girl. Or the confidence of the one before her.

None of this was part of the arrangement I signed up for. And now I'm the sole object of everyone's attention, in a room full of men and women alike willing to blow thousands of dollars for a rewarding night with whatever girl they choose.

It feels like a dream. And I keep wishing for someone to wake me up.

The mistress inches closer to me, her dazzling smile still fixed on her mouth. She reaches for my hand and says, "Twirl." She whispers, guiding me and spinning me in a slow circle.

My movements are stiff and unpracticed; I have no idea what to do.

"I can't do this," I whisper.

"You're doing great," she whispers back. "Smile."

I do. I paste a bright smile on my face, trying my best to calm my nerves. I can do this. I can do this. Think of the numbers; think of your freedom.

"Look at her," the mistress purrs, "divine, elegant, and reserved. Who wouldn't want a taste?"

The lights are focused solely on me. I want to squeeze my eyes shut and fade away from reality, but that's impossible, and I'm so frightened I might fall that I keep them wide open. I can feel them watching me. I try my damnest not to look in their direction, but God, it's hard. Will they be able to tell it's me?

Rune sports that easy smirk of his, elbows resting on his knees as he turns to say something to his brother, whose eyes are unmoving from my form.

My body comes alive under his watchful gaze.

Why the hell are they here? This hardly seems like the kind of place someone like Kane would ever frequent.

"I don't know what to do." My voice comes out so small, I'm surprised The Mistress hears me over the delicate bass in the room.

"Just showcase what you have."

"How?"

A waitress walks by the stage, holding up a bottle of champagne and two glasses on a silver tray. She's dressed skimpily in a tight-fitting, short dress, but she's nowhere near as exposed as I am.

The mistress tucks her mic into her arm, reaching down and snatching a glass and the bottle from her tray. She offers me the glass, and I take it hesitantly.

"How about a cheer to a successful evening?" She calls, angling the bottle and pouring the liquid into the glass. She mock gasps, letting the alcohol slosh over and spill onto my chest, seeping into the fabric and dripping down my torso. "Would you look at that? A body as delectable as her name."

Under the flashing lights, the mesh fabric sticks to my skin, wet and clinging to the outline of my breasts. My nipples peek through the now-see-through fabric, the hard peaks standing at attention.

She lifts the bottle higher, dumping its cold contents over my shoulders, my neck, and my chest. I shiver.

"Mhmmm," she coos, "I wish I could have her all to myself. Too bad you'll all have to wait." She holds onto my hand, helping me down the steps. Once I'm on the landing, she makes the call for the next girl. I try my best not to cover myself as I walk back to the dressing room, careful not to trip and make an even bigger fool of myself.

I sit on one of the benches, feeling like I can finally breathe. All of this is insane. It's too crazy to process. And then there's Rune and Kane; why the hell are they here?

I'm stewing in my thoughts, my eyes darting to the door that brought me here every now and then. I should leave. I should run out of here before things get out of hand. But I'm frozen, unmoving till the last girl returns and the prizes are all called to the stage.

The auction is beginning.

"Why don't we start with the newest prize?" The Mistress says, "It's only right; I want to see just how much this audience wants her all to themselves. Which one of you wants to be the one to taint her first?"

She stands in the center of the podium, a single step higher platform than the one girls and I are on. We're at the crux of attention.

"Step up, Blue Ivy."

I do.

There's a pregnant pause before she says, "What are our bets?"

Almost every single hand in the room rises into the air. My heart stops.

"Just as I expected," the mistress smiles. "The prize starts at twenty-five."

"Thirty thousand." A man calls.

Thirty thousand dollars?

"Fifty thousand."

Holy hell.

"Ah ah," The mistress pouts, "Now this is disappointing. Do I hear a hundred thousand?"

My ears nearly bulge out of their sockets. There's no way anyone would be willing to pay.

"One hundred and fifty."

No way.

"One hundred and seventy-five."

"Two hundred."

The audience calls out scary figures, bartering the kind of money I never thought I'd ever personally own, like it means nothing to them.

"Do I hear a three hundred?" The mistress draws near me.

"Four hundred."

"Five hundred."

"A six hundred." The mistress raises their bid once more. "Do I hear a six hundred?"

"Seven hundred."

I damn near swayed on my feet. Something about it all has my chest caving outward and a certain pride brewing inside me. These people are willing to pay so much money for one night in my company.

It's too surreal.

"One million dollars."

I gasp, but smother it just before it tumbles out fully.

A couple of the girls straighten, tossing side glances at each other and over their shoulders at me.

"One million dollars," the mistress repeats, "do I hear two million?"

"Three million."

I feel like I'm going to pass out.

Three million?

"Three point five."

"Three point seven."

"Three point nine."

Back to back, the numbers rise without a moment's pause.

"Do I hear four million?"

"Five million."

"Five million dollars!" The Mistress yells, "Five million, going once, going twice."

"Twenty million."

I stopped breathing.

Lord knows, I'd recognize that emotionless rasp anywhere. My eyes dart across the room, seeking him out immediately. He has a hand raised in the air, holding up a single black ballot card.

Kane.