His Wife or Her Grave

Cold glass against her cheek was the first thing Ziva felt when she woke up.

It took a few seconds for the sensation to register as wrong. Too cold. Too smooth. Not a pillow, not a couch, not the scratchy carpet in her apartment. Her tongue felt thick in her mouth, like she’d bitten it, and there was a faint ringing in her ears that rose and fell with her pulse.

She tried to lift her head. Nothing happened.

Panic flared, sharp and sudden, but her body lagged behind it, heavy and unresponsive, as if someone had poured wet cement into her veins. Hospital, she thought hazily. Or maybe the backseat of a car. Somewhere safe. Somewhere that made sense.

Her eyelids were heavy like someone had sewn weights into them but she forced them open anyway and blinked once, twice before the world swam into focus with lights too bright. 

She was sitting... No, kneeling on a cushioned platform.

She was wearing a white dress that definitely wasn’t hers with silk thin straps, the kind of thing you’d wear to a wedding or a fancy dinner except she’d never owned anything this expensive and her wrists burned from the velvet cream coloured restraints tied to a metal loop embedded in the floor 

She twisted her hands, testing the give. The restraints didn’t loosen instead the soft fabric bit deeper , heat blooming where skin met pressure. Her fingers curled and uncurled uselessly.

Her breath sped up.

Okay. Don’t panic. Think. People woke up restrained all the time, medical tests, misunderstandings, pranks that went too far. There was a reason. There had to be a reason. “What?” Her voice came out weak.

The glass wall in front of her was frosted like a shower door but she could see multiple shadows moving beyond it, she could also hear champagne glasses clinking, laughter and someone’s perfume that was too strong 

The sounds didn’t match what she was feeling. They were relaxed, indulgent, the noise of people enjoying themselves. No urgency. No alarm.

A horrible realization crept in, slow and sticky.

Whatever was happening to her wasn’t a mistake. It was planned. And whoever was out there wasn’t worried because none of this was happening to them and that perfume was still seeping through whatever ventilation system kept her in this glass booth!

A speaker crackled above her head “Lot 19!” a male voice, smooth and practiced like a radio host “Virgin, college educated, no family ties and perfect for private acquisition, starting bid is five hundred thousand dollars.”

Her mind snagged on the number, tripped over it. Five hundred thousand for what? For who? People didn’t shout numbers like that unless they were buying something expensive. Houses. Cars. Paintings.

Not people.

Heat rushed to her face, then drained away, leaving her cold and lightheaded. Her vision blurred at the edges as if the room itself were rejecting the idea forming in her head.

Ziva’s heart stopped. “No” the word fell out of her mouth “No, No, No!” She tried to get loose but it didn’t budge, Her wrists hurt but the ties held “Help”

She rammed at the glass shoulder first, pain exploding down her arm but the glass didn’t even rattle “Someone help me please!” No one came

A male voice drifted through sounding so casual “Six hundred thousand!!”

Another voice “Seven fifty!!”

“Nine hundred!!” They were bidding on her.

Ziva’s breath came in sharp painful gasps, this couldn’t be real! It had to be a nightmare because things like this didn’t happen to normal people like her who worked part-time at coffee shops and worried about rent, and her sweet gentle boyfriend Timothy who made her breakfast, kissed her forehead and told her she was the best thing that ever happened to him “Where was he?”

Timothy was supposed to be here. Timothy who always checked the locks twice before bed. Timothy who’d once driven across the city at two in the morning because she’d had a panic attack and didn’t want to be alone.

He wouldn’t let this happen.

The certainty felt brittle now, like glass stretched too thin

Last thing she remembered was his apartment, the red expensive wine he’d poured to celebrate their four-year anniversary to which she’d laughed because the actual anniversary wasn’t for another week but he’d just smiled “You’re everything to me, Ziva.” He’d kissed her then she’d felt dizzy but thought it was the wine.

“Timothy!” Her scream raw and desperate “where are you?”

The auctioneer’s voice cut through again, this time his words altered her reality “Lot 19 was personally sourced by her boyfriend making her premium quality with no priors and clean medical history” Ziva went still. Boyfriend? Sourced?

The screen above her booth flickered to life showing a picture of Timothy standing in what looked like an office smiling while signing papers, that same soft smile he gave her every morning when he tells her that he loves her.

The room spun. Sound dulled, like her head had been shoved underwater. Her thoughts scattered, slipping through her fingers no matter how hard she tried to grab onto them.

This isn’t real.

Her stomach clenched violently, her body rejecting the image even as her brain burned it in permanently.

Ziva’s stomach lurched, she twisted to the side and vomited, bile splattering across white silk and polished floor as her whole body shook with tears streaming down her face. Timothy sold her!

Four years of loving, trusting, believing him when he said they’d build a life together and he’d sold her for money!!

“One point two million” someone called out. “Final offer”

“Ten million dollars” The voice sounded deep and cold leaving no room for argument “cash and if anyone else bids I’ll burn this building down with everyone inside” Ziva’s blood turned to ice because she knew that voice

The auctioneer’s voice cracked “S... sold to bidder 032” a mechanical click echoed through Ziva’s booth and the lock disengaged.

A man wearing an expensive suit tailored to fit shoulders that looked like they could break down doors with dark hair and even darker eyes but she knew that face!! It had been eight years since she’d last seen him but some faces you didn’t forget.

The temperature in the room seemed to drop. Conversations beyond the glass hushed, like someone had turned down the volume on the world. Even the men in suits straightened, tension snapping through them.

Fear prickled along her spine, old and familiar. A memory surfaced—hallways, whispers, the way teachers watched him like he was a problem waiting to explode.

Her body reacted before her mind caught up. She shrank back instinctively, heart slamming against her ribs.

Tyrell Smart.

“Hello Ziva” Tyrell said softly “Miss me?”

“No” The word came out broken “Not you, anyone but you”

He stared down at her while his hands were clenched into fists at his sides and for a second Ziva thought he might hit something but then he moved closer and extended one hand toward her “We’re leaving” his voice was quieter and deeper than she remembered “Now” Ziva recoiled pressing back against the glass “Don’t touch me” hurt flashed in his eyes or was it anger, it had always been hard to tell with Tyrell. “Fine” he dropped his hand and took a step back “but those men behind me” he jerked his head toward the door “They’re here to take you back if you don’t cooperate so you can either walk out with me or I’ll carry you” Ziva’s gaze darted past him, three big armed men in suits stood in the corridor beyond her booth and one of them was speaking into a radio with his eyes locked on her

Her heart hammered “I’m not going anywhere with you”

“Yes” Tyrell said sounding lethal “you are.” Gunfire exploded somewhere outside the building, loud screams followed then the lights flickered.

The drugs in her system, whatever they’d given her were still making everything slow and heavy “Ziva” Tyrell’s voice cut through the chaos “Look at me!!” She did “I’ve got you”

The booth seemed to tilt or maybe she did, it was hard to tell because her vision blurred out at the edges with darkness creeping in like smoke

The edges of the world darkened, closing in. The noise of the room stretched and warped, voices turning into distant echoes. She tried to stay upright, tried to hold onto consciousness, but it slipped through her like water through open hands. 

The last thing she saw before everything went black was Tyrell lunging forward to catch her before she hit the ground.

His arms were steady, warm and she hated that a small, traitorous part of her felt safe.