The first thing Selene felt was the cold.

Not the kind of cold that pricked your skin, but the kind that crawled under it—bone-deep, merciless, leaving you raw. Damp air pressed against her lungs, reeking of sweat, rot, and iron.

She blinked, her eyes struggling against the flickering fluorescent light above. A cracked concrete ceiling, streaked with mold and water stains, loomed over her. Her head throbbed. Her tongue tasted of blood and cotton.

A sound pulled her back.

A sob. Thin. Shattered. Followed by another. And another.

Selene turned. Girls huddled together against the walls, arms locked around their knees, skin bruised, eyes hollow. Some were no older than sixteen. Some bore burns. Some were too quiet.

A holding cell. Not a room. Not safety. Merchandise storage.

Selene’s stomach churned. The memory of two nights ago crashed into her like a blade. Jasper’s betrayal. The sharks. The blow to her skull.

Her fists curled. Rage burned away the numbness.

That bastard sold me.

A small moan drifted from beside her. A girl—frail, with arms wrapped so tightly around herself she looked like she might snap—shivered under the dim light. Selene caught sight of burns up and down her legs. Cigarette marks.

Selene’s chest tightened.

The door screeched open.

Every whisper died. Every tear froze.

She entered like she owned Hell itself.

A woman, early forties, in a rigid, high-collared brown suit. Her red hair was slicked back like steel wire. Her pale face was a mask of authority. Behind her, three armed men scanned the room with predator’s eyes.

The woman’s heels clicked like gunfire as she stopped in the center.

“Listen up, girls.” Her accent was sharp—Russian, maybe. “Tonight, a very important guest arrives. You will not cry. You will not resist. You will smile, obey, and thank him. Do you understand?”

No one answered.

She snapped her fingers. “I said, do you understand me?”

“Yes, ma’am,” came the chorus of broken replies.

Selene stayed silent.

The woman’s gaze locked on her. “You. With the eyes. You think you’re different?”

Selene pushed herself up. Her 6’1 frame towered, her shadow stretching across the wall. “No,” she said, voice cool. “I just think I still have a soul. Unlike you.”

The woman smirked. “Fire. I like fire. The guest will love you.”

Selene’s lip curled. “You’re filth.”

The smirk died. She stepped closer, faces inches apart. “Power doesn’t care about right or wrong. Only leverage. You? You’re leverage.”

“You’re a woman,” Selene hissed. “How do you do this to women?”

The woman’s eyes hardened. “Because weakness never saved anyone. Same way it didn’t save you from your wise brother when he sold you for 20 grands.”

Selene didn’t think. Her hand moved on instinct.

CRACK.

Her palm smashed across the woman’s cheek.

Silence. The guards froze.

The woman’s head turned with the force. A red handprint bloomed on her pale skin. Her lips twisted into a venomous smile.

“Well. You’ll regret that.”

The guards lunged. Selene fought like a cornered animal. She kicked one in the shin, punched another, until a third slammed her skull against the wall. Her vision swam.

The woman approached. Three brutal slaps cracked across Selene’s face, the last splitting her lip. Blood dripped down her chin.

“You want to be a savior?” the woman sneered. “Let’s see how long that lasts.”

Selene spat blood at her feet. “You’re a disgrace to womanhood.”

The woman only smiled. “And you’re product now. Take her.”

Chains snapped around Selene’s wrists and ankles. She fought, screamed, but the men dragged her through the hall like an animal to slaughter.

They shoved her into a scratchy sackcloth dress, one meant to show flesh, not cover it. Then they dragged her into blinding light.

The stage.

The hall reeked of wealth and rot. Velvet curtains, champagne fountains, smoke curling in the air. Men in tuxedos. Women in gowns. All hungry. All watching.

The auctioneer, thin and slick in a golden suit, raised his hand. “Ladies and gentlemen, our crown jewel. Virgin. Exotic. Strong. Let’s start at forty thousand.”

Bids fired instantly.

“Fifty!”

“Seventy-five!”

“Two hundred!”

Selene shut her eyes, humiliation burning through her. Rage steadied her trembling body. She thought of Jasper. His betrayal. His face.

“Four hundred!”

“Six hundred!”

Her vision blurred with tears she refused to let fall.

Then—

A voice cut the chaos. Low. Rich. Deadly.

“One million dollars.”

Silence.

The auctioneer’s throat bobbed. “Sold… to Mr. Lucien Vale.”

Selene’s heart dropped.

Lucien Vale. Mafia king. Sicilian butcher. Killer whispered about across continents.

The devil himself had bought her.

Cold water slammed into her body like needles. Selene jerked, but chains locked her wrists and ankles to a steel tub. A gag sealed her mouth, tape crushing her muffled cries.

Men scrubbed her like livestock. Their laughter cut deeper than their hands. One leaned close, whispering filth. She turned her face away, teeth grinding.

Tears burned her eyes. Rage whispered through her bones. Jasper. You sold me to animals. I’ll never forgive you.

A guard reached lower, his grin vile—

BANG!

Blood sprayed across Selene’s face. The man dropped, a bullet hole in his forehead.

Silence froze the others.

From the shadows, he stepped forward.

Lucien Vale.

Tall. Black suit, cut to kill. Presence sharper than knives. His eyes cut across the room—cold, assessing, lethal.

Beside him, a woman in blood-red silk lowered a smoking pistol.

Lucien’s jaw tightened at the sight of Selene shackled, bruised, gagged. The smallest twitch of his brow revealed something dangerous—annoyance.

The red-haired woman from earlier stumbled in. “S-sir, I didn’t—”

Lucien’s voice was quiet. Too quiet. “You know I don’t like my property touched.”

She dropped to her knees. “Please—I didn’t—”

“And I heard you hit her.”

Her face drained. She began slapping herself. “I’m sorry! I—”

“Bring me the guards who touched her,” Lucien ordered.

Minutes later, they entered. Two shots rang. Both dropped dead.

The red-bloused woman turned to the redhead. “Next time you lay a hand on one of his, cut off your own first.”

The redhead fled. A third gunshot ended her screaming down the hall.

Lucien crouched in front of Selene. He ripped the tape and gag away.

Selene gasped for air, trembling.

His voice was a razor. “Name.”

“S–Selene,” she whispered. “Selene Raine.”

The surname hung in the air.

Lucien froze. His expression sharpened, the temperature dropping like icewater. For a long moment, nothing moved.

Then he rose. “Get her dressed. I’ll wait in the car.”

Outside, his tattooed enforcer lit a cigarette. “You just bought the daughter of the couple you killed.”

Lucien’s gaze didn’t flicker. “I know.”

Inside, Selene sat frozen. Her body shook, but her mind burned.

“Lucien Vale. He killed my parents…”

All these years she thought they abandoned her. Hated them for leaving. But no—he had taken them. And now she was in his hands.

Her lip trembled. Her jaw locked. “The devil just bought me,” she whispered.

But then—resolve. Sharp. Steady.

If fate delivered her to the man who destroyed her life, then so be it. She would play her role. Smile. Pretend. Wait.

And when the time came—

She would kill Lucien Vale.

Even if it meant her own death.