Page 39 of Auctioned Innocence
Dante.
He looks different—older, somehow, with grey at his temples and subtle changes to his features I can’t quite identify.
But those eyes…those storm-grey eyes that have haunted my dreams for years.
I start to move, to speak, before I catch myself.
No.
If he’s here, there’s a reason.
I force my gaze onward, praying I didn’t give him away.
But hope blooms in my chest, fierce and bright, pushing back against the fear that’s been my constant companion.
He came for me.
They’re coming for me.
It takes everything I have not to keep looking at him, not to draw strength from his presence.
Instead, I let my gaze drift emptily over the crowd, playing the role of the doll they expect.
“Turn for us, my dear,” Madame Rouge commands, her hand at the small of my back guiding me into a slow rotation.
I comply, moving robotically, but as I turn, I use the opportunity to scan the room more thoroughly.
To check for any missed exits, for weaknesses, for anything that might help our escape.
And yes—to steal another glance at Dante.
He sits among them, looking for all the world like he belongs.
His posture is different—more rigid, more formal.
He holds himself like European old money, not like the coiled weapon I know him to be.
He’s playing a role and playing it well.
But I see the rage in his eyes, carefully banked but burning.
There’s tension in his jaw, his fingers gripping his pen too tightly as he makes notes in a leather portfolio.
I endure Madame Rouge’s monologue about my “potential value.”
Let her display me like artwork.
All the while, my mind races, building a plan, coordinating with what I assume must be Dante’s strategy.
“The bidding will begin at five million,” Madame Rouge announces, her hand possessively on my shoulder. “Though we expect the final price to be…significantly higher.”
Five million dollars.
That’s what my life is worth to these people.
The knowledge should horrify me, but instead it fuels the anger building inside me.
The anger that’s keeping me functional, keeping me thinking instead of breaking.
