Page 19 of Auctioned to My Bratva Boss

I will.

Outside her room, I unmuted my phone. The notification barrage nearly made me drop it.

"Riley, where the fuck are you?"

"Miss work and you're fired!"

Knew it. Kate's messages. Wish she'd understand phones aren't just for harassing subordinates on their days off.

I splurged on an Uber. The second I stepped into the design department, files flew at my head.

"Riley, finally remembered you have a job?" Her shrill voice scraped my eardrums.

Know the sound of chalk on a blackboard? Similar. My scalp tightened.

"These files are waiting for you. Get to work!" She pointed at my desk.

Piled with her tasks. I skimmed through—not one was actually mine. PowerPoints, spreadsheets, proofreading... even a Post-it on my monitor.

"One latte, no sugar, one black coffee, thanks."

What the hell was I even here for?

I came to Bykov Group because it was one of New York's best luxury companies.

Thought I'd learn something, get real design experience—even just organizing materials or observing design reviews.

Obviously not. Two months of running errands, printing, buying coffee, organizing floor-wide reports—but never once touched a design pencil.

But what could I do? Just an intern. The only option was to keep my head down. Didn't even have the right to look up.

After finishing most tasks, I went to the break room for water—didn't want another verbal lashing from that witch Kate.

Several coworkers clustered in the back, men and women.

"Riley Quinn? That intern? Total country bumpkin."

"Fat as a pig. How'd she pass the design interview?"

"Someone like her probably never saw real jewelry before."

They burst out laughing. These assholes!

When they needed me to print files or buy coffee, "Quinn, you're the best" rolled right off their tongues, acted like old friends. But behind my back, this.

I took a deep breath, swallowed my rage, and walked in—didn't want to make waves. Just an intern.

The damn laughter stopped cold, but they all wore smug smiles.

"Hi, Riley." One forced a greeting.

Seriously, no need to force small talk, you little shits!

I returned to my desk, organized everything, then pulled out my sketchbook. Kate had her own office, my cubicle was far enough—she shouldn't see what I was doing.

The moment pencil hit paper, I relaxed. Gray lines calmed me. I drew rings, necklaces, bracelets... I'd loved shiny things since I was little.

"What are you doing?" Kate appeared behind me out of nowhere.