Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

Amelia’s POV                      

What am I supposed to do now?

Beg for my freedom?

The leather seat creaked as I shifted uncomfortably, the faint scent of cigarette smoke lingering in the car. My hands itched against the cold cuffs, and my heart was beating in a slow, panicked rhythm.

“What did you get yourself into this time?” a deep voice asked from somewhere beside me. I froze, unsure if I should answer—or if speaking would make things worse.

Silence filled the rest of the ride, broken only by the aggressive clack of keyboard keys. Someone was typing, fast and precise, like they were sealing my fate with every keystroke. I leaned my head back against the seat, forcing myself to think—really think—about a way out.

After seeing the way they had treated the other girls in that hellhole of a place, I knew better than to act on impulse. These weren’t the kind of people who would hesitate to kill me.

But still… why would someone pay that much money for me?

Are they planning to turn me into some high-priced prostitute to get their investment back?

Or—God forbid—are they going to sell my organs?

The thought sent a shiver down my spine.

Okay, Amelia, stop panicking. Breathe. Focus. If there’s a way out, I’ll find it… maybe when we reach wherever we’re going.

****

The car eventually slowed to a stop after what felt like hours. A door opened, and the blindfold was yanked from my eyes.

I squinted against the sudden light, my vision slowly adjusting. Standing before me was a tall man in a black suit, his expression blank, almost robotic.

“Step out of the car,” he ordered.

I turned my head, realizing with a jolt that the car was now empty. No driver. No other passengers. Just me.

I slid out of the vehicle, my feet hitting solid ground. Without a word, the man grabbed my wrists and clicked a set of cold metal cuffs around them—tighter this time—before gesturing for me to walk.

Confused but compliant, I obeyed. 

The thoughts of making a run flashed through my mind. Maybe… maybe I could make a run for it. If I timed it right, aimed for the groin, maybe I could bring him down long enough to—

I glanced over my shoulder, and my heart sank. In the distance, a massive wrought-iron gate loomed, at least a mile away. Guards patrolled the grounds, rifles slung over their shoulders. The man beside me had a Glock tucked casually into his waistband.

Right. So much for running.

A bad feeling was crawling up my spine, and it only grew worse as we approached the sprawling Victorian-style mansion ahead. Men lingered outside, their faces hard, eyes tracking me with thinly veiled hostility. I dropped my gaze to the ground, swallowing hard.

Inside, the air was cooler but no less oppressive. The living room was packed with men speaking in a language I didn’t understand. Their voices were loud, aggressive, until they noticed me. The moment I stepped inside, the conversation died, and I could feel their stares.

The place was stunning, though—if you ignored the hostile atmosphere. Crystal chandeliers hung overhead, catching the light in dazzling bursts. Golden-trimmed couches sat around thick Persian rugs. The marble floors gleamed. It was wealth on display… but cold, suffocating wealth.

“The boss said to take her to his room,” one man said.

Before I could process it, I was shoved toward a grand spiral staircase. My legs felt heavier with each step, and by the time we reached the top, dizziness was making the world tilt slightly.

At the far end of a long hallway, the man opened a door and guided me inside. Without a word, he fastened my cuffed wrists to the headboard of a king-sized bed, then turned off the overhead lights, leaving only the soft glow of the bedside lamps.

“What am I supposed to do here?” I asked, my voice shaking despite my attempt to sound firm.

He chuckled without humor. “Whatever your master wants. The boss paid a lot of money for you, and you’ll do anything he says. Didn’t they teach you that at the auction house?”

I shook my head mutely.

He made a low humming sound, like he didn’t believe me, and turned toward the door.

“Don’t try to escape,” he said casually, pausing with his hand on the doorknob. “I’d hate to scrub your brains off the carpet. It’s a tremendous task.”

And then he left. Just like that, as if he hadn’t just threaten me.

My throat tightened as I fought back tears. I’d been holding it together since that nightmare began, but now the weight of it pressed down on me.

Why did I go out with the girls?

Why did I agree to go to that club?

Now I’d lost my phone, my freedom… everything. And I had work tomorrow. My boss would—

The door creaked open.

I froze, tears brimming in my eyes. This was it. Whoever had bought me was here.

I lifted my gaze slowly… and my heart stopped.

Those eyes. Those unmistakable forest-green eyes.

No.

It couldn’t be.

He’s dead. That’s what Zara and the others told me. That’s what I believed.

But here he was.

And… he had changed a lot.

The black mullet hair was gone, replaced with a sharper cut. His ears were pierced now, catching the lamplight. His skin was bronzed, his perfect, symmetrical face even more striking than I remembered—hollow cheekbones, sharp jawline, those same eyes, and a smirk that revealed sharp canine teeth.

He wasn’t lean anymore. His button-down shirt strained over broad shoulders and thick biceps. Three buttons were undone, revealing glimpses of tattooed skin beneath.

It was him. But he looked different.

“It seems you’ve gotten yourself into a bigger mess this time, Goldie,” he said, grinning as his eyes roamed over me.

My lips parted, but the words tangled in my throat. “What… what—how…”

His presence radiated something darker now, something dangerous. I pressed myself against the headboard, as if the wood could swallow me whole.

“You don’t look excited to see me,” he said, raising one dark brow. He dragged a chair across the floor, placed it by the door, and sat down, his gaze locked on me like I was prey.

Is he… the boss?

If he is, maybe this will be easier. The Alester I knew would let me go.

But the voice in my head whispered: This isn’t the Alester you knew.

“So, you were the one who bought me?” I asked carefully.

“Yes,” he replied. “I recognized you in the dark. How the hell did you end up at an auction house in Monaco? Weren’t you supposed to be in Los Angeles, working for that firm?”

His words hit me like a slap. How did he even know where I worked?

“I… I think I was kidnapped,” I said quietly.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Lia, you weren’t kidnapped. That auction house buys their girls—they don’t snatch people off the street.”

I hated how he said my name, like nothing had changed between us.

He was the only one who ever called me Lia.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I shot back. “One moment I was with my friends, and the next I woke up in that damn place.”

“You’re not g

etting it,” he said flatly. “You were sold to them, not kidnapped.”