Mi Vecina Madura Se Atoró En La Lavadora

CLARA'S POV

"Going once... going twice... Sold for fifty million dollars to the gentleman in the shadows."

The strike of the mahogany gavel sounded like a gunshot in the plush, suffocating silence of the underground room.

I closed my eyes, my nails digging into my palms until I broke the skin. I was standing on a stage, dressed in a silk gown that felt more like a shroud.

Around my neck was a delicate silver collar—the symbolic brand of the Midnight Gala.

I had just sold my life. My freedom. My body. Everything.

Twenty-four hours ago, I had still been Clara Sterling—the daughter of one of the most influential shipping magnates in the country. My days had been filled with boardroom meetings, charity galas, and whispered promises about the future I was supposed to inherit. Now I was standing beneath blinding lights with a price tag around my neck, waiting for a stranger to claim me.

I wanted to scream. To run. To wake up from the nightmare swallowing me whole. But dignity was the only thing I had left, and even that was slipping through my fingers with every passing second.

Fifty million dollars, I thought bitterly. Just enough to pay off the fraudulent debts and keep my father out of a federal penitentiary. I had sacrificed my own existence to buy his freedom, throwing myself into the jaws of a monster I hadn't even met yet.

No daughter should ever have to choose between her own freedom and her father's life. Yet when the lawyers laid out the evidence and the prosecutors offered their final ultimatum, there had been no miracle waiting around the corner. There had only been this.

I told myself I could survive a year. I told myself no prison could be worse than watching my father waste away behind steel bars because of mistakes I hadn't made. Whether I believed that lie anymore was another matter entirely.

"Step forward, Item 43," the masked auctioneer droned, his voice devoid of any human empathy.

I forced my trembling legs to move, stepping down the stairs toward the private V.I.P. booth where my buyer sat. The lighting in the gala was intentionally dim, keeping the identities of the monstrously wealthy men hidden.

Every step echoed louder than the last. I could feel the weight of unseen eyes following me, measuring me, judging me, as though I were nothing more than another luxury item changing hands. Heat crawled beneath my skin, burning with humiliation, but I refused to lower my head.

If this was the last shred of pride I had left, I would cling to it until someone ripped it away from me.

The man stepped out of the shadows with the unhurried confidence of someone who had never once been told no.

My heart stopped.

Of all the monsters hidden behind those velvet curtains, fate had chosen the only one whose name had haunted my home for years.

He was tall, broad-shouldered, and wearing a bespoke charcoal suit that screamed old money and lethal power. His face was a masterpiece of harsh, aristocratic angles, dominated by eyes the color of a winter sea.

"You..." The word escaped my lips before I could stop it.

It was Ares Volkov. The tech tycoon. My father’s fiercest, most merciless rival. The man who had spent the last three years systematically destroying my family’s shipping empire.

I took an instinctive step backward, but there was nowhere left to run.

Ares stepped closer, his scent—expensive cologne and pure power—invading my senses. He reached out, his gloved fingers gripping the silver collar around my neck, forcing me to tilt my head up to meet his icy gaze. A cruel, devastating smirk played on his lips.

"Welcome to your living hell, little bird. You belong to me now."