Auctioned As A Bride To The Mafia Boss

The auctioneer's voice, loud and authoritative, pierced the room like a sharp blade, calling out the price for my body.

"Ten million dollars!"

A gasp rolled through the crowd, murmurs echoing off the high-ceilinged, plush walls of the exclusive, shadowy auction hall.

The figures gathered here were hidden beneath the dull glow of crystal chandeliers, their gazes all focused on me. And as my heartbeat thrums in my ears, I’m acutely aware of just how exposed I am, standing there on the stage, dressed in nothing but a barely-there lace lingerie and a white rabbit mask.

I—Selene Vantorel—shifted uncomfortably, my bare skin prickling under the spotlight.

Despite the mask, I can feel the heat of the room pressing in around me, the cold sting of my vulnerability crawling up my spine. I’d never expected to find myself in this position. Not once had I imagined that my body, my dignity, would be the price tag for my family’s debt.

I knew what they must be thinking. The questions were there, clear in their eyes: 'Why would a woman like me sell herself? What’s the catch?'

I scanned the room, my eyes flicking over the rows of wealthy, powerful men and women, their eyes lit with curiosity, hunger, and possibly desire. I know it’s not just about the money. It’s about what I’m willing to give up—my pride, my identity—all of it laid bare in the form of flesh.

I couldn't quite look at their faces—couldn’t afford to. But I knew the eyes of every single bidder were burning through me. They wanted to know why a girl like me would sell herself like this. Why would anyone willingly put themselves up for auction, treating themselves like a forgotten possession?

I forced my eyes forward and scanned the rows of high-end seats. Each bidder dressed to the nines, their faces masked by shadows, yet their intentions were clear in the predatory way they eyed me. Each man looking at me like I’m a toy, something they could use and discard. A means to an end.

As I closed my eyes, I could hear my father’s voice in my head, that cold, distant tone as he told me this was the only option left. I begged him to stop gambling, to stop putting everything that belonged to my mother on the line for a few more bets, a few more empty promises. But he never listened. And my stepmother—she’s nothing more than a parasite.

When I begged them to let me work off the debt, to pay it back slowly with my wages from the bar where I serve drinks to men like these, they laughed. They gave me no choice but to marry an old billionaire—someone who’d pay off the debts and take me as his prize till he'd die like a dog.

But that wasn’t going to happen.

Not if I could help it.

I’d come up with my own plan—a way to get back everything that was rightfully mine. My house. My family's fortune is at stake. My revenge. And I’d do it on my terms, even if that meant selling my body to the highest bidder.

“Going once,” the auctioneer called again, snapping me out of my thoughts.

“Going twice...”

I held my breath, my heart racing in my chest.

The auctioneer paused, his voice dropping, as if he’s building the anticipation.

My stomach flipped.

What’s coming next? Who is going to take me? Who is willing to pay for me?

Then someone lifted a paddle. A single number, '69' stood out.

“Ten billion dollars.”

My gaze quickly shifted to the VIP area at the back, where the man who had just bid was sitting.

He’s tall and broad-shouldered, his dark hair slicked back, and his eyes gleamed like shards of ice. He watched me with an intensity that made the air around us thicken. There was a predatory gleam in his gaze, something primal that sent a ripple of fear and excitement racing through my body.

A smile played at the corner of his lips, one that didn't quite reach his eyes.

Then, that grin. That damn grin. It’s slow, confident, and knowing. 'He’s going to be trouble.'

I stared back at him, trying not to flinch under his gaze. He’s the one who’s bought me. I could already feel the weight of his power—his control—pressing down on me. And part of me resents it. But another part—the darker part of me—felt drawn to him, to the unknown.

The auctioneer's voice boomed again, confirming the bid, and murmurs quickly spread throughout the room. People couldn’t believe the price I had fetched. The price I fetched exceeded the value of priceless antiques. It held more value than any other item up for auction tonight.

“Sold,” the auctioneer called. “To Mr. Raphael Delano.”

I could barely process it. Raphael Delano. The name rang in my ears like an alarm bell. He was the most feared mafia boss in the city. And now... he owns me?

I tried not to show how startled I was, but my hands trembled slightly as I stepped down from the stage, my eyes still on him.

He gestured with a flick of his fingers—commanding and domineering.

“Come here,” he ordered.

Come here? Really?

I swallowed, my throat dry.

My legs were shaky as I stepped down from the stage, making my way toward the VIP room.

What did he want from me? I assumed it was the usual—some type of sexual transaction, a night of passion to mark the price of my body, a man eager to claim me.

The moment I entered the room, the first thing I noticed was the man himself—Raphael Delano.

He’s seated like a king in one of the plush chairs, in a suit that looks like it costs more than a small country’s GDP, and yet, his presence eclipsed everything around him. He was power, control, and danger rolled into one.

I looked around, realizing we weren’t alone. A tall man stood by his side—his right-hand man, no doubt. He didn’t look pleased to see me.

Well, neither did I.

His eyes narrowed as he glanced at me, and I fought the urge to shrink under his glare.

Raphael finally spoke, his voice calm and measured, “Lock the door, stretch out your hand.”

What?

I’m confused, unsure of what game he’s playing. But I did what he said. The lock clicked as I held my breath. I don’t know what’s worse—the idea of him taking me now or whatever twisted game he had planned.

I stretched out my hand hesitantly, and as he took it, I braced for whatever dark pleasure he had in mind. His lips brushed my skin lightly, and something flashed in his eyes. A jolt ran through me, and I saw a flicker of something—a memory? A recognition?

His expression changed, then he pulled back, visibly stunned by the touch. He asked the one thing that sends a ripple of dread through me: “What’s your name? Your age?”

I hesitate. Why does it matter?

"Selene," I said quietly. "And I’m twenty-four."

He tilted his head slightly, his lips curled with amusement. “You can take off the mask now, if you wish.”

I scoff.

“No. I’m not here to entertain you with my looks. The terms of my auction were clear. I’m not removing the mask.” My words were sharp, defensive, but it felt good to resist him. He’s not going to get what he wants so easily.

Raphael chuckled, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “Well, well... someone’s feisty.”

I wasn’t sure if that was a compliment or a warning. Just then, I noticed his right-hand man move forward, a muscle twitching in his jaw. He didn’t like my tone. He took a step toward me, as though he intended to force me into compliance.

But Raphael held up a hand, stopping him in his tracks. “Remember, Xavier,” he said, his voice cool but commanding, “this little rabbit is my exclusive property.”

Xavier freezes, an apology already on his lips. “My apologies, Boss.”

With a curt nod, Raphael motions for Xavier to leave.

As soon as the door clicks shut, I exhale in relief.

Once we were alone, Raphael turned his full attention back to me. I tried to act brave, but my pulse was racing.

“Are you going to take me now?” I asked, trying to sound more confident than I feel.

He smirked at me. “You really think that’s all I bought you for? Is this really going to be just a one-night stand? Ha ha ha!”

It made me mad; I shot back, "Do you really need to make fun of me, sir?"

A smile tugged at his lips, but it didn't reach his eyes. "There's nothing funny about this," he growled, his voice low and rasping. He moved closer, closing the gap between us until our faces were only inches apart.

Raphael shook his head, his lips curling into a grin. He tossed a piece of paper onto the floor between us.

“Pick it up,” he commanded, gesturing.

I did so reluctantly, bending down to grab it. When I looked at the first two words printed in bold letters on the page, my heart flipped.

'MARRIAGE CONTRACT.'