His gaze steadies me. Unravels me.
The announcer reads the ground rules I set: no touching, companionship only, consent required at every step.
Bidding starts at a number that makes my throat tighten.
Paddles lift, and my vision blurs for a heartbeat.
I am not a body for barter. This is safety. This is choosing something—anything—before danger chooses me.
He lifts his paddle once. No hesitation. No scanning the room. No calculation. Just commitment.
The price climbs.
He lifts the paddle again. And again. His expression never changes.
And when the announcer says, “Sold,” I don’t feel purchased.
I feel… chosen in a way that feels like protection, not possession.
Backstage is dimmer and quieter. Plush carpet hushes the sound of my sensible heels, each step sinking into softness like a secret. Fairy lights glitter above cushioned chairs and warm wooden beams—this could be a yoga retreat if I hadn’t just auctioned off my life to the man with the storm-gray stare.
I slip into the changing room and peel off the dress, leaving me in nothing but my underwear and the weight of what I just did.
The air is cooler back here, but my skin still tingles. I pull on my clothes—jeans, worn hoodie, thin coat, scuffed boots—their familiar smell grounding me, a reminder of the last safe place I slept.
But a part of me still feels the imprint of his gaze.
I sling my backpack over my shoulder and take a steadying breath.
When I step out again,a poised woman in a charcoal blazer with a Marlie’s Angels badge on her lanyard greets me with a warm, calm smile.
“Hi, Sadie. You doing okay?”
I nod, throat tight.
“Before you meet your match, I want to remind you—if anything doesn’t feel right, or you want to leave for any reason, just say the safety phrase:‘I think I left the kettle on.’We’ll step in. No questions asked.”
I nod again, this time firmer. “I remember.”
“Good,” she says, voice gentle. “You ready?”
“Yeah.”
“Wyatt’s ready for you. Just a quick formality—we’ll get you both signed off before you go.”
She leads me a few steps into a private alcove, where he’s waiting.
Wyatt.
Chapter 4
Sadie
He’s taller up close. Broader. More…solid. Not because he looks like a threat. Because he looks like someone who could block one.
He looks like shelter.
His eyes track to mine, and something in my chest recognizes him before my brain catches up.
