SOLD TO HIM
Back in the auction hall, chaos buzzed through the crowd. The air was thick with murmurs, the kind that rolled like a wave across the red velvet seats. Damian Voss had already turned to leave, his expression unreadable, his steps steady as he prepared to claim the girl he had just bought.
Then the host's voice sliced through the room like a blade.
"Bid of $1.5 million!"
Gasps erupted everywhere.
Damian paused mid-step.
Whispers filled the hall in seconds.
"Who bid that high?"
"Is he insane?"
"This is… this is madness!"
The host herself blinked in disbelief, clutching the microphone. "U-Uh—$1.5 million going once—"
Across the room, a man slowly lowered his paddle, a smug smirk tugging at his lips. Louis Carter—Damian's long-time rival in business and everything else. He lounged back casually, eyes fixed on Damian like he had won.
Damian turned around fully, calm, collected, but the tension in the air sharpened instantly.
Louis raised his brows. "She's interesting," he said, loud enough for the whole front row to hear. "And you know how much I enjoy taking what you want."
A ripple of uneasy laughter swept through the crowd.
The host swallowed nervously. "$1.5 million going—"
Before she could finish, Damian lifted his paddle without hesitation.
"Three million."
Silence. Dead silence.
Even the guards by the stage stiffened.
The host nearly dropped the microphone. "$3… million?"
Damian didn't blink. "If anyone thinks they can bid more," he said calmly, "I'll wait."
Every head turned to Louis.
Louis opened his mouth—then shut it. His smirk faded. He knew better. Crossing Damian this far would not only cost money… it would cost consequences.
"Going once," the host said quickly.
Her voice trembled.
"Going twice…"
Louis shifted uncomfortably.
"Sold! To Mr. Damian Voss for three million dollars!"
The crowd exploded into murmurs again, some shocked, some fearful.
Damian didn't spare Louis a second glance.
He walked out with the finality of a storm.
---
He Returned for Her
The backroom was dim. Alina was still curled on the small bench where the guards had left her. Her eyes swollen, body limp from exhaustion, clothes still damp from the rain.
She had cried herself into sleep.
Damian stepped inside quietly. For a moment, he simply stood there, looking at her—this fragile, trembling girl who had been dragged here like something disposable. Her hair clung to her cheeks, her breathing unsteady.
She stirred just as he reached her.
Her eyes fluttered open, half-awake, half-gone.
"Don't…" Her voice cracked. "Don't touch me…"
She wasn't even strong enough to pull away. But she tried—weakly, helplessly.
Damian looked down at her, expression unchanged. "You're feverish."
"My life…" she whispered faintly, "is this the end? Am I… an object now?"
Her voice broke. She wasn't speaking to him. She was speaking to the universe, begging, questioning, drowning.
"Why… why did this happen… why did they do this to me…?" she murmured, tears slipping down her temple.
Damian exhaled slowly, almost silently. He hated questions like that. Hated how they hit things inside him he had buried long ago.
"You need rest," he said firmly.
She blinked up at him, vision blurry. "Please… please don't hurt me…"
"I don't hurt people who aren't threats."
Her eyes softened for a second, confused. "Then… why… buy me…?"
He didn't answer. He simply slipped an arm under her knees and another around her back.
Alina panicked, voice barely a whisper. "No—please—I can walk—"
"You can barely lift your head," he said. "Don't argue."
"I'm not yours," she breathed.
"You were sold," he replied. "Whether you like it or not."
Her breath hitched painfully. "That's not fair."
"Life isn't."
Her tears warmed his shirt as he lifted her. She clung weakly to his jacket, not out of desire—but desperation not to fall.
Her head rested against his shoulder. She was too tired to resist.
He carried her out into the hall. People stared, whispering as he passed, but his expression warned them to stay silent.
---
The Ride
The car door shut behind her with a heavy thud. Damian sat across from her, hands clasped, watching her through unreadable eyes.
She curled into the seat, coughing softly. Sweat dotted her forehead.
"You're sick," he said.
"You bought me sick," she muttered weakly.
Damian almost snorted. Almost.
"It was the rain," she whispered. "I walked home in it… before…" Her voice cracked. "Before everything."
Her thoughts spun, her breath shaking uncontrollably.
Damian turned his eyes away for a moment. "You'll be treated immediately."
"I don't want your help."
"You need it."
Alina trembled harder. "Why do you speak like that?"
"Like what?"
"Like you decide everything."
"Because I do."
Her head snapped up weakly. "You don't own me."
His gaze hardened. "Legally? I do."
Her heart dropped to her stomach. Tears rolled silently.
"Stop crying," he said.
"I—I'm not crying," she lied, wiping her cheek pathetically.
The driver said nothing. No one dared interrupt.
Alina clutched her knees, her voice cracking again. "They sold me like nothing. My dad… he didn't even… look back…"
Damian's jaw tightened.
"Get some sleep," he said quietly.
"You can't just—just take me—"
"You'll collapse before you finish arguing."
Her eyelids drooped. Her body shook with fever. She hated it. Hated being weak in front of him.
As she drifted, she whispered, barely audible:
"Please… I just want someone to care…"
Damian's eyes flickered.
But he said nothing.
---
At the Penthouse
The elevator doors opened to a private entryway lined with marble and soft lights. Two personal staff members stood waiting.
"She has a fever," Damian said.
"Yes, sir."
They moved immediately, gently lifting her out of the car. Alina whimpered, waking slightly.
Damian walked beside them.
"Where… where am I…?" she whispered.
"Somewhere safer than the auction," he said.
"That doesn't mean safe."
He ignored the comment.
"You'll be treated. Rest first."
Her voice wobbled. "Why bother?"
Damian paused mid-step.
Her eyes met his—weak, glossy, heartbroken.
"I'm just something you bought."
"You're not something."
His voice was low. Controlled.
"Then what am I?" she asked, hurt spilling through every word.
He didn't answer.
He couldn't.
Not yet.
---
Restlessness
Hours later, Damian stood by the glass wall of his penthouse bedroom, staring out at the city while the storm continued outside.
Behind him, through the half-open door, he could hear the soft murmurs of the doctor and the rustle of blankets where Alina slept fitfully.
He should've been sleeping. He had business in the morning. Meetings. Contracts. Deals worth more than the auction bid.
But every time he closed his eyes, he saw her face—
Rain-soaked. Terrified. Betrayed in a way he recognized too well.
"Sir," his assistant said quietly behind him, "doctor says her fever is stabilizing."
Damian nodded once.
"She'll be fine by morning."
"Good."
The assistant hesitated. "Should I prepare a separate room for her long-term stay?"
Damian didn't turn around. "No."
"No?"
"She stays in the east wing. Keep her isolated from the staff. No one interacts with her unless I approve it."
"Yes, sir."
When the assistant left, Damian finally allowed himself to exhale.
He didn't know why he cared.
He didn't like asking himself why.
But he couldn't forget the look in her eyes when she whispered:
"Am I now an object?"
Or the way her voice cracked when she said:
"I just want someone to care."
He hated those words.
Because he felt them.
Too much.
---
In Her Room
Alina stirred. Her fever had broken but exhaustion weighed her limbs down like lead. The sheets beneath her were soft, far too soft for someone who had grown up with hand-me-down blankets.
She touched her forehead. Cool. Someone had taken care of her.
Someone had sat by her side.
Someone had watched her breathe.
The realization made her chest tighten in confusion.
She forced her eyes open and stared at the unfamiliar ceiling, her voice cracking into the quiet room.
"What… is happening to my life…?"
She didn't know Damian was standing at the door, watching her silently.
His expression unreadable.
His presence impossible to ignore.
And for the first time since the auction…
Alina wasn't sure whether to fear him…
Or the strange, dangerous comfort he brought with him.