CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 5

ROWAN

The moment the two masked giants stepped into the room, I knew the day had taken another sharp turn into hell. One of them snapped his fingers and jerked his chin toward me.

“Up,” he barked.

“No,” I muttered weakly, my throat raw, my body trembling from three days of forced sleep deprivation and ointment pain.

He didn’t repeat himself. He just grabbed my arm and hauled me up so violently I hissed, feeling my half-healed lashes scream across my back.

“Let go!” I snapped.

Another reached for my jaw to force it steady—and instinct took over. I lunged forward and bit him. Hard.

He recoiled with a shout. “Son of a—HE BIT ME!”

I spat to the side. “Try touching me again.”

The other man grabbed my hair and yanked my head back, forcing me to look up at him. “You keep that mouth running and someone’s gonna cut your tongue out.”

“Great,” I hissed, “you’d be doing the world a favour.”

They didn’t appreciate the humour.

They stripped me down again, muttering about “pretty merchandise that talks too much,” and shoved me into a steaming bath so harshly I splashed under with a gasp.

“Scrub him,” one ordered.

The other grabbed a brush and began scraping my skin like I was a floor they were trying to polish.

“Stop—stop—ah, fuck—gentler—!” I growled, but they didn’t slow down.

“Don’t bruise the face,” the bigger one said. “Buyers don’t like damaged goods.”

“I’m not—goods—!” I sputtered.

He smirked. “You are today.”

After nearly drowning me twice, they dragged me out and wrapped me in a towel. Another man entered with a tray of powders, creams, and brushes.

“No,” I whispered, backing up until my spine hit the cold wall. “No makeup. Absolutely not. Don’t—”

“Shut him up,” the makeup man said with a bored sigh.

A hand clamped over my mouth. Another forced my chin upward.

“The VIP ones always complain the most,” makeup man muttered, brushing foundation over my cheekbones. “Stop squirming. I’m fixing your face.”

“It doesn’t need fixing,” I snarled.

“Yes, it does,” he said flatly. “You look half-dead.”

“That’s because I AM—mmph—!”

He pinched my nose shut until I stopped talking.

They painted my face, smoothed my hair, polished my skin, and made me look like something delicate..

It made me sick.

When they were done, two guards grabbed me under the arms and hauled me to a covered cage—a reinforced steel box with thin bars.

“Get in,” one ordered.

“Fuck off,” I snapped.

So they pushed me in. Hard.

I hit the floor, groaning, and they slammed the door shut.

The cage moved. Rolling. Out of the underground hall, through tunnels, until we emerged into a massive chamber buzzing with voices, lanterns, velvet curtains, and the thick stench of perfume and money.

The auction.

I heard Mara crying somewhere nearby. Lila sniffled in another cage. I pressed my face against the bars and whispered, “Hey, hey, I’m here. I’m right here.”

“Rowan?” Mara whispered shakily. “I’m scared.”

“I know,” I murmured. “I know. Just… breathe. Please breathe.”

Lila whimpered, “They’re scary.”

“I know, sweetheart,” I said. “I’m going to get you out. I swear. I’ll get you out.”

I had no idea how—but I had to.

People were being sold one by one. Screaming. Begging. Dragged away by strangers.

Eventually, only three cages remained.

Mine.

Mara’s.

And Lila’s.

The auctioneer stepped forward, adjusting his jeweled mask.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he announced theatrically, “the final showcase of the evening—our premium selection!”

I wanted to vomit.

He gestured toward Mara first.

“A lovely Omega, pristine quality, perfect for household or personal service. Starting bid—ten thousand!”

The numbers climbed. Mara sobbed quietly.

Then Lila’s cage rolled forward.

“A rare find! A young one, unmarked, unsullied. Starting bid—fifty thousand!”

“No—” I whispered, gripping the bars. “Don’t—don’t take her—”

Then my cage moved.

“And now,” the auctioneer declared with glee, “our VIP lot. A rare, exceptionally beautiful specimen with a striking face and spirited personality. Starting bid—five million.”

I choked. “FIVE—?! Are you insane?!”

“Shh,” a guard hissed, smacking the bars.

The numbers started flying.

“Six!”

“Eight!”

“Twelve!”

“Fifteen million!”

My heart hammered.

“Twenty!”

“Twenty-five!”

Then—

“Thirty million.”

The voice echoed across the chamber.

I froze.

I knew that voice.

Dante.

But he was disguised, wearing a dark hood and a silver mask.

“No, no, no—” I whispered. “Why him—why—”

Another bidder tried to counter.

“Thirty-two million—!”

Dante’s voice cut over his effortlessly.

“Forty.”

Silence.

I slammed my palms against the bars. “HEY! No! Don’t—don’t buy me—!”

Gasps filled the chamber. The guards glared at me.

Dante looked amused.

“Fifty million,” he said calmly.

I panicked. “WAIT—PLEASE—LISTEN—PLEASE—!”

The auctioneer beamed. “Fifty million from the gentleman in silver!”

“STOP!” I shouted. “Listen to me—Don’t buy just me—buy THEM—please—please buy the three of us—”

The entire room froze.

Dante tilted his head. “And why,” he said in that cold, posh tone, “would I do that?”

“Because—because I’ll do anything,” I said desperately, gripping the bars until my knuckles turned white. “I swear—anything—just—don’t leave them here. Don’t let them be taken. Please—please—take all of us.”

Dante stepped closer until I could see the faint curve of his mouth behind the mask.

“You’ll do anything?” he repeated softly.

I swallowed hard. “Yes.”

“And you’ll behave?”

“Yes—yes, I will—I promise—”

“And you won’t insult me again?”

“…I’ll try,” I muttered.

He smirked.

Then he lifted his hand lazily toward the auctioneer.

“One hundred million,” he said. “For all three.”

The entire chamber erupted. Screams. Gasps. Excitement.

“One hundred million?!” the auctioneer cried. “SO—SOLD!”

Dante—still masked—turned away as if he’d bought a basket of apples rather than three human beings.

His guards moved instantly.

“Transport the lots outside,” one ordered.

My cage rolled, rattling. Lila’s followed. Mara’s, trembling.

Outside, the night air hit me like a shock. They opened our cages one by one.

When they opened mine, I staggered out, falling to my knees.

“Rowan!” Mara rushed to me.

“I’m okay,” I lied.

Lila ran into my arms. I held her tight. “I got you,” I whispered. “I promised.”

Then a disguised Lucien leaned casually against a sleek black vehicle.

“Well,” he drawled, “that was dramatic.”

I glared weakly. “Go to hell.”

He winked. “Already reserved a seat, darling.”

As they helped us toward the car, something strange happened.

A man passed near me—tall, cloaked, quiet—and a scent hit me so sharply that I blinked.

Something familiar.

Something wrong.

I shook my head, confused.

The man slowed, just slightly, as if he heard my breath catch.

Then he kept walking.

Lucien opened the door. “Get in,” he ordered.

I climbed inside with Lila clutching my shirt, Mara following shakily.

The moment the door shut—

Gunshots exploded outside.

“DOWN!” a guard shouted.