Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

Amelia’s POV                     

“Oh, please, go to hell. I wasn’t sold—it was a misunderstanding,” I denied, though deep down I knew my friends were probably looking for me… if they weren’t among the girls in that auction house.

He chuckled, shaking his head.

“You haven’t changed at all—still as gullible as ever. Let me explain how it works for you. You said you were hanging out with your friends, right? Was it Zara and that gang of jealous uglies you move around with?” he questioned, his voice dripping with disdain.

“Don’t insult my friends like that,” I warned, scowling.

“Just answer the damn question, Lia,” he snapped.

“Yes. I met with them after work and we went to a club,” I replied, surprised by his harsh tone.

“And do you know this club?” he pressed.

“No. But it was fancy, with a long queue outside. They told me it was popular,” I explained.

“And when you got inside?” he probed further.

“We went to the VIP lounge, and some guys were waiting for us,” I said, noticing his jaw clench.

“What did you do with these men?” he demanded coldly.

“Nothing, we just—”

“Just tell me the truth,” he cut in sharply.

“Nothing! There were only four guys!” I groaned, yanking against the handcuffs.

“And if there were more than that? Is Zara pimping you out to these men?” he scoffed.

My jaw dropped. “What the fuck! No! Why would you even say that?” I glared at him, furious. This jerk was unbelievable.

“So you didn’t stop to think why they took you to meet these men in the VIP lounge? Can you describe them?” he asked.

“Yes, but what would you do with their description?” I furrowed my brows.

“Do you want me to find out what happened to you or not?”

“Fine,” I gritted out, then started describing the men at the club. He asked follow-up questions about their behavior until, finally, he concluded:

“Zara sold you.”

“So you’re saying my friends sold me? That’s impossible,” I shot back.

“Is it? From what I’ve known, those aren’t your friends. They hate you. I’m not surprised they sold you. Given your lack of survival instincts, it was easy. They knew no one would look for you. Your workplace might call for a month or two before they drop it, and your ‘friends’ sold you for five million dollars.”

A hard lump formed in my throat. Is this true? Did they really sell me?

“Don’t worry, Goldie. I’ll help you deal with them. But it would be a lot more fun if you joined me,” he said.

“What?” I blinked at him.

Instead of answering, he asked, “What happened when you met the guys?”

I told him about one of them asking if I was “the one” and then offering champagne. He pinched the space between his brows, head down.

“Are you that dumb? You should’ve known the whole thing felt off. They did it because they knew you wouldn’t notice,” he said, standing up.

I flinched without meaning to.

“What are you going to do to me?” I asked quietly.

He paused. “Anything I want. I bought you for a lot of money.”

“I can pay you back after I go back to work. I’ll inform the police of what happened, and—”

“You’re not going back. You’re staying here with me,” he interrupted.

“Why? I just offered to pay you back. I don’t want to be stuck here with you. I need to arrest Zara and the girls. It’s obvious they planned this together.” I blinked back the tears threatening to fall.

He was right—I was such a dumb idiot. Dense. Foolish.

Where did I go wrong?

I had just wanted to hang out with them because I’d been so focused on work. I was excited. We’d been friends since college. I cared about them a lot.

So why?

“Is it that bad to be stuck with me?” he asked, picking out only that part of my words.

I’d had enough.

“Yes! I was pushed around and sold by my friends, and I don’t want to be in front of my ex—who’s supposed to be dead. I don’t want you calling me names, acting like you have the right to judge me when all you’ve done is make me feel useless. I want to go home, please!” I begged.

He looked stunned. “Who told you I was dead?”

Of course—that was the only thing he latched onto. The rest didn’t matter. Just like always.

“It doesn’t matter. You left. You broke up with me and disappeared. So don’t act like you care now. Remember why you broke up with me? You said I was too mediocre and bland—another word for stupid, just nicer. I have no strength left right now. I just want to go home and rest—”

“You’re not going anywhere. The sooner you accept that, the better. I didn’t waste my money just to let you go,” he said coldly.

“Then what do you want? What am I supposed to do here?” I demanded.

“What would you be doing if any of those sleazeballs had bought you? You’d be warming their beds, doing whatever they wanted,” he replied.

I froze. “No! Get me out of here!” I yelled, struggling.

He stalked toward the bed.

My eyes widened. My heart skipped a beat.

Stopping just short of touching me, he smirked. “Why are you acting like that would be such a bad thing? If I recall correctly, you liked riding me a lot back then.” His green eyes glinted with something unreadable.

“That was back then. I would never let you touch me—over my dead body,” I spat.

“I can arrange that. You know everyone in this house hates you. They heard how much I spent to buy a ‘slut’—their words, not mine. They’d be ecstatic to bury you.”

I closed my eyes as his fingers brushed through my hair.

“Are you going to cooperate, Lia, or do you want to join your parents in heaven?” he asked softly.

“Who are you? I feel like I never even knew you,” I whispered.

He chuckled, still playing with my hair, muttered something in a foreign language, then let go.

“I need your answer.”

“And my answer stands. No. I won’t be your slut or whatever it is you want me to be.” My glare was ice.

“You’re not a slut,” he said.

“I don’t care. I don’t want to be your anything. I hate you.”

“That would be an issue. What happened in the past should stay in the past. We can hate each other and still be fucking,” he retorted.

I faked a gag to show my disgust.

Silence settled between us for a moment.

Then—click.

The metallic snap of a Zippo lighter caught my attention. My eyes widened when I saw the cigarette between his lips.

He exhaled a thick cloud of smoke. My throat closed up instantly. I choked, coughing violently, eyes watering.

Then I saw it—the inhaler in his right hand.

He tilted his head, watching me.

Tears streamed down my cheeks as my breathing grew shallow.

“So, what’s it gonna be, Goldie?” he asked.

I nodded quickly.

“You won’t go back on your word, or I’ll take this away. I know your asthma can’t handle cigarette smoke. It’s such a shame you forced me to use such a low method of persuasion. Maybe I should’ve tried eating you out—you’d love that, wouldn’t you?”

My eyelids grew heavy, each second a struggle.

Finally, he held the inhaler close to my nose. I inhaled greedily.

“There, there. Wouldn’t want you dying on me when we just reunited,” he said with a chuckle.

“Fucking psychopath,” I glared.

He gave me a feral grin.

“I missed you too, Amelia.”