Anika/AnyaThe blinding lights of the stage hit me even harder than my captor did an hour ago. All eyes are on me as I stand in nothing but a low-cut chiffon dress, barefoot, and a face full of makeup to cover my cuts and bruises.“Don’t do anything to her face, assholes!” one of my captors had said, but the damage had been done. All because I had been too out of it to notice what had been done to me… What they would still do to me.I landed in Las Vegas yesterday, ready to celebrate my 21st birthday with a few close friends. Everything was perfect until we reached our final hotel bar crawl. We ordered glasses of champagne, and when I got up to head to the bathroom, a hand clamped around my mouth, and darkness took me before I could scream for help from Liev, my personal guard.Guards, you ask? Well, my name is Anya Popov, and before my abduction, I was the only daughter of a Russian Pakhan Alpha - a mafia princess for a better term. The only difference is I’m human - a flaw to a grea

Bastien The weight of the recent events weighs heavily on my mind as I walk toward my office. The familiar dark wooden panels and the soft hum of the dim lights overhead usually brought a sense of comfort, but tonight, they were mere distractions. My mind drifts back to the woman I saved at my auction; the doll with the midnight black hair and piercing blue eyes. Something that innocent shouldn’t have been there, and I still don’t fucking know why. Anika, or whoever she claims to be, is a mystery wrapped in a riddle. The way she spoke, the nervous flicker in her blue eyes, every move she made screamed that she was hiding something. And I, who had always prided myself on being able to read people, found her unreadable. As I settle behind my desk, the door to my office opens without a knock, revealing Andrej, my most trusted Beta and close friend. The look on his face confirms my suspicions. “Bastien,” he begins, his normally calm voice laced with urgency, “We ran a complete searc

BastienI had hoped that seeing Niko would offer some form of reprieve, but the reality was that it only served to intensify the uncertainty and concern of the entire situation.Niko is the first to break the silence as I sit down fow lunch with him and Mia, his tone teasing but laced with genuine concern. “Here I thought you’d wear a happy expression after your auction. Not enough assholes selling their souls?”A wry chuckle escapes my lips, the irony of the situation not lost on me. “Good to see you walking around again, little brother. But no, I’m currently buried under the stress of what happened at my auction.”Niko’s brow furrows, his gaze piercing. “What’s that supposed to mean?”Taking a deep breath, I laid out the details. “Diavolos snuck a woman into my auction; apparently, I had given my go-ahead because it was the fifth year of my success and, I quote, ‘anything goes’.”Niko’s reaction is immediate and visceral. “A fucking... wait, is she a human?”I nod, feeling a weight

Anika / AnyaAnother day spent pacing the floor and slowly going insane. It’s been three days since I last saw Bastien or heard anything from him. There’s a guard outside my door who brings me food during the day, even though I was told I’m allowed to walk around.As I sink onto the floor yet again, I hear the door opening and jump to my feet. It’s my guard.“The Alpha wants to see you in his office,” he says, then cocks his head for me to follow him.My heart skips a beat. This is it — another unwanted interaction with the man who claims to own me after three days of silence. I can’t let him see how he’s getting to me. Taking a deep breath, I force my legs to carry me as I follow the guard to his office, each step echoing down the marble corridors of the penthouse.As I enter, the office feels like a stronghold within a fortress—dark wood, leather-bound books, and walls adorned with art that probably cost more than a small country. Bastien is seated behind his desk, shrouded in the

Anika / AnyaA month. It’s been a whole month since I was confined to this gilded cage, tethered to a switchboard in the corner of Bastien’s sprawling penthouse office. Initially, the wires had seemed like shackles, but over time, they’ve become almost comforting. A routine within the chaos. I’d never worked a day in my life before this, but now I find myself quite adept at juggling calls, directing inquiries, and handling irate customers who’ve lost more than their wallets at Bastien’s casinos.I’ve become a pro at this switchboard thing, if I do say so myself. Over a month of directing calls to “Mr. Duval’s office,” “Accounting,” or the “VIP Casino Suite,” and I’ve made minimal mistakes. I’ve even memorized some of the regular callers’ voices—Mr. Rodriguez, who always wants accounting but forgets the extension, or Miss Williams, who speaks so softly it’s like she’s sharing state secrets.It’s a Thursday, and the day promises the same monotony as the ones before it. Bastien is here