Page 162 of The Contract

He steps closer, cornering me. His tone turns ice-cold. “You don’t understand. Your friend is the auction.”

My breath catches. “What?”

His jaw clenches so hard it has to hurt. “So is every woman left in this room.”

I blink again, still tripping over his words like I misheard him. Mila is the auction.

My stomach twists tight as I look around the room—really look.

The sparkle at every woman’s throat. Their glassy eyes. Their frozen smiles. The way not a single one of them seems present.

And the men. Crowding around them. Blocking their exits.

It hits.

Hard.

So hard, I nearly hyperventilate. I can’t breathe.

I can’t fucking breathe.

A sharp, broken laugh tears out of me, high and cracking and wrong.“You can’t just sell women.”

Just saying the words makes me feel unhinged. Like I’m the crazy one.

But then I mentally start counting.

One. Two. Five. A dozen. Two dozen.

All of them wearing bright, pretty diamonds around their throats.

I whip back to Dante. So many emotions unravel across his face.

Grief.

Guilt.

Pain.

Remorse.

And then…cold.

He checks his watch, detached in every way. “In ten minutes, the doors will be locked. Every woman wearing a necklace will be sold.”

Whatever I’m about to say evaporates into thin fucking air. My hand flies to my throat. The absence. The pink diamond necklace that isn’t there.

“You knew?” I whisper.

“Yes,” he says, all solemn and broody, as if this suddenly makes him a hero.

I want to fucking scream.

My eyes snap to his, blazing. “Is that supposed to mean something? Like it makes any of this better?”

His voice hits like a whip. “It’s. Fucking. Better. For you, anyway.”

My blood turns so cold, I’m trembling. Unbelievable.

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