Alejandro parked his car outside of his father's mansion, his grip tightening on the steering wheel. He closed his eyes for a second and exhaled slowly, his jaw clenched with the weight of fury and dread pressing down on his chest. His father, Salvatore, had always been a man capable of horrific things, but orchestrating Rose's disappearance? That was a new level of low, even for him.
He stepped out of the car, the cold wind slicing through his jacket as he made his way to the towering iron gates. The mansion loomed ahead, regal and lifeless. A grotesque palace where warmth had never set foot. Every step he took echoed in the vast marble hallway, bouncing off walls that had seen more bloodshed than laughter.
He found Salvatore seated in the living room, nonchalantly flipping through documents. The fireplace was lit but it brought no comfort. The flickering flames cast shadows on Salvatore's face, enhancing the perpetual cruelty in his eyes. When he looked up and met Alejandro's glare, he smiled as if nothing was amiss.
"Ah, my son. Long time no see," Salvatore greeted, setting the papers on the table like they were of no importance.
Alejandro didn't sit. He didn't blink.
"Where is Rose?" he demanded, his voice tight with suppressed rage.
Salvatore raised an amused brow. "Isn't she with Nikolai?"
"Don't you dare play that game with me. We know you paid Marius ten million to host a pre-Halloween festival. The same carnival that has never had a blackout in all the years it's existed. And it just so happens to have one now, while Rose was there? While she was in the dark?" Alejandro leaned forward. "Rose is afraid of the dark. You knew that."
Salvatore's lips curled into a smirk. "Hey, I just wanted her to enjoy an early Halloween event. Nothing wrong with a little seasonal joy."
Alejandro's fists trembled at his sides. "Bullshit. You don't give a damn about Rose. You sold her off to Nikolai for some dealDon't act like you suddenly care about her happiness."
Salvatore chuckled darkly. "So what if I paid Marius to host the event? So what if I made a few calls? That doesn't prove I had anything to do with what happened next. I was here the whole time. Lounging, as you see me now."
"You monster," Alejandro hissed.
Salvatore stood slowly, straightening the cuffs of his suit with maddening composure. "Alejandro, even if I did know something... what could you do? Hm? Call the cops? You think the law scares me?"
Alejandro's eyes burned. "Tell me where she is. Right now."
"I don't know. I really don't," Salvatore said, feigning innocence. "All I did was help arrange the carnival. But if I had to guess..."
He checked the time on his silver Rolex.
"You're too late. She's probably being prepped for the auction as we speak."
The word auction dropped like a grenade.
Alejandro stumbled back, disbelief and horror swallowing him whole.
"You bastard."
He didn't wait for a reply. He bolted from the room, running down the marble hallway, out the door, and into his car. His chest heaved as he slammed his hand against the steering wheel. Then, he turned the ignition and sped down the driveway.
Rose, please be okay. Please.
---
The auction house was nothing like Rose imagined.
Cold.
Sterile.
Lavish, but not comforting. Every gold trim on the walls, every pristine crystal chandelier, screamed of cruelty masked as elegance. It was silent in the long hallway, the kind of silence that gnaws at your bones.
Things had happened so fast.
One moment, the lights at the carnival had gone out, and the next... she was sedated, thrown into a black van. Kept in some room with too many boxes.
Now, she was in another one, this time colder. More clinical. A dressing room lined with mirrors and floodlights. A room that belonged on a movie set, not reality.
But this was reality.
And in this reality, she had been stripped of her name.
They didn't call her Rose.
They called her "#47."
Like she was inventory. A fucking product.
Her red curls were brushed and styled, her lips stained a deep red. They had done her makeup too, highlighting her cheekbones, her eyes.
"Take off the robe," a woman ordered.
She was tall, bone-thin, wearing all black and a headset.
Rose didn't move.
The woman sighed and stepped forward. "We don't have all day, 47. Take off the robe. You'll be changed into something the buyers will appreciate."
Buyers.
She felt like she might vomit.
Still, her hands moved, trembling as she untied the robe. It fell to her feet, and she stood there, vulnerable, exposed to the air that felt too sharp against her skin.
Another woman approached with a hanger. On it was a sheer black dress. Delicate, almost transparent, the fabric looked like it could melt in a second. The kind of dress designed to humiliate, to flaunt.
"Put it on," she said.
Rose reached for it, her fingers brushing the fragile fabric. Her heart thundered against her ribs.
You are not a number, she reminded herself. You are not a thing.
But in this place, under these lights, it was so hard to believe that.
They didn't leave her alone to change. They stayed, watching, making sure she didn't run. Not that she could. Two guards had been stationed outside the door since they brought her here.
She stepped into the dress. It clung to her body, draped across her curves like a shadow. She hated how it felt. Hated how it looked. The woman reached forward and clipped a tag to the hem: "#47."
As if she needed a reminder.
Another woman came in with a clipboard.
"Next up: 47. Opening bid starts at two million."
The first woman nodded. "She's ready. Take her to the waiting hall."
The waiting hall.
The place where women waited like cattle before being paraded out to the monsters.
Rose didn't speak as she was led down another hallway. The chandelier lights sparkled like a cruel joke overhead. The doors loomed ahead, double doors with gold trim, beyond them the sound of soft music and clinking glasses.
She was shown to a chair in a long line of women. Most of them looked like her — young, scared, some trying not to cry, others looking like they already had.
No one spoke.
Not a single word.
Rose stared ahead, her fingers digging into her knees.
Alejandro, Nikolai...
Would anyone come?
Did they even know where she was?
She didn't know how much time had passed. The minutes felt endless. Like sitting at the edge of a nightmare, waiting for it to swallow you whole.
A door to her left opened.
"#46."
The girl beside her stood, eyes wide, shoulders shaking. She disappeared into the hallway, and the door closed behind her.
Rose tried not to think about what was on the other side.
Another minute. Another call.
"#47, you're up."
Rose stood slowly, her legs numb, her lungs tight.
The woman with the clipboard stepped beside her, guiding her to the hallway. Her heels echoed with every step. Louder and louder. Like a countdown.
Don't cry, she told herself. Don't fall apart. You are Rose. You are not their possession.
She reached the curtain that separated her from the stage.
From the buyers.
From the monsters.
She closed her eyes.
And the curtain began to rise.