Just stands there, rigid, staring out at freedom she'll never reach.
I close the door behind me.
Lock it. The click echoes in the small room.
Still, she doesn't turn.
Stubborn. I like that.
Most of the women who come through these auctions are broken before they arrive.
Beaten down by circumstances until there's nothing left but survival instinct.
But Eden? Eden is still fighting.
I can see it in the set of her shoulders.
The way her hands press harder against the glass.
She wants to run.
Let her try.
The chase will be exquisite.
I cross the room slowly.
Deliberately.
Let my footsteps announce my approach.
She turns.
And the breath catches in my throat all over again.
Up close, she's even more devastating.
Her eyes aren't just hazel—they're gold around the pupils, fading to green at the edges.
Her skin is pale.
Flawless except for a small scar on her right palm that I can see when she drops her hands to her sides.
She's trembling. Trying to hide it. Failing.
But she's not crying. Not begging. Not doing any of the things I expected.
She's looking at me like I'm a problem she's trying to solve.
Good luck with that, Eden.
I've spent thirty-six years making sure no one can solve me.
"My name is Vaughn Sutherland," I say.
She already knows.
Probably heard it when Callum collected her.
