"I'm back"

"Find the monster, and expose him as usual. You can do the job, Elena. Don't be afraid."

That was her boss's order before she left the office three days ago. An order she wished she could refuse, but couldn’t. This was her life. Her job. And everyone believed she could handle it.

But this man...

She'd been told he's mysterious. A cunning, cold-hearted billionaire who spared no one that crosses his part.

It's rumored that a few who sneaked in to have a look at him, were found either on the hospital bed, or dead in their humble homes. That's why they called him the monster. A fearless tiger, and a man with a dark heart.

Her heart sank instantly as she thought about the whole thing. What would her own fate be in this situation?

Will she end up dead like the others? Or broken in ways no surgeon could fix?

Her hands trembled slightly as she adjusted the thin black lace strap of the dress she'd been instructed to wear. It wasn't hers. Nothing about tonight felt like hers, but she had no choice than to wear them.

Her phone buzzed instantly on the dresser, but she refused to answer, knowing fully well why the person called.

It was none other person than her best friend, Maya. She'd been on her neck for some days now, warning her of the danger in participating in the auction show. But this wasn’t optional. It was her job.

She's been doing this for years, exposing those corrupt individuals who think they rule the world.

"I will fight them with my last breath." Elena vowed.

"I can't give up now. Not when everyone believes in me."

She finally sighed and picked up the call, after it rang for several minutes.

"Hello, Maya."

"You're really doing this? Like, right now?" Maya blurted as soon as she heard her voice.

Elena stared at her reflection in the mirror. She looked pale, sharp cheekbones, dark hair pulled into a sleek knot, lips painted deep crimson to hide how dry her mouth felt.

"I have to." She replied after a while of silence.

"This isn't some dive bar sting operation, El. These people are ghosts. Billionaires who make people disappear for fun. If they figure out you're a journalist...

"It's the only way to get inside. The Velvet Exchange isn't just rumors anymore. I have proof it's real. If I can record even one session, one confession... the story will write itself." She replied.

"And if they record you? What if they make you say things? Things you can't take back?"

Elena's stomach twisted at Maya's words. She pressed a hand to her abdomen, feeling the cool silk of the dress against her skin. The fabric was too thin, and exposing. She hadn't worn anything like it since ever.

She heaved a deep sigh and returned to the call.

"Then I will make sure they don't get the chance. Thirty days, that's the contract. I will walk away after that."

"Thirty days of what, exactly?" Maya asked. "They auction fantasies, El. Not handshakes."

Elena opened her mouth to say something, but unfortunately she couldn't. She turned sideways in the mirror, and began to study how the dress clung to her body.

The neckline plunged low enough that the outline of her nipples pressed against the sheer black material whenever she breathed deeply.

The hem barely skimmed mid-thigh, and a high slit rode up dangerously when she moved. One wrong step, and half her ass would be on display.

"Hello, are you there?" Maya said, bringing her mind to reality.

Elena swallowed hard and replied. "I know what I'm signing up for."

"Do you?"

There's another long pause, before Maya spoke again.

"Just... be careful, please. Text me when you're out. Or if anything feels wrong."

Elena hung up the call and set the phone face-down. She couldn't promise that, not tonight.

She put on the black velvet mask provided in the discreet package that had arrived yesterday. There's no return address on it, only a wax seal stamped with a stylized V entwined in thorns.

The mask covered the upper half of her face, leaving her mouth exposed.

Suddenly, she heard a car horn outside her apartment, and froze for a second.

had arrived exactly at 10:47 p.m., just as she’d been told

The car which would take her had arrived exactly at 10:47 p.m., just as she’d been told. Without hesitation, Elena picked up her purse and stepped outside.

There she found a black, tinted car. But it had no plates she could make out of. The driver didn't speak. He simply opened the rear door and waited.

Elena slid into the car and sat down comfortably. But deep down, her mind was spinning with various, dangerous thoughts.

Suddenly, the driver started the car and drove off immediately. Everywhere was dark, no lights, no cars, other than the one she's in.

When the car finally slowed, it descended into an underground garage lit only by faint blue strips along the floor.

The door opened, and a woman in a crisp black suit waited outside. She's tall, expressionless, holding a silver tray with a glass of champagne.

"Drink," the woman said, stretching it to her.

Elena squinted her eyes at her, surprised by her action.

She wanted to reject, to give an excuse perhaps. But recalling why she's there, she slowly took the glass, and sipped a little, then set it down untouched.

"Maybe this is a test." She thought.

"Follow me." The woman said and she followed without a word.

They walked through a narrow corridor lined with black velvet curtains. At the end of the hall, was another door. One with a big sign she couldn't read clearly.

The woman stopped abruptly and turned to her swiftly.

"Change of protocol. You enter alone. Remove nothing but your shoes. The rest... stays."

Elena kicked off her heels, and stepped into the room as soon as the woman finished speaking.

Three other women waited there, all masked, all dressed in variations of the same scandalous black.

One had a slit that reached her hip bone. Another's dress was backless to the dimples above her ass. They didn't speak. They barely looked at each other.

"Line up," a disembodied voice instructed from hidden speakers.

Elena stepped forward. Her heart hammered so loud she was sure the others could hear it.

Heavy velvet curtains parted, and the auction room unfolded before her eyes.

It's a circular place, and seats were occupied by figures in tailored tuxedos and elaborate masks, animal motifs, Venetian lace, and simple black silk.

No faces were visible. No names spoken. Only numbers projected in soft gold above each seat.

There's a raised platform in the center, with a circle of polished stones. Elena and the others were led onto it one by one.

She went last, but the spotlight hit her like a physical touch.

Heat bloomed across her chest, but she forced herself to stand tall, chin lifted, even as the thin fabric shifted with every breath, teasing the edges of her nipples into sharp relief against the lace.

A soft murmur rippled through the room. Some of appreciation, others hunger.

The voice returned, smooth, genderless, and electronically.

"Lot Seven, Elena Quinn. Thirty nights, with no permanent marks. Fantasies negotiated in advance. Starting bid, five million."

There's silence for a while, then a paddle rose in the shadows. Gold number 14.

"Six."

Another person blurted, gold number 9. "Seven."

The numbers climbed faster than it's been done before.

Elena's pulse roared in her ears. She kept her gaze forward, refusing to search the darkness for whoever was bidding.

"Eighteen million," came a new voice, low, calm, and unmistakable in its control.

The room stilled, and the electronic voice paused, as though surprised.

"Twenty," countered gold 14.

"Twenty-five." Another person said, and at the same time, Elena's knees threatened to buckle, but she held her dress tightly, forcing herself to stand still.

"Thirty." The voice spoke again, and silence returned to the hall the second time.

"Thirty million, going once... going twice..." The electric voice said, but no one said a word again.

Just when she's about to be handed over, another voice echoed in the hall, loud enough that everyone froze on their seats.

"Forty million."

For ten minutes, no one uttered a word. And when it was finally clear that that was the last person, the electric voice returned sharply.

"Sold to bidder twenty-three."

The spotlight dimmed, and gentle hands guided her off the platform. 

Elena barely felt the floor beneath her feet as they led her through another curtained passage, down to a short flight of stairs.

A private door opened, revealing a small, opulent room with deep burgundy walls and a single leather chaise. A low table with two glasses of amber liquid sat beside it. Near the table stood a man in a black coat, his back to her.

He was tall, broad-shouldered, his dark hair grazing the collar of his coat. Slowly, he turned, and the air left her lungs instantly.

“No… it can’t be,” Elena whispered, taking a step back.

It was none other than Soren Vale. The boy she'd destroyed ten years ago.

The boy who swore he would ruin her if they ever met again.