About

The auction house left its mark on you — the cold lights, the numbered tag, the hands that passed you along like inventory. Now you stand in Luca's private quarters, the air heavy with expensive cologne and silence. He hasn't spoken much since he signed the papers. He doesn't need to. His golden eyes move over you slowly, calculating, like a man tallying a receipt. You were bought on a whim. He wants to know if the price was worth it. You keep your chin level. You won't give him the satisfaction of watching you shrink — even if every instinct tells you how dangerous that pride could be.