Chapter 1

The underground auction house reeked of desperation and expensive cologne. Serena's wrists burned from the zip ties cutting into her skin as Marcus dragged her down the concrete steps. The man she'd called husband for three years wore a five-thousand-dollar suit and the expression of someone taking out garbage.

"Marcus, please," she whispered, stumbling in the heels he'd forced her to wear. "We can work this out. I can get a loan—"

"Shut up." His grip tightened on her arm. "You think Daddy's trust fund can cover fifty million? You think anyone gives a damn about your little interior design business?"

The basement opened into a surprisingly elegant space. Red velvet curtains hung from the walls, and crystal chandeliers cast twisted shadows across the crowd. Men in expensive suits lounged in leather chairs, drinks in hand, like they were at a poker game instead of... whatever this was.

"Gentlemen," a voice called from the platform. The auctioneer wore a red bow tie and smiled like a shark. "Our final item of the evening."

Marcus shoved her forward. "Marcus, what are you—"

"Ladies and gentlemen, I present Mrs. Serena Blackthorne. Twenty-eight years old, impeccable breeding, fluent in three languages." The auctioneer's voice carried across the room like he was selling a racehorse. "Educated at Princeton, no criminal record, excellent health."

Serena's vision blurred. The room tilted. "This isn't real. This isn't happening."

"Oh, it's happening, sweetheart." Marcus's breath was hot against her ear. "See, when you marry into politics, you learn that everything has a price. Including wives."

The bidding started at ten million.

"Fifteen million." A voice from the left.

"Twenty million." From the right.

Serena searched the crowd for a way out, but Marcus's hand stayed locked on her arm. The faces blurred together—old men, young men, all watching her like she was a prize cow.

"Twenty-five million." The voice was cultured, British maybe.

"Thirty million." This one sounded Russian.

Then the temperature in the room dropped.

A figure in black emerged from the shadows at the back of the room. Tall, broad-shouldered, wearing a mask that covered half his face. Even from across the room, his presence hit like a physical force. The other bidders shifted uncomfortably in their chairs.

"One hundred million." His voice was dark velvet and sharp steel.

The room went silent. Even the auctioneer's practiced smile faltered.

"Did... did you say one hundred million, sir?"

"I don't repeat myself." The masked man moved closer to the platform. Other bidders were already standing, backing away. One of them was actually sweating.

"Jesus Christ," Marcus whispered. "Is that—"

"The Shadowking," someone hissed from the crowd.

Serena felt the blood drain from her face. Even sheltered in her political bubble, she'd heard whispers. The Shadowking controlled half the underground in the city. He was a ghost story, a nightmare that made hardened criminals check their locks twice.

"Sir, we need to verify—" the auctioneer started.

The masked man raised his hand. On his ring finger was a thick gold band with a black stone. The auctioneer went pale.

"Of course, sir. No verification needed."

"Wait," Serena found her voice. "Wait, you can't just—"

"Any other bids?" The auctioneer's voice cracked.

Silence. The few remaining bidders were already heading for the exit.

"Marcus," Serena turned to her husband. "Marcus, stop this. I'm your wife!"

"You were my wife." His face was stone. "Now you're my get-out-of-jail-free card."

The auctioneer raised his gavel. "Going once..."

"Please!" Serena's voice broke. "I'll do anything! I'll sign over the trust fund, I'll—"

"Going twice..."

The masked man stepped into the light. His suit was perfectly tailored, his presence commanding. Even with half his face hidden, she could see his eyes—dark, intense, completely focused on her.

"Sold!" The gavel came down with a crack that echoed through the room. "Sold to the Shadowking."

The zip ties around her wrists were cut. Strong hands steadied her as her knees buckled.

"Mrs. Blackthorne," the masked man's voice was closer now, intimate. "Or should I say, Mrs. Valentino?"

Serena's head snapped up. "What?"

"The marriage papers were signed the moment I placed the winning bid. You belong to me now."

"Like hell I do!" She jerked away from him, but he caught her wrist easily. His grip was firm but not painful—a demonstration of controlled power.

"Careful, wife. We're still in public."

Marcus stepped forward, hand extended. "Pleasure doing business with you, Mr.—"

The masked man's head turned toward Marcus. The temperature seemed to drop another ten degrees.

"Leave. Now. Before I change my mind about letting you walk out of here."

Marcus's face went gray. He looked at Serena one last time, something that might have been regret flickering in his eyes. Then he was gone, pushing through the crowd toward the exit.

Serena watched her husband disappear into the night. Three years of marriage, and he'd sold her like a stock option.

"This is insane," she whispered. "This is completely insane."

"Many things seem insane until you understand the rules." The masked man's fingers traced along her jaw. "And the first rule, Mrs. Valentino, is that you're mine now. Completely."

She jerked away from his touch, but her skin burned where he'd touched her. "I don't belong to anyone!"

"Tell that to the papers you'll sign tomorrow." He leaned closer, and she caught a hint of expensive cologne mixed with something darker. "Tell that to the ring you'll wear. Tell that to the bed you'll share."

"I'll never—"

"You'll do exactly what I tell you to do." His voice was soft, almost gentle, which somehow made it more terrifying. "Because the alternative is watching your husband's very public political career end in a very private, very painful way."

The room was emptying now, the other buyers and observers melting away like shadows. Soon it was just Serena, the masked man, and a few intimidating figures in black suits who were obviously his security.

"The car is waiting," he said, offering her his arm like a gentleman.

Serena looked at his extended arm, then at the exit where Marcus had disappeared. She thought about running, but something told her she wouldn't make it ten feet.

"What's your name?" she asked instead.

"Your husband."

"Your real name."

The mask shifted as he smiled. "Ask me again tomorrow, Mrs. Valentino. After you've had time to appreciate your new circumstances."

Serena stared at him for a long moment. Then she took his arm.

As they walked toward the exit, the auctioneer called after them: "Sold to the Shadowking. May God have mercy on her soul."

The masked man chuckled, a sound like dark honey. "God has nothing to do with this."