AVA’S POV
I sat in that cream-colored room, my hands folded in my lap to stop them from shaking, listening to the sounds of preparation echoing through the house.
Footsteps on marble floors. Quiet conversations. The clink of crystal glasses. Somewhere in this elegant mansion, wealthy men were gathering to bid on women like we were pieces of art at auction. The thought made me sick, but I forced myself to stay calm. This was for Elise. Everything I was about to do was for her.
At exactly eight o'clock, Victoria returned. She'd changed into a stunning black evening gown that made her look like she belonged at the Met Gala, not at whatever this was.
"It's time," she said simply.
She led me down a hallway I hadn't seen before, past rooms with closed doors where I could hear soft music and muffled voices. The house felt alive with anticipation, like the walls themselves were holding their breath.
We stopped at a door marked "Private." Victoria turned to me one last time.
"Remember everything we practiced. You're beautiful, you're valuable, and you're in control. No matter what happens in there, don't forget that."
She opened the door, and I stepped into another world.
The room was spectacular. High ceilings with ornate molding, massive windows draped in heavy silk curtains, and a crystal chandelier that cast warm light over everything.
It looked like a ballroom from a movie, the kind of place where royalty might hold court.
But this wasn't a fairytale.
About thirty people filled the space – mostly men in expensive suits, with a few elegantly dressed women scattered throughout.
Everyone held champagne flutes and spoke in hushed tones, like they were at a private gallery opening. The atmosphere was refined, cultured, obscene in its casual elegance.
At the front of the room was a small raised platform, like a stage. To one side sat an auctioneer's podium where L.M. stood, looking regal in a deep red gown. She caught my eye and nodded slightly – a signal that the evening was about to begin.
Victoria guided me to a side area where six other young women waited. They were all beautiful, all dressed in variations of what I wore – white dresses that suggested innocence while highlighting their best features.
Some looked nervous, others seemed almost excited. All of us were lot numbers tonight.
"Ladies and gentlemen," L.M.'s voice rang out across the room, instantly commanding attention. "Welcome to this evening's exclusive presentation."
The conversations died away. All eyes turned to the front of the room.
"Tonight we offer seven exceptional opportunities," L.M. continued, her cultured voice carrying easily through the space. "Each young lady has been carefully selected and thoroughly verified. As always, all transactions are final, all terms are binding, and discretion is paramount."
She gestured toward our group. "Let us begin with lot number one."
I watched as the first girl walked onto the platform. She was petite with auburn hair, probably no older than nineteen. L.M. introduced her briefly – first name only, age, a few basic details. Then came the part that made my stomach turn.
"Bidding will begin at five thousand," L.M. announced.
Hands went up around the room. Paddles with numbers on them. The bidding was quick, efficient, clinical.
Within minutes, the girl was "sold" for twelve thousand dollars to a silver-haired man in an expensive suit who looked old enough to be her father.
One by one, the other lots were presented. Each girl walked across that platform like it was a runway, smiling and posing while strangers decided how much they were worth.
The amounts varied – some went for as little as eight thousand, others for as much as twenty-five. The bidders showed no emotion, just raised their paddles like they were buying furniture.
Finally, L.M. called my number.
"And now, our final lot of the evening. Lot number seven."
Victoria squeezed my hand. "You've got this."
I walked toward the platform on unsteady legs. The room seemed impossibly large, the ceiling impossibly high. Every face turned toward me, and I felt exposed under their collective gaze despite being fully clothed.
"Ladies and gentlemen," L.M. said as I stepped onto the platform, "may I present Ava. Twenty-one years old, currently pursuing her studies in literature. This is her first time participating in our services and she is a virgin."
A murmur went through the crowd. I could feel their interest sharpen, their attention focus on me with new intensity.
"As verified by our medical team," L.M. continued, "lot number seven represents a completely authentic experience. Bidding will begin at ten thousand dollars."
The silence that followed felt eternal. I stood there in my white dress, the pearl necklace cool against my throat, and tried to remember Victoria's coaching. Shoulders back, chin up, let them see your innocence.
Then the bidding started.
Hands shot up around the room. Paddles waved. The numbers climbed quickly – fifteen thousand, eighteen, twenty-two. I tried to stay focused on a spot on the back wall, but my eyes kept drifting to the crowd of men who were literally putting a price on my virginity.
Twenty-eight thousand. Thirty-five. The bidding was fierce, more competitive than any of the previous lots. I should have felt proud, I suppose. I was commanding top dollar.
Instead, I felt like I was going to throw up.
"Forty thousand," L.M. called out. "Do I hear forty-five?"
The bidding slowed. Only three paddles were still active. I found myself scanning their faces, trying to see the men who might win me.
One was young, maybe early thirties, with perfectly styled blond hair. Another was older, distinguished, with kind eyes that somehow made this whole thing worse.
The third bidder sat in the back corner, partially hidden in shadow. He wore a black mask that covered the upper half of his face – not unusual, several of the bidders wore masks for anonymity.
But there was something about his posture, the way he held himself, that seemed familiar.
"Fifty thousand," L.M. announced. "Going once..."
The masked man in the corner raised his paddle.
"Fifty-five thousand from bidder number twelve."
My heart stopped. It was his eyes. Even from across the room, even behind the mask, they looked familiar like I knew those eyes.
"Going once, going twice..."
I stared at the masked figure in the corner, my mind reeling.
The room held its breath.
Those familiar dark eyes locked onto mine across the crowd, and in that moment, I knew exactly where I'd seen that stare before.