Page 136 of Auctioned

To the den.

I stop just outside of it, catching my breath.

Then I switch the lights on.

There it is. The desk he never lets me look at for too long. The man doesn’t even sleep that much for me to sneak out of the bedroom to come down here and see what’s in those folders.

Though there are far fewer of them out here than usual—two instead of a dozen—it’s a start. A glimpse into this complex man’s soul.

I wonder if it’s got something to do with me. With us.

I hope so.

I’m quieter as I cross the room over to the desk.

What I’m doing is forbidden. I’m crossing a line.

Well, he kidnapped then bought me. I’d say he’s been crossing plenty of lines first.

This isn’t funny, Ophelia.

No, it isn’t. I’m just growing a little untethered in this place. This prison. This gilded cage.

This home.

My fingers brush the tops of the folders, wondering which one I should try first.

The thickest folder is there, on the far left. It piques my interest, the size of it.

Deep breath.

I’m actually doing this. Fingers gripping the top of the folder, rubbing the rich paper.

I flip it open.

The photo at the top has me gasping. My hand flies to my mouth. I’m hot, then cold. Mostly flustered.

A young woman about my age straddles a man in his sixties. The locks of her wavy auburn hair have been brushed to the side so their profiles are visible. Her lips are pressed to his bald head. His are parted. Hands on her hips.

They’re naked.

Caught in the act.

It looks incredibly intimate. Real. At least for the man.

Meaning, this isn’t porn.

I wouldn’t mind if James consumed it. Free country and all that.

But this stuff isn’t porn.

Holy hell, there’s more where that came from. Each photo has a name scrolled behind it. These are the secrets he talked about. The ones his father kept and now belong to him.

Wow.

A few of the faces here are recognizable. Some of them were at the auction. Others I’ve seen on the news.

I knew he was powerful. I had no idea it went this deep.

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