Page 41 of Auctioned Innocence
Her hands are shaking worse now, her pupils dilated. “I can’t do this again,” she whispers. “I can’t go back out there. They’ll see. They’llknow.”
“Know what?” I ask quietly.
“That I’m broken.” Her laugh is hollow. “Damaged goods.”
When Maisie returns, pale but unbroken, I catch her eye.
Signal her to follow my lead.
An idea is forming—desperate, perhaps, but I need to speak to the others without the guards overhearing.
“I feel faint,” I announce, swaying slightly. “Please…I need water.”
The guard steps closer, suspicion warring with concern.
These “goods” need to remain in sellable condition, after all.
Maisie immediately plays along, rushing to support me. “She’s burning up,” she says with convincing worry. “Is there a doctor?”
In the chaos of calling Madame Rouge, fetching water, and checking me for fever, we manage to whisper quick instructions to each other.
Maisie will tell Ava, who will tell Natalie. I’ll speak to Jessica. Kira, watching us with knowing eyes, seems to understand without being told.
Tonight. After final viewings.
I know Dante’s here, that help is coming.
But I won’t leave these other girls to suffer.
Won’t let them be sold like cattle to men who see them as objects to be owned.
Besides, what better distraction is there for whatever rescue is planned than seven girls already fighting for their freedom?
“Feeling better, my dear?” Madame Rouge appears, her voice solicitous while her eyes remain cold. “Perhaps some air?”
I nod weakly, playing into the role. “Yes, please.”
She escorts me personally to a small balcony off the preparation room.
The night air is cool against my skin, but the bars across the opening remind me that this small freedom is an illusion.
Like the expensive clothes and gourmet food.
Gilded bars are still bars.
“You made quite an impression,” she says, watching me carefully. “ There a several serious inquiries already. You should be pleased.”
I say nothing, keeping my eyes on the distant tree line.
How far are we from civilization?
“Your silence is charming, but unnecessary,” she continues. “We both know you’re more than the pretty doll you’re pretending to be.”
When I turn to her in surprise, she smiles. “I’ve been doing this a long time, Sofia Renaldi. I know when someone is playing a role.”
The use of my full name reminds me that this isn’t random.
I’ve been targeted specifically.
