Page 1 of Sold to Her Enemy

1 MCKENNA

Sitting in this dressing room, in the upscale exclusive BDSM Club Lust, feels like I’m miles from everything I once knew…because I am.

You’re definitely not in Beacon Hill anymore.

Not that I needed reminders of it. The media onslaught did that. And then, when it all quieted down, the fact that I’m no longer neighbors with my father’s business partner and his family but with drug dealers in our tiny one-bedroom apartment does it for me daily.

I haven’t seen my old room with the bay window, decorated with a vintage border of horses frolicking in the fields and shelves holding my trophies from show jumping for over a year.

The memory of my old childhood room bubbles up in my consciousness as I stare into the mirror of this modern dressing room.

My hands shake a little as I brush back my auburn hair. Trying to settle my nerves, I pretend I am a patron this evening at Club Lust.

That I’m the one in a powerful enough position in the world to be invited to this auction, that I have the power and money and I’m the person who gets to bid.

Standing in this lush dressing room, I almost believe it. There is an area with a leather couch and chairs. The dressing room has its own ensuite with a shower. The long wall of mirrors gleams above the counter. Next to my cup of water sits the number I pulled from the bowl when the handlers brought us to Club Lust. The number that determines what order I am in the auction.

Lucky number three.

The door to the dressing room opens. My stomach drops like a stone. A make-up artist and a hair stylist here to make me presentable.

In any other scenario, I’d be thrilled for a bit of pampering. But they remind me I’m here because my options were drying up fast.

I can’t back out now. The hair and make-up professionals unload their tools, making panic rise in my throat. Before this moment, this auction was a far-off thing. Something I couldn’t believe was happening, but right now, it feels real.

Every instinct is screaming at me to run out of Club Lust, to go back home to my mother and our cramped apartment.

This converted warehouse drips with luxurious furnishings. The gorgeous space should feel familiar and comforting, but instead, it hypes up my nerves.

If it were under different circumstances, I would have enjoyed an evening playing in this exclusive club.

But it’s not. I’m here because I’m so tired of struggling. I couldn’t say no to the 500k that this auction was going to put in my bank account at the end of the weekend.

And my mother deserves better.

For all these months, she’s been a shadow of her old self. Her neighbors would never recognize her as the woman who graced magazine covers with my father. The woman who loved putting together outfits for the many red carpets they attended. The mom who would throw the best sleepover parties while wearing heels, with her hair and nails always perfect.

My palms feel sweaty as I reach for a tissue.

I sit on the stool in front of the mirror, becoming their creation.

“Lovely hair,” the hair stylist murmurs as she pulls it away from my face. My skin is pale, and my hair is thick and long.

Someone once described my hair as “oak leaves burnt by the sun.”

I close my eyes, pushing that out of my mind. That voice was from a long time ago and couldn’t help me now.

He’s the last person I’d ever turn to for help. He’s the reason my life crumbled.

The make-up artist finishes cleaning my skin and starts quickly applying foundation and concealer.

It’s been months since I’ve bothered with make-up and a part of me starts to relax at the attention.

Club Lust wants the merchandise to look their best. That’s what they call us, those who signed up for this auction, merchandise.

That’s what we are—those of us who are participating in the auction, hoping bidders will buy us for the weekend.

It’s what I’m reduced to.

---