AVA’S POV
Those dark eyes held mine for what felt like forever. My heart hammered against my ribs as recognition crashed over me in waves. It couldn't be him. It couldn't be Professor Thorne sitting in that corner, bidding on me like I was a piece of property.
But those eyes... I'd know them anywhere. They were the same eyes that had torn apart my literary analysis, the same eyes that had looked at me with such intensity when he'd handed back my auction brochure.
The same eyes that had warned me to be careful what I gave away.
"Fifty-five thousand going once," L.M.'s voice cut through my racing thoughts.
The blond man in the front row raised his paddle. "Sixty thousand."
A new voice joined from the side of the room. "Sixty-five."
The bidding continued, but I could barely hear it over the blood rushing in my ears. The masked figure in the corner sat perfectly still, watching me with those familiar eyes. Waiting.
"Seventy thousand," called the distinguished older man with the kind face.
"Seventy-five," countered the blond.
I gasped, in terror.
The numbers kept climbing. Eighty thousand. Eighty-five. Each bid felt like a physical blow.
These men were casually throwing around more money than most people made in two years, and they were doing it to buy a night with me.
I tried to focus on why I was here. Elise needed this money. Twenty thousand would save her, and we were already well past that. But standing on this platform, being sold to the highest bidder, made me feel like I was drowning.
"Ninety thousand," the older man said, his paddle steady in the air.
"Ninety-five," came the immediate response from the blond.
The room buzzed with excitement. This was apparently more competitive than usual. I could see people leaning forward in their seats, champagne glasses forgotten as they watched the price climb higher and higher.
L.M. looked pleased. "Ninety-five thousand. Do I hear one hundred?"
Silence stretched across the room. The blond man looked confident, his paddle ready to counter any challenge.
The older gentleman was checking his phone, probably calculating his limit. A few other bidders had dropped out entirely, their attention already shifting to the champagne and appetizers.
"Going once at ninety-five thousand," L.M. announced.
That's when the voice from the corner spoke up. Deep, cultured, unmistakably familiar.
"One hundred thousand."
The entire room turned to look at the masked figure in the shadows. Even L.M. seemed surprised by the round number, the decisive way it was announced. There was no hesitation, no negotiation. Just a flat statement that ended the competition.
My knees nearly buckled. I knew that voice. I'd heard it lecture about Victorian literature, had felt it slice through my confidence like a blade.
Professor Gabriel Thorne had just bid one hundred thousand dollars for me.
The blond man's confidence evaporated. He looked at his paddle, then at the figure in the corner, then back at L.M. "One hundred and five," he said, but his voice lacked conviction.
"One hundred and twenty-five thousand." Professor Thorne's response was immediate, calm, final. It was the same tone he used when shutting down a student's weak argument in class.
The room fell silent. One hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars. For one night. For me.
The blond man shook his head and lowered his paddle. The older gentleman had already stopped looking at his phone. No one else in the room seemed willing to challenge that kind of money.
"One hundred and twenty-five thousand," L.M. repeated, her voice carrying a note of satisfaction. "Going once."
I stared at the masked figure in the corner. Professor Thorne stared back, his dark eyes never leaving mine. There was something in his gaze I couldn't read – determination, maybe even hunger. But also something else. Something that looked almost like regret.
"Going twice."
This was really happening. My literature professor, the man who had humiliated me in front of the entire class just days ago, was about to buy my virginity for more money than I'd ever imagined.
L.M. raised her gavel. "Sold to bidder number twelve for one hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars."
The room erupted in polite applause. I stood frozen on the platform, my legs shaking so badly I was afraid I might collapse. Victoria appeared at my side, her arm sliding around my waist to steady me.
"Congratulations," she whispered in my ear. "That's the highest bid we've ever had for a first-timer."
I couldn't speak. Couldn't think. All I could do was stare at Professor Thorne as he rose from his seat in the corner, his tall frame unfolding with that same elegant grace he showed in the lecture hall.
"Time to go upstairs," Victoria said gently, guiding me off the platform.
The next few minutes passed in a blur. Victoria led me through the crowd of congratulating bidders, past champagne glasses and knowing smiles. Someone handed me a silk blindfold.
"Standard procedure," Victoria explained. "Maintains the mystique until you're alone with your buyer."
I let them tie the blindfold over my eyes, turning the world dark. Strong hands – not Victoria's – took my arms and guided me forward. Up a staircase, down a hallway, through what sounded like a heavy door closing behind us.
I could hear movement around me. Footsteps on thick carpet. The sound of something being set down – a glass, maybe, or keys. My heart was beating so fast I felt dizzy.
"You can remove the blindfold now."
That voice. Deep, familiar, commanding. The same voice that had just bought me for more money than I'd ever dreamed of.
With trembling fingers, I reached up and untied the silk blindfold. It fell away, and I blinked in the soft light of what was clearly a luxury suite. King-size bed with white linens.
Sitting area with expensive furniture. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city.
And standing across the room from me, no longer wearing the black mask, was Professor Gabriel Thorne.
He looked exactly the same as he did in class – perfectly styled dark hair, sharp cheekbones, expensive suit that fit him like it was custom-made.
But there was something different about his expression. In the lecture hall, he was always controlled, distant, untouchable. Now he looked... hungry.
"Hello, Miss Moreau," he said, his voice soft but unmistakably authoritative. "I believe we have some unfinished business to discuss."
I stared at him, my mouth opening and closing like a fish. Of all the scenarios I'd imagined for this night, this wasn't one of them. My professor. The man who'd called my analysis pedestrian. The man who'd made me feel stupid and small.
The man who'd just paid one hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars to spend the night with me.
"Professor Thorne," I whispered, my voice barely audible.
He stepped closer, his dark eyes never leaving mine. "I think, given our new arrangement, you can call me Gabriel."