003

Scarlett's POV:

The mansion was obscene. That was my first thought as I stepped out of the taxi and stared up at the sprawling estate behind iron gates. It was the kind of place that screamed old money and dark secrets, with marble columns and glowing windows and expensive cars lined up in the circular driveway like obedient soldiers. I could hear music drifting from inside, low and elegant, and the murmur of voices that belonged to people who had never known what it meant to go hungry.

I had worn the only nice dress I owned, a simple black thing that clung to my curves and stopped just above my knees, pulled my hair back and painted my lips red. I looked like someone who belonged in a place like this but I did not feel like it.

My heart was pounding, palms were sweating. Every instinct I had was screaming at me to turn around and walk away. This was insane. This was dangerous. This was the kind of decision that could get a person killed.

But I thought of my father. Of his new wife. Of his son. Of the ten years I had spent running from a past that refused to let me go.

I pushed open the gate and walked inside. The foyer was marble and gold, filled with people dressed in clothes that cost more than my rent. They moved in small groups, sipping champagne and speaking in low voices. I did not belong here. I was a wolf without a pack, a woman without a name, a ghost walking among the living.

I kept my head down and my expression blank, weaving through the crowd toward the back of the mansion where The Matron had told me to wait. I could feel eyes on me, curious and predatory, but I did not look at anyone. I had learned long ago that eye contact was an invitation, and I was not here to make friends.

"Look at her. Fresh meat."

The words slithered through the air like oil, and I felt them before I saw the men who spoke them. Three of them, sitting in a shadowed corner, their eyes crawling over my body like hungry insects. They were rogues, I could tell by the lawless gleam in their eyes and the way they carried themselves, like wolves who had been kicked out of every pack and had learned to survive on cruelty alone.

I kept walking.

"Hey, sweetheart," one of them called out, a heavyset man with a scar running down his neck. "Come here. Let me get a look at you."

I did not stop.

"Did you hear me?" His voice hardened. "I said come here."

The second man, younger and leaner with cold blue eyes, stood up and blocked my path. He was taller than me, broader, and he smelled of cheap whiskey and bad intentions.

"You deaf or just stupid?" he asked, grinning. "When a man tells you to come, you come."

"Move," I said, my voice flat.

"Make me."

The third man, the oldest of the three, laughed and stepped closer. "I like this one. She has fire. The Alpha is going to enjoy breaking her."

His hand shot out and grabbed my wrist, yanking me toward him. I stumbled, my heart lurching into my throat, and his fingers dug into my skin like claws.

"Let go of me," I said.

"Or what?" He pulled me closer, his breath hot and foul against my face. "You are nothing but a womb for sale. A pretty little vessel for some Alpha's spawn. You think you are better than us?"

"I think you should take your hand off me before I break it."

He laughed while the other two laughed with him like hyenas and then a hand suddenly closed around his throat firmly.

"Touch her again," a cold voice said, "and I will tear your heart out through your throat."

The man's grip on my wrist loosened instantly, his eyes going wide with terror. I stumbled back, my heart pounding, and watched as the Matron stepped between me and the three rogues, her fingers still wrapped around the scarred man's neck.

"I believe I made myself clear when you arrived," she said, her voice calm and deadly. "My guests are not to be touched. My property is not to be touched. And this woman belongs to me until the auction is complete."

"We were just having fun," the younger one muttered.

"You were about to lose your hand." The Matron released the scarred man and stepped back, her sharp eyes cutting through all three of them. "Get out. Now."

They scrambled away like the rats they were, disappearing into the crowd without another word.

The Matron turned to me, her expression unreadable. "Are you hurt?" I shook my head, not trusting my voice. "You are shaking."

"I am fine."

"You are lying." She studied me for a moment, then sighed. "The restroom is down the hall to the left. Go. Compose yourself. You have thirty minutes."

I did not wait for her to finish. I turned and walked away, my steps quick and steady, my face a mask of calm. But inside, I was crumbling. My wrist throbbed where the man had grabbed me, and my skin felt dirty, filthy, like I had been coated in something rotten.

I rounded a corner, my vision blurring, and slammed straight into something solid. A chest. Hard as stone but also warm.

I stumbled back, my hands flying up to brace myself, and looked up into the face of a man I had never seen before. He was tall, impossibly tall, with dark hair and eyes the color of a stormy sky. His jaw was sharp, his features carved from marble, and there was a scar that ran from his temple down to his cheekbone.

He stared down at me, his expression unreadable. Meanwhile I felt really dirty from their touch, tainted, and I could not bear to look at him for another second. I stepped around him, my shoulder unconsciously brushing his arm as I dashed pass him.

The restroom was empty, thank the gods. I locked the door behind me and leaned against it, my breath coming in ragged gasps. Then I walked to the sink and turned on the water, as hot as it would go.

I scrubbed my wrist. Scrubbed it raw. The place where that man had touched me, grabbed me, held me. I scrubbed until the skin was red and burning, until I could no longer feel his fingers on me.

Then I splashed water on my face and stared at my reflection in the mirror. My eyes were red. My hands were shaking. But I did not cry.

I had promised myself ten years ago that I would never cry again. Not for my father. Not for Damon. Not for anyone I would not break now that things were about to get slightly better for myself.

I took a deep breath, smoothed down my dress, and unlocked the door but dragged in a shocking sharp breath.

The man I had slammed into was still standing there. He leaned lazily against the wall opposite the restroom, his arms crossed over his chest, his stormy eyes fixed on me. He was even more striking up close, with sharp cheekbones and a cruel mouth and a presence that filled the entire hallway.

I was short of words for a second but then I snapped back to reality, clearing my throat then I headed down the hallway.

"Hitting a man without apologizing is very disrespectful, Young lady," he said, his voice a low rumble. "I can see you lack simple manners."

He pushed off the wall and walked toward me, slow and deliberate, each step echoing against the marble floor. He stopped a few feet away, close enough that I could smell him. Pine and smoke and something darker.

I balled my fists at my sides.