Page 8 of Sold to the Silver Foxes

I shoot him a wry look. “I think I’ll stay here, see if I can find us decent seats. You two do whatever.”

“Suit yourself,” he replies, shrugging. “I’ll be back soon. Don’t worry, I won’t let Nico wander off too far.”

Nico gives me an exasperated look, but he doesn’t protest when Dante tugs him toward a doorway leading to another lounge. They vanish into the crowd, leaving me near the stage’s edge.

I find our seats toward the middle of the front row, where three plush chairs are reserved—most likely a perk of Dante’s “VIP” payment. Figures. This vantage point will give us a clear view of whatever spectacle they’re about to present. My gaze drifts to the stage curtains, imagining how this “virginity auction” might unfold.

Virgins parading onstage, perhaps, while masked bidders raise digital paddles. It’s decadent, maybe a bit disturbing, but I won’t pretend I’m repulsed. I’ve been around the block enough to know everyone has their reasons for being here.

My main reasons are my brothers. The three of us used to be inseparable, but responsibility, business, and personal failures have driven wedges between us. If this night brings us closer, it’ll be worthwhile.

Leaning back in the chair, I glance around at the growing crowd. The variety of masks is fascinating—some simple half-masks like ours, others elaborate with feathers or glitter. A few men wear plain black hoods that cover everything but their eyes, which is more than a little sinister. The women’s attire ranges from floor-length gowns to next to nothing, all in black or red or shimmering metallics. Soft laughter and murmured conversations bounce off the high walls, creating an air of anticipation.

My eyes drift toward the stage again, drawn to the mystery behind that heavy velvet curtain. I can’t help wondering what the virgins are like. Are they nervous? Empowered? Desperate? People do what they must. The older I get, the less black-and-white I see in the world.

I sense movement behind me, and I turn to see Dante and Nico returning, each carrying a drink. Nico’s expression is guarded—he’s never one to openly admit he’s enjoying himself. Dante, on the other hand, looks positively thrilled.

“There’s a labyrinth of rooms in this place,” Dante says, dropping into the seat beside me. “One lounge leads to another, leads to another…it’s like they keep adding levels of debauchery the deeper you go.”

Nico lowers himself into the chair on my other side. “I’d hardly call it a labyrinth. We just walked through a couple of lounges. But it’s definitely bigger than Black Fox, and far more…ostentatious.”

Dante takes a sip of something amber. “The bartender told me the main auction portion is about to start soon. Some of the virgins are backstage. He hinted they’re all so gorgeous they’ll leave us speechless.”

I incline my head. “Lovely. You two can drool all you want. I’m just here to watch.”

Nico snorts softly. “Same. I’m not about to drop money on a month with a virgin. Ridiculous.”

Dante shrugs, raising a brow. “Don’t knock it until you see it. Who knows what could happen if the vibe is right?”

The lights dim just then, prompting a hush to settle over the crowd. The heavy red stage curtains rustle, and a spotlight illuminates the center. A tall, masked figure steps out, holding a microphone.

“Good evening,” he says, his voice echoing in the grand ballroom. “We require that you keep to our club’s rules. No photography, no recording devices, and absolute respect for the participants. Now, without further ado…”

The announcer’s speech fades into the background as my pulse quickens. For the first time tonight, a thrill creeps up my spine. Maybe thisiswhat I need. The excitement in the room is tangible—whispers, soft laughter, shifting seats. Glancing at Dante and Nico, I notice they’re both transfixed, eyes trained on the stage.

The lights shift again, focusing on the curtains. I exhale slowly, letting the world slip away for a moment. No spreadsheets, no board meetings, no residual pain from my shattered relationship. Just the hum of anticipation and the swirling candlelit shadows on gilded walls.

Show me what you’ve got, Armory.

5

TABITHA

Every nervein my body vibrates like I’ve stuck my tongue in an electrical socket. I’m in the dressing room of The Armory, the hush and hum of auction chaos swirling around me. Rows of mirrors line the walls, their glowing bulbs illuminating a motley crew of wide-eyed women…and a few men too, which is a twist I didn’t see coming. Not that I gave much thought to the possibility ofmalevirgins being here, but apparently, it’s a thing.

We’re all in this big backstage area that smells faintly of hairspray, vanilla body lotion, and a distinct tang. Someone definitely threw up not long ago.

Actually, I see a girl slumped against a trash can, pale and trembling, while a staff member rubs her back.

I swallow hard, fighting the urge to join her in retching. This entire situation feels so surreal, I keep expecting to wake up. But I’m wide awake. My hands are trembling, and my reflection in the mirror shows huge, terrified eyes beneath the smoky eyeshadow they insisted on giving me. I usually don’t wear much makeup, so seeing myself all dolled up and sexualized is jarring.

It doesn’t help that I’m wearing an outfit that borders on lingerie—a white satin slip that skims mid-thigh, spaghetti straps too flimsy to provide any real coverage. The staff offered a range of styles for the virgins, from a sweet lace babydoll to a more punk-rock leather harness. All in white. The virginal theme, I guess. I chose the slip because it felt the least foreign to me, but it’s still miles outside my comfort zone. My legs are bare except for the strappy heels that pinch my toes. If Grandma Judy could see me now, she’d gasp so loudly the walls might shake.

I can’t think about her right now, or I’ll lose my nerve.

Closing my eyes, I try to recall the advice I always give Erin when she’s anxious about her treatments.Name something in the room for every letter of the alphabet.It’s silly, but it usually distracts us from the swirling panic. So I mentally start: A…almond-colored walls.Though, if I’m honest, they’re more beige than almond. The overhead lighting is tinted pink, so everything looks slightly off anyway. But for the sake of the exercise, I’ll call them almond.

B…black spotsin my vision? I blink rapidly, focusing on a patch of floor so I don’t pass out.

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