The air was thick with perfume, money, and expectation. I stood behind a velvet curtain in nothing but a thin, silk robe, my hands trembling at my sides. My name wasn’t Camille anymore. I was “Lot Thirty-One.” I stared at the number card in my hand like it had the power to save me, but I already knew what was about to happen. I was going to be sold like property, like flesh, like meat on a silver platter for men who didn’t care who I was—just what I hadn’t done yet.

My brother ...