She didn't lower her eyes.
That alone made her different.
Most of the girls up there break before the gavel drops. The auction strips them bare—spotlights, silence, dozens of eyes crawling over skin that no longer belongs to them. It isn't just humiliation. It's dehumanization refined into art.
But this one stood there, half-exposed in ripped fabric, chained and trembling—and still stared down the room like she had anything left to lose.
The room went quiet when I walked in. That's expected. My name does that.
Cassian Virelli. CEO. Owner of multiple tech companies, two private security firms, and more off-the-record properties than the government would ever know. My name gets things done. Or erased.
I didn't care about the other girls. I was here for one thing.
Sera Elian.
I didn't plan on buying her.
But when I saw her—really saw her—I knew there was no turning back.
Her eyes stopped me. Icy blue. Not frightened. Focused. Like she was memorizing every face in the room, in case she ever got the chance to set it all on fire.
I almost smiled. Almost
She didn't know who I was. Not yet. But I knew everything I needed about her.
Her father, Elias Elian, once tried to leak confidential data from one of my AI defense labs. The man was a genius. Arrogant. Dangerous. But too sentimental—he got caught trying to save his wife and daughter in the process. Ended up dead. His family disappeared. I assumed the girl was hidden or sold by the same people who killed him.
Now she's Lot 43. Stripped down and priced.
They called her docile.
They lied.
"Ten million," I said, and no one dared raise a finger after that.
Money's not the point. Power is.
They unshackled her from the platform just to put her in my chains.
When she was handed off, she said it—low, defiant.
"You don't own me."
That voice. Rough. Tired. Full of bite anyway.
I tilted my head. Didn't smile. Just said, "Not yet."
Because that's how it works. Ownership isn't about the chain around a wrist. It's the grip inside the mind. The moment someone starts doubting they ever had a choice.
***
[Inside the car]
The car ride was silent.
I could feel her trying to make herself invisible in the backseat, pressed up against the window like the glass might save her.
She wore shame like a second skin. Tugged the hem of her torn dress lower. Folded her arms over the exposed neckline. But not once did she beg.
Interesting.
She caught me watching in the rearview mirror and met my eyes again. Just for a second.
I didn't look away.
Neither did she.
This was going to be fun.
***
[Arrival at his estate – the mansion]
I live high above the city—glass, steel, silence. People call it a fortress. I call it clarity.
She looked small stepping out of the car, but not fragile. Just… caged.
The guards at the gate opened the doors. No questions. They knew better.
She hesitated.
One step inside, and she was mine by more than paperwork.
"Move," I said.
She did.
Slow. Careful. Not defeated.
Her silence screamed.
I didn't show her a room. I didn't offer kindness. I took her straight to the observation wing—an entire level designed for surveillance, control, and silence.
"You'll sleep here," I said, opening the door to a clean but sparse bedroom. No locks. No weapons. No illusions.
She looked around. Then back at me.
"That's it?"
"That's enough."
She didn't ask what I wanted. Not yet. But the question hung between us.
Eventually, they all ask.
Instead, she whispered something unexpected. Quiet. Meant to be under her breath.
"I won't break."
I stepped closer.
"You don't have to," I said. "You just have to bend."