The moment the double doors of the private chamber, where the buyer meets their acquired commodity, clanged shut, the chaos from the auction hall dulled to a distant hum.
However, Noir barely noticed it. His mind was still occupied by that voice—warm, deep, low as velvet and familiar in a way that made his heart stutter.
Not because of a good reason, but due to a dreadful one.
"You…" Noir whispered, his eyes still wide with disbelief. He cleared his throat after regaining his composure, then he replied with a bowed head, "You are mistaken, my lord. Addressing me in that way… I am just a mere commoner held captive in this house."
His back trickled with cold sweat. He racked his brain as he stood in front of the man, trying to search for a plausible explanation of how he was able to recognize him.
No living person knows that Noir is a guy. That is a secret that—everyone who assisted in his birth—had taken to their graves.
