Page 38 of The Auction
I clicked the link into the client portal and saw his full history—dates, payments, preferences. Things I didn’t want to know.
But I also found what I needed.
The Black Ledger’s downtown address. And an invite to the upcoming auction, disguised as a charity gala.
Jonathan had RSVP’d no and I actually felt relieved—briefly.
But the auction was real. And so was everything it represented.
By the time the sun rose, I knew what I was going to do.
I’d show up in person. I’d find whoever was in charge and I wouldn’t take no for an answer.
Because like it or not, this was the only option I had left.
Now that I’m here—wrapped in a red sequin gown that clings like sin and catches the light with every breath—I can’t stop retracing the steps that brought me to this moment, wondering if any of them were the right ones.
Then I remember Jonathan’s text from this morning.
No“How’s Mom?”
No“Where are we staying once the house is gone?”
Just a cold list of tasks like everything is normal, like our lives aren’t crumbling.
That was the final push.
I’m not just doing this to save our home—I’m doing it to make a statement. A defiant, furiousfuck youto the person who left me to clean up his mess.
Eve finds me backstage as the current lot winds down. She’s dressed in a deep crimson gown, every detail immaculate, herpresence quiet but commanding. The kind of beauty that turns heads and holds them. And she’s nothing like I expected.
Kind. Grounded. Even gentle.
She and another Companion, Sienna—closer to my age—spoke with me this morning. It wasn’t a sales pitch. It felt more like a soft checkpoint. They asked the right questions. Made sure I understood what I was walking into. And at every step, they reminded me I could walk away.
But I didn’t.
I never mentioned Jaxon. I couldn’t risk it.
He said this kind of thing wasn’t for him—that he wouldn’t be here. And I made sure it stayed that way. I shut off my location, silenced every notification, and put my phone on airplane mode before the Ledger team got to work.
And they didn’t hold back.
A full-body wax I wasn’t emotionally prepared for. A massage with oils I wanted to bottle and hoard. Then came the glam—hair, makeup, everything curated with precision. And finally, the red dress collection.
Gowns in every shade of scarlet, worn only by Companions beginning or ending contracts. Symbols, I’m told.
The one I chose—or maybe the one that chose me—fits like a secret. All shimmer and movement, as if I were dipped in heat and starlight.
It’s no wonder this place commands what it does. It’s not just luxury—it’s power. The exclusivity alone gives me hope that someone might pay enough to keep the bank from taking everything.
Hope that this choice, reckless as it feels, might still mean something more than shame.
The moment comes and I’m led toward the stage, but the curtain shields me from view. I can hear the crowd—restless and humming with anticipation. Voices overlap, a low thrum ofwealth and want. The lights beyond the velvet glow too bright to see past, but I catch a glimpse of tuxedos and tailored suits. Men with money. With appetites.
And they’re all waiting forme.
The auctioneer’s voice cuts through the noise, smooth and confident.
