Page 42 of The Auction

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The tension cracks like thunder.

“…Sold.”

His voice rings out like a gavel.

“To Mr. Jaxon Kane.”

To say I’m pissed doesn’t even scrape the surface.

I’m a fucking inferno in a white button-down, barely keeping it together as I storm through The Ledger’s interior halls.

The Companions are taken backstage after their lots are over, tucked away in private rooms while their contracts are finalized.

Cassidy’s back there too.

But she’s not a Companion.

She’s not some woman trained to stand on a stage and auction off pieces of herself to the highest bidder. She’s not polished seduction or curated fantasy.

She’s Cassidy.

My Cass?—

I stop that thought cold.

Mine?

No.

Yes.

I don’t know.

She’s not mine, but she sure as hell isn’ttheirs.

And not like this.

Not offering up her virginity to a crowd of champagne-soaked billionaires like it’s some kind of limited edition.

My stomach churns at the thought.

If I’d walked out earlier—if I’d not been curious to see what the big deal was on the last lot—some mother fucker, like Elijah, could’ve walked away with her. Fucking Elijah. That smug little bastard with too much money and no conscience. He would’ve bragged about it for the rest of his life. Turned her into some story he’d retell to dinner guests with a smirk and a brandy.

I nearly choke on the idea, shoving past a server and barely register his startled noise. The poor guy trying to guide me toward the private suites looks like he’s debating pissing himself or running.

He fucking should.

I’m hanging on by threads.

The moment he points out the door, I don’t wait. I don’t knock. I push through like a storm, half expecting to find her crying. Ashamed. Scared.

But what I get instead?—

She whirls around the moment I burst in.

Hair wild. Dress glittering. Her eyes—fucking hell, her eyes—blazing with fury.

No fear. No apology.

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