Chapter 193. The light hit Rosealba’s face first—warm, heavy, too bright. The scent of cigars, expensive whiskey, and something older… something rotting beneath the polished wood—wrapped around her like smoke.She was led to the center of the room.A raised platform. No more than two steps above the floor, but it felt like a stage. A cross.Silence fell over the room.The men sat straighter now. Eyes locked onto her. Mouths slightly parted. They leaned forward, some tilting their heads, appraising her like a painting.One of them smirked. Another let out a low whistle.Rosealba kept her eyes forward. Her lips didn’t part. She refused to cry. Even if she got bidded by Don Viterro, she would run away to a place far away where she could gather every damn money and give it back to him.Her limbs trembled slightly, but her spine stayed stiff. The air clung to her skin like oil, suffocating, heavy with male lust and cold anticipation. She could feel their gazes cutting through her like gla
Chapter 192.The auction hall was full already.It was a small space, suffocating in silence. The air hung thick with tension, scented faintly of aged cologne and leather. Lining the hall were short, curved brown tables—built like judge’s benches, polished to a dark gleam under the chandelier lights. Each one faced the center of the room, a silent declaration of power. This wasn’t just business—it was display. It was control.Men sat behind each table, sharp in tailored suits, silk pocket squares peeking from their jackets. Most had crossed legs and gold watches, hands curled loosely around glasses of brandy. Their grins were smug, practiced. Predators dressed in elegance. They laughed in hushed tones, whispered to each other like it was sport. Like the women behind the curtain weren’t real.At the back of the hall, just beyond that thick cotton divider, Rosealba sat tied to a chair.Her body ached, but it was the inside of her that truly hurt. Her chest rose and fell in broken rhythm
Chapter 191. No one would have prepared Rosealba for the suffering she was currently facing.Three days. Three fucking days without freedom. Just her helpless self tied to the chair, her hands aching painfully from being bound so long. No food to eat, no water to drink, and no freedom to even take a bath.Every single day, her mother walked into this cold room with a plate of food. She would sit on her bed and eat, while forcing Rosealba to watch her—her gaze sharp, her smile cruel and empty of any warmth.The door to the room opened and just like every other day, her mother walked in, draped in a regal cloak of evil.The woman carried a tray in her hand, steady and deliberate.She lowered herself onto the bed, crossing her right leg over the other with that practiced grace of someone who wielded power without remorse.Rosealba glared at her, her eyes blazing with anger, hate, and every damn emotion that swirled inside her like poison.A sharp cut crossed through her chest.Every oth
Chapter 190.Rosealba had settled in.The room was still exactly how she had left it the night she ran.The same white curtains.The same chipped vanity table that once held every dream she wrote in a notebook.The same scent of cold wood and lavender that clung to the air like a ghost.It was eerie, how untouched everything was. Like time had frozen, like the room itself had been waiting for her—holding its breath in her absence.She sat on the edge of the bed, unmoving. Her eyes scanned the room in silence, taking in every corner like it could somehow explain why everything inside her felt so ruined.But it couldn’t.Nothing could.And when her eyes landed on the spot near the window—where she had once stood with trembling hands, backpack strapped on, and courage barely intact—it all poured back in like rain.The memory didn’t knock. It kicked open the door.The memory of her mother’s voice that night still echoed loud.“Be a good girl.”But she had refused. Refused to be a good gir
Chapter 189. Drystan stood still.Everything in him froze.The only thing that moved was his heart—shattering loudly against his chest like a glass thrown against a stone.“She left for Poland.”The words weren’t just words anymore.They were knives, echoing inside his skull, slicing deep. Over and over again.His eyes didn’t blink. His chest barely moved. And then—He turned to face her.Emilia.She stood there, trembling like a leaf caught in the middle of a storm. Her fingers twisted together, her eyes wide with fear and guilt.Drystan’s fingers slowly curled into a fist. His breathing turned shallow.His jaw locked, lips trembling under the weight of the truth.Anger began to burn. Slow at first. Then wild.His entire body tensed.“I trusted you,” he said, voice low… dangerous. It came from deep inside his chest, soaked in disappointment and betrayal.Emilia flinched. Her lips quivered. “I… I’m sorry…”Drystan scoffed. A cold, bitter sound. It slipped past his throat like venom.
Chapter 188.Rosealba’s head pressed against the window of the jet. Her heart slammed against her ribcage, tears prickling the back of her eyes.The glass felt cold against her skin, but it didn’t numb the ache inside her. Her chest felt tight, like something was stuck there. Like she couldn’t breathe properly. Every beat of her heart made the pain sharper.She had not been able to get passed everything that she had heard yesterday.The words were still loud in her head. They wouldn’t stop. They kept coming back, again and again, like they were stuck to her. She tried to forget, but her mind wouldn’t let her. The hurt stayed.Her lips quivered. She didn’t know if this was the right decision, but boarding the nearest jet was the only thing that came to her mind. And for once, she had never been this grateful to Drystan for buying her an airline.She had ran straight to the airline, after breaking down in Emilia’s arms, she had driven to the airline, pick a jet, and yeah. Here she was…