Chapter 4

Arabella 

Two men stepped into the room. Their presence felt like a final verdict.

“Take her to the underground room,” one of them ordered, not even glancing at me as he passed me off like cargo.

The second man reached for a pair of cold metal handcuffs.

“I’ll walk by myself,” I muttered, glaring at the cuffs with disgust.

He hesitated for a moment before shrugging. “Suit yourself.”

I forced my trembling body to stand. Every muscle in my legs threatened to buckle beneath me. I was shaking so badly I could barely move one foot in front of the other. But I kept going. 

They led me behind a velvet screen. On the other side, I could hear the echo of voices, laughter, the rise and fall of a booming male tone calling out numbers. An auction.

My stomach turned.

I shut it all out. The noise. The heat. The disgusting excitement in the air. I curled into myself on the cold floor, hugging my knees tightly, wishing I could just… vanish.

I closed my eyes.

Please. Let me wake up. Let this be a nightmare.

In my mind, I was back home. In my warm bed. The silk sheets tangled around me. Mona bursting through the doors at random moments, her voice shrill with excitement as she shoved a tablet in my face to show me a new luxury line she’d just discovered.

Wake up, Arabella! You've got to see this!.

But then the image of flames engulfing the mansion blazed behind my eyelids, tearing the memory apart. I whimpered.

Home was gone. Everything was gone. I felt tears stream down my face.  

I rocked back and forth, clinging to the motion like it was the only thing keeping me tethered to reality.

“You’re next,” a voice grunted behind me.

Before I could respond, a rough shove sent me stumbling forward. I caught myself against the wall, heart in my throat.

“Go!”

A small door creaked open, spilling harsh white light into the room. I stepped through it—onto a platform.

A stage.

I was standing under a spotlight now. I could barely see beyond it, but I could feel them—the eyes.

Hundreds of them.

Hungry. Eager. Predatory.

It took a while to adjust to the lights focused on me. 

The cold air of the underground space wrapped around me like a noose. My exposed skin erupted in goosebumps. My breath came in short, shallow bursts, each one forming a ghostly mist in the air.

I hugged myself tightly, trying to cover as much of my skin as I could. It felt like I was already stripped bare, every vulnerable piece of me exposed under the heat of their gaze.

I scanned the crowd through the haze of lights.

There were suits and diamonds, silk gowns and gold watches—men and few women who looked like they belonged at charity galas, not underground human auctions. Faces I thought I recognized. A few of my father’s acquaintances maybe. Old friends. Business partners.

Would one of them bid on me… to save me?

I latched onto that hope. Just a sliver of it. Maybe someone would step in. Maybe someone remembered who I was. Maybe someone cared.

But deep down, something inside me whispered the truth.

If anyone had cared… I wouldn’t be standing here now.

The auctioneer’s voice rang out like a gunshot.

“Well, what do we have here?” he said, smug and theatrical.

He let the crowd simmer, watching them like a ringmaster in a circus of vultures.

“We’ve got a new-time special tonight.” He smiled cruelly. “The one you’ve all been waiting for…”

He paused dramatically before announcing:

“Arabella Montage.”

A roar of excitement erupted.

Men whistled. Others shouted. Some clapped like they were watching a spectacle instead of a tragedy.

My name. My name on their lips. Mocking me. Owning me.

My breath caught in my chest.

I was a deer caught in headlights, paralyzed, terrified, stripped of everything but my name.

And soon, they would take even that from me.

Like a doe cornered by ravenous predators, I stood frozen under the harsh spotlight.

“The untouchable princess of Montage,” the announcer sneered. “Not so untouchable now, is she?”

Laughter rippled through the crowd.

“She is as beautiful as rumored,” someone from the crowd called out, his voice thick with lust.

I hugged myself tighter, trying to shield my exposed skin from their leering eyes, but the clothes I wore left very little to the imagination. I felt naked. Filthy. Degraded.

A long silver pointer stick tapped my chin. I jerked away instinctively.

He did it again—lifting my face, forcing me to look out into the crowd like some prized animal. This time, I snapped. My eyes met his with a sharp, venomous glare.

He chuckled. “Feisty,” he whistled, grinning wide. “They always come in like that.”

My gaze swept across the room, searching for anything—anyone—to anchor me. And then I saw them.

Familiar faces.

Businessmen in suits, the very people who’d once shaken my father’s hand. I recognized one, he had a daughter my age. He’d eaten at our dinner table, praised my father even. 

Would he help me now?

Our eyes met. For a split second, I thought he might say something. Do something.

But he looked away and gulped down the rest of his drink like it was water.

Coward.

My throat burned. My chest squeezed painfully.

Was my father… part of this?

No. No. I told myself.

But deep inside, I wasn’t sure anymore.

“It’s a dog-eat-dog world, Arabella,” he used to say, sipping his bourbon, his voice laced with smug wisdom. “Always remember that.”

Those words echoed now like a curse.

My heart thudded in my ears, louder than the murmuring crowd.

I couldn’t breathe.

The walls of the room felt like they were closing in. The air was too thin. My lungs screamed. My vision blurred.

They were bidding.

Shouting. Jeering. Laughing.

The noise was deafening—like waves crashing over me again and again, and I couldn’t come up for air.

“Bidding for her starts at twenty million!” the auctioneer announced gleefully. “Twenty million for the beautiful daughter of Sebastian Montage!”

Me.

Twenty million.

A dry, bitter laugh scratched at my throat. Just days ago, I could’ve tossed that amount to something. Given it out like it meant nothing.

Now, it was my price tag.

Twenty million.

For my body. My soul. 

I was being sold. Auctioned like livestock.

The world spun.

I was just property.

And they were lining up to own me

Was this even legal?

No. No way in hell.

This was the 21st century.

How could something like this still exist, people being sold off like cattle, like playthings? I wasn’t in some dystopian novel. This was real. Too real.

And I was the main attraction.

The lights above flickered again, stabbing into my eyes—bright, searing white, then a sudden plunge into semi-darkness. It disoriented me, sent my heart pounding like a drum in a war zone.

Stop it! I screamed inwardly. But my voice broke through without warning.

“Stop it!” I cried out, desperate, shaking.

"Thirty-five million," a voice rang out above the noise.

I turned toward it, dread curling in my stomach.

No. No, no, no—

My blood ran cold.

It was him.

My father’s friend.

His eyes found mine—and there was no sympathy in them. No remorse. No intention of saving me.

Only hunger.

Predator.

“You’re mine, princess,” he mouthed, lifting his glass in mock salute.

I felt sick.

My knees buckled, but I forced myself to stand.

"Fourty another one yelled."

"Fifty!" 

“Seventy million,” someone else called from across the room.

Please… please let that be someone who’ll save me.

“Double that,” another voice shouted.

My head whipped around. Who the hell was that? The room was pulsing with confusion, tension, and greed.

“One hundred and fifty million,” someone else countered smoothly.

“…and five Domcoin.”

What?

The room went dead silent.

Even the auctioneer was stunned. He stood frozen for a beat, then stammered into the mic. “That’s… one hundred and fifty million, plus five Domcoin.”

My breath caught in my throat.

Domcoin.

The elite crypto. Limited, exclusive, and ridiculously valuable. I wasn’t sure of its exact value now, but the last time I checked, one Domcoin was worth a hefty fortune

And he had offered five.

No one was topping that. They all knew it. The silence in the room confirmed it.

“That’s crazy,” someone muttered bitterly.

“Sold!” the auctioneer declared, slamming the gavel down with finality.

Everything blurred.

My name. My body. My dignity.

Sold.

I was being led off stage, one foot after another, my mind stuck somewhere between horror and disbelief. The world moved around me in a fog.

Who was that man?

And what the hell did he want with me?