Chapter 1: The Auction 

[ SAMANTHA'S POV ]

"C’mon dad, you can’t do this to me, I won't do it."

I clenched my fists so hard my fingernails bit into my palms. My heart was hammering loudly against my ribs, but I forced myself to stand straight, staring directly at my father for the very first time in my life.

"What did you just say?" My father’s voice dropped to a low, dangerous growl. He stepped away from his desk, his face flushed an angry, mottled red. The financial charts and bank bankruptcy notices scattered across the desk seemed to tremble under his rage. "Say that again, Samantha."

"I said no, Dad. I won't do it," I repeated, my voice shaking despite my best efforts to sound brave. "You can't just sell me off to a stranger because your investments failed. You can't force me to marry him."

I felt the pain before my body could register it. The slap came so fast I didn't even see his hand move. The force of it whipped my head to the side. A sharp, burning sting exploded across my left cheek, and the metallic taste of blood burst onto my tongue. I stumbled back against the cold leather sofa, catching myself before I fell.

"You ungrateful little bitch!" he roared, towering over me, his breath hot and smelling of cheap whiskey. "You live under my roof, you eat my food, and you wear the clothes I paid for! The family business is going under, and you think you have a choice? You will marry David, or I will throw you out onto the street with absolutely nothing!"

I held my burning cheek, my eyes blurring with hot, angry tears. I looked over at my mother, silently begging for a shred of maternal instinct, a single spark of protection.

She didn't even look at me. Instead, she was busy smoothing down the silk skirts of my younger sister, Linda.

"Calm down, Arthur," my mother said softly, her voice dripping with artificial soothing. "Think of your blood pressure. Samantha is just being dramatic, as usual. She knows her duty. She knows that Linda is far too young and fragile for a man like that. It only makes sense for Samantha to go."

I choked out a bitter laugh, wiping the blood from the corner of my mouth. "Too young? Linda is twenty-two! She’s only two years younger than me! You aren't protecting her because she’s young, Mom. You're protecting her because you actually care about her. You’re sacrificing me to save your precious golden child."

From behind my mother’s shoulder, Linda peeked out. The tearful, panicked expression she had been wearing all morning completely vanished, replaced by a slow, triumphant smirk that sickened me. She didn't look like a victim. She looked like a predator that had successfully steered the hunter toward a different target.

"Oh, Samantha," Linda sighed, her voice sickeningly sweet, though her eyes danced with pure malice. "Please don't be like that. Somebody has to save the family. It’s just a marriage. Besides, everyone knows you're much stronger than me. You’re built for... harder things. I’d just break into a house like that."

She was thrilled. She was absolutely glowing with relief and joy because I was the one being led to the slaughterhouse. To them, I wasn't a daughter or a sister. I was an expandable piece of property, a financial shield to block the oncoming bullet of bankruptcy.

"Enough of this nonsense," my father snapped, pulling a heavy set of keys from his pocket. "The marriage registration is scheduled for tomorrow at the courthouse. The David ’s family has already agreed to wire the first round of bailout funds the moment the papers are signed. I am not letting you ruin this for us."

Before I could realize what he was doing, he grabbed my upper arm in a vice-like grip.

"Let go of me!" I shrieked, twisting and pulling against his hold. "Let me go! I’m not doing it!"

He didn't say a word. He dragged me out of the living room, my socks sliding uselessly across the slick hardwood floor. I looked back at my mother and sister. My mother was completely ignoring the violence happening right in front of her, checking her manicure, while Linda watched with a small, pleased smile on her lips.

My father dragged me down the hallway toward the old guest bedroom at the back of the house, a room with no secondary exit and bars on the window from an old security system. He threw me inside so hard I crashed onto the dusty carpet.

"Stay in there and think about your options," he cold-bloodedly barked. "Though you don't have any."

The heavy wooden door slammed shut. A second later, the sharp, definitive click of the deadbolt echoing through the wood sealed my fate.

Hours bled into the night. The room grew freezing cold, but I didn't care. I paced the floor like a caged animal, my mind racing. I couldn't stay here. If I stayed, my life was over. I would be handed over to a wealthy, powerful stranger who probably hated me just as much as I hated this arrangement.

By 2:00 AM, the house was dead silent.

I crept over to the window. The metal bars were old, rusted through near the bottom hinges from years of rain. I grabbed the center bar, pouring every ounce of my desperation into it, and pulled. With a loud, agonizing groan of protesting metal, the bar bent outward, creating just enough space for my thin frame to squeeze through.

My heart leaped into my throat. I can make it.

I carefully pushed my legs through the gap, scraping my waist against the jagged iron. I dropped down into the muddy flowerbeds below, landing with a soft thud. Freedom. The night air hit my face, and for the first time in hours, I felt like I could breathe. I turned toward the back gate, ready to run into the dark and never look back.

Suddenly, a blinding beam of light cut through the darkness, pinning me to the spot.

"Going somewhere, Miss Samantha?"

I jumped at the sound of that cold voice. No... nooo, I can’t be caught. Please, God, no. Without even turning around, I bolted. I ran as fast as I could toward the gate, but I hadn't even reached the edge of the lawn before two burly men stepped out from the shadows.

Before I could scream, a heavy hand clamped over my mouth, cutting off my air. Another pair of arms wrapped around my waist, lifting me completely off the ground.

I thrashed, kicked, and bit down on the hand over my mouth, tasting rough leather and sweat. They didn't even flinch. They carried me back inside like a heavy piece of luggage, ignoring my muffled cries.

They didn't put me back in the bedroom. They dragged me straight into the brightly lit dressing room, where three strange women in uniform were waiting, holding a stark, high-collared white dress. My mother stood in the corner, holding a cup of coffee, looking completely unbothered by the fact that her daughter was being hunted down like an animal.

"Dress her," my mother ordered the maids, her voice completely dead. "The car for the courthouse leaves in three hours. Make sure she looks presentable. Cover up that bruise on her face."

For the next three hours, I was treated like a doll. I was forced into the dress, my hair pulled back so tightly it made my scalp burn. Makeup was caked over the purple bruise my father had left on my cheek. I sat there in total shock, completely numb. I had tried to fight, and I had lost.

The courthouse was a blur of gray stone and cold paperwork. I didn't even look at the man sitting across the table from me while the city official muttered the legal jargon. I just saw a broad silhouette, a sharp jawline, and smelled the heavy, unmistakable scent of expensive whiskey pouring off him. He was drunk. Completely, utterly detached from the reality of what was happening.

He signed his name with a careless, jagged scribble. My father practically shoved the pen into my trembling hand. I signed my own name, feeling like I was signing my own death warrant.

Just like that, I was a wife. I belonged to David.

~~~~~~~~~~

That evening, I was driven to his massive, sprawling mansion on the edge of the city. The house felt like a museum, beautiful, expensive, and completely devoid of life. The maids escorted me up a grand winding staircase and pushed me into the master bedroom, closing the double doors behind me.

I sat on the edge of the sprawling king-sized bed, my fingers digging into the expensive silk duvet just to keep my hands from shaking. The fabric caked over my face felt heavy, a thick layer of makeup masking the bruise my father had left on my cheek. The high, stiff collar of the white dress scratched against my throat every time I took a breath.

Hours rolled past in total, suffocating silence.

Then came the sharp click of the door lock.

David stumbled into the room. The grand double doors swung shut behind him with a heavy thud. He had completely torn his silk tie off, and the top buttons of his white dress shirt were undone, exposing his chest. He was devastatingly handsome, but his eyes were bloodshot, glazed over with heavy alcohol and raw, dark bitterness.

“Oh my little bride is finally here he said staggering towards the bed obviously drunk

He swayed on his feet, closing the distance between us. The suffocating scent of liquor rolled off him, hitting me before he even reached the edge of the bed. He loomed over me, blocking out the dim light of the room.

"So," David mocked, his voice thick and slurred, a cruel smile cutting across his lips. "The little mouse finally crawled into my bed."

Fear flared hot in my chest. I scrambled backward on the mattress, the silk sheets rustling under my hands. "Oh please... you're drunk," I whispered, my voice cracking. "I need to tell you something. I'm not"

"Oh please, sugar, shhhhh," he said drunkenly, taking a clumsy, heavy step forward and stumbling toward the bed.

That was the exact moment my stomach dropped. Looking at the glassy, unseeing glare in his eyes, I knew I was completely done for. He wasn't listening.

Before I could even roll away, he lunged forward.

His heavy frame crashed down on top of me, pinning my thighs and torso against the mattress. The sheer weight of him knocked the breath completely out of my body. My hands flew up, planting frantically against his broad chest, but it was like trying to move a brick wall. He didn't even budge.

"Don't play innocent with me," David growled into the space between us. His large hands clamped around my wrists, his grip like iron handcuffs. With a single, effortless motion, he pinned my arms flat against the mattress above my head, completely rendering me helpless.

I writhed beneath him, arching my back to try and twist out of his hold, but he only pressed down harder, anchoring me to the bed. A hot wave of humiliation washed through my veins. After everything my family had done to me, now this. The utter helplessness was a physical ache in my chest, a tight knot that made it impossible to breathe. I felt small. Completely disposable.

He buried his face into the side of my neck, his hot breath scalding my cold skin.

I squeezed my eyes shut, letting my head fall back into the pillows as tears finally spilled over my burning cheeks. There was no escaping this. I braced myself, tightening every muscle in my body, waiting for the worst night of my life to begin.

But then, his rough movements suddenly slowed. His grip on my wrists loosened just a fraction, and a choked, broken whisper vibrated against my throat.

"Linda..." he groaned, his voice losing its cruelty, replacing it with a desperate, agonizing ache. "Linda... Why did you make me wait so long? You're finally mine, Linda..."

The entire world ground to a sudden, terrifying halt.

The blood in my veins turned to pure ice. He wasn't looking at me. He didn't see the caked-on makeup, the forced white dress, or the tears on my face. In his drunken, clouded mind, he was holding my sister.

The realization hit me like a physical blow to the stomach, leaving me completely numb. A wave of profound, devastating rejection crashed over me. I wasn't just an expandable pawn to my parents, and I wasn't just a sacrificial lamb to my sister. To the man I had just legally bound my life to, I was a ghost. A nameless substitute filling the empty space meant for the golden child.

The sheer humiliation of it hollowed me out completely. I stopped fighting. My muscles went entirely limp beneath him.

David didn't notice the change. The alcohol finally seemed to drag him under. His heavy head sank into the hollow of my shoulder, his grip on my wrists slipping away until his hands rested uselessly on the pillows. Within seconds, his deep, ragged breathing filled the quiet bedroom. He was fast asleep, knocked out cold by the liquor.

Slowly, carefully, I slid out from under his heavy torso, my body trembling so violently I could barely move. I dragged myself to the far corner of the massive bed, pulling my knees tightly against my chest.

I clutched the heavy silk duvet up to my chin, burying my face in the fabric to muffle the quiet, broken sobs shaking my shoulders. The room was dark, cold, and entirely still. The only sound left was the slow, steady rise and fall of David's chest beside me, a bittersweet reminder of the nightmare I was now permanently trapped in.