Page 16 of Auctioned to My Bratva Boss

Before I could answer, he grabbed his jacket and walked out without looking back.

The door closed. I collapsed backward, sinking into the soft mattress.

"Okay... Sir." I whispered the words, tasting each letter, unable to suppress the flutter in my chest.

Without this auction, there'd never be anything between us. Our relationship would've stayed boss and employee until one of us died.

But not anymore. He said everything about me belonged to him for the next two months.

I wasn't sure what "everything" included. But at least Evelyn's medical bills were covered, right? Better than watching our mother drink and shoot up until she never woke up.

I wasn't that helpless little girl anymore.

I took a deep breath, buried my face in the down pillow. Cedar mixed with hormones hit me—like Matvey was still in the room. I inhaled hard.

"Knock knock knock." Polite rapping at the door.

I opened it.

A uniformed woman stood outside, beside a massive rolling rack loaded with the latest designer pieces.

"Ms. Quinn, these are from Mr. Bykov. Already altered to your measurements," she said respectfully.

I didn't process it at first. Altered to my measurements? When did he measure me?

The image that surfaced answered my question—he'd touched every inch of my body. I had reason to believe he knew me inside and out.

I let her in. The torn black fabric on the floor and lingering musk made me blush.

"You can pick anything, or I can help you coordinate?" A professionally trained smile still lingered on her face.

"Ah... I'll manage." I ran my hand along the clothes. Every fabric felt smooth and luxurious.

I chose a pale gray silk blouse and black skirt.

I thought I was prepared. I wasn't prepared enough. "Custom-tailored" took on new meaning. The clothes wrapped my body perfectly. My chest wasn't strangled, the waist didn't gap and need clips.

"Beautiful, Ms. Quinn." Her eyes held genuine admiration. "Very flattering."

The kindness caught me off guard.

"Um... thanks." My voice came out awkward.

I was so used to mockery and disgust. Sincere praise felt almost foreign.

I had her take the rest away—couldn't imagine when I'd wear such beautiful things.

"If you need anything, call the front desk." She bowed at the door. "Breakfast will arrive shortly."

Breakfast was a seasonal fruit tart, a cream-filled croissant, and a pot of steaming pour-over coffee. Arranged like art on my table.

I sat in the plush armchair by the floor-to-ceiling window, gazed at the New York skyline, and ate my croissant.

Last night I'd been hauled in here blindfolded like merchandise. This morning I sat here drinking pour-over, watching the view.

Life was fucking surreal.

I should enjoy today. For myself—that was the plan.