The Auction Dramione Audiobook Novels & Stories

A faint distortion crossed the screen. “You’ll burn everything to keep her.” Dominic didn’t respond. Because that part was true. The voice continued. “Good.” A pause. “Because I intend to make you.” The screen glitched. Then steadied. “You took her out of the auction.” That word again. Auction. “You disrupted years of planning.” Dominic’s gaze sharpened. “Then come fix it yourself.” A quiet laugh followed. “I will.” The screen flickered again. “And when I do…”

Inside, the party was on. Thirty people—gold and black masks, silk clothes, shiny skin. Center stage: metal frame with black cloth, red ribbon like a snake. Damian stood near in white clothes, silver hair bright, tablet in hand. Seraphina sat on a long chair, gold chain on neck, legs crossed, watching like a boss. The auction was on—a huge screen: LOT 7 – GHOST STAR: RECLAIMED Start bid: $2M They were selling me. Again. I went to the computer room—open, too confident. R’s tool was there: small device under a shelf, light green. I put in the camera’s card—full of new video: victim stories, meeting talks, Damian’s voice bragging. I changed the auction show.

I was so stupid to sign that contract and soon I’ll be too dead to be stupid. “We have the highest bid at twenty five million dollars!” The auctioneer roars. “Do I hear thirty?” It’s just silence. I sway a little and catch myself on one knee, so dizzy with horror that I don’t even register the pain. “This beautiful, untouched gem will be sold to Silas Wren if I don’t have a higher bid. Going in one… two…” My eyes find the lady that warned me where she kneels at the foot of her new owner and a little flash of sadness and sympathy passes over her eyes before she lowers them.

Though the aristocrats in the audience feared Dominic's leverage, their deeply ingrained class arrogance drove them to silently exchange mocking glances, maintaining a collective, chilling refusal to participate. "The opening bid... one thousand credits," the auctioneer muttered, wiping a bead of cold sweat from his forehead. His voice sounded thin and utterly hollow in the suffocating quiet. One second passed. Then two. Not a single paddle was raised. Avery didn't dare turn her head to look at Dorothea, who was nestled tightly in her seat. A sharp ache hit her throat, a wave of heat stinging the corners of her eyes. She didn't care about the mocking stares directed at her own silhouette; sh

The highest bidder gets the asset. The words repeated, a grotesque chorus. Someone had slapped a crudely edited image into the side thread—a mock “lot listing” over her trial notice, starting bid numbers climbing as comments poured in. Elowen stared. Her stomach didn’t drop. It went very, very still. Rae swore, vicious and creative. Kieran’s mouth flattened into a blade. On the far edge of her awareness, Daire’s fury hit the wards like a silent, useless storm. Elowen let the chant wash over her, each “auction” another proof of exactly what she’d named.

She wanted to scream at the information her assistant had just given her. The assistant nodded. “That’s right, Miss. Mr. Draco Riordan was the winner at that auction. That’s how he ended up with Luna.” Mireya’s breathing quickened. Her eyes sharpened dangerously. Her jaw clenched, and her fists balled tightly. Her emotions felt like they were on fire. She never imagined Draco would ever attend such an auction. What the fuck! Mireya was furious. Her fiancé had attended a damn auction that sold poor girls. To hell with the assistant’s explanation that Luna was a good girl. To her, Luna was still just a poor girl from the lowest class. Trash would always be trash.

I hear some voices say. “Stay back. I am going to get something to open the door. I am coming right back,” I say through the window. Draco comes up with a charge to blow the door. “I have the auctioneers restrained. Some of the workers got away, but we got the auctioneers,” Draco says. “Who’s auction is it?” I ask him. “I do not know; I do not recognize any of the auctioneers. They are all new faces,” Draco says.

Everyone applauded the buyer, and then the master of ceremonies announced the next item; a Remy Martin cognac. "Are you going to bid?" Elena questioned. "Yes, soon," Damon averted his gaze from the stage and looked at his wife. "How else will my fucking name become the talk of the elite?" The auction went on smoothly. The bids were high, and people didn't seem to care about the amount of money they would leave in the hall. Valuable items were sold, and Damon bought a Piet Mondrian painting. Elena applauded her husband, like everyone else, but deep down, she just wanted to vomit from disgust.

And I knew, without a doubt, that the world was watching—watching Draco Thorne stake everything he was, every dollar, every ounce of dominance, just to make it clear: I was his. My knees threatened to buckle. I wanted to hide, but I couldn’t look away. Every tick of the auctioneer’s hammer, every gasp of the crowd, only made my heart pound harder. Draco’s lips curved into a faint, knowing smirk—and I felt it deep in my chest, the promise behind it.

“Miss Smith, I suggest you watch your words.” The woman, whose name tag read Jamie Smith, widened her eyes in shock. “You actually married her?” she exclaimed. Sensing something was off, I narrowed my eyes and looked at her. “Miss Smith, you’re the auctioneer, and I’m the buyer. I just won this crown, yet you’re refusing to finalize the sale and are questioning my relationship with my husband. Care to explain what’s going on?” Jamie gritted her teeth and tilted her head slightly, as if trying to hold back tears.