Page 5 of Bought By the Ruthless Pakhan

I picked up my champagne glass. The glass was cool against my palm. But the fire didn't go out—it burned hotter.

Six hundred thousand. Not much.

I raised my hand. My bidding paddle went up.

The room fell silent for a beat. The host's voice cracked, every word sounding like it was being squeezed out of a strangled throat. "S-six hundred thousand! Sold!"

She probably couldn't believe it either—that someone would pay six hundred thousand for a club girl.

I leaned back in my chair, watching her through the noise and chaos. She stood on that stage, confusion written all over her face, until a staff member led her away. For a moment, I could feel her bewilderment, like a baby animal dragged out of its familiar cage, not even knowing where to put her feet.

I picked up the drink again. Most of the ice had melted. Didn't taste great.

My assistant Dmitri leaned over, grinning knowingly. "Bro, how long's it been since you touched a woman? You good?"

Am I good?

Was he joking? He was absolutely insulting me. He had no idea there was a raging beast inside me right now, thrashing around ever since she opened her mouth and said six hundred thousand.

I ignored him and followed a staff member's signal toward the room—where my high-priced prey was waiting.

The hallway was long, wall sconces spaced far apart, light breaking into fragments at my feet. Cold air poured in from the far end, pressing down the fire churning in my chest. I pulled out my cigarette case, lit one, and let it hang from my lips. The nicotine sank down my throat, but that splinter in my thumb was still there, brushing against my nerves.

I pushed the door open, almost impatient.

Unexpectedly, no surprise. No tears either.

She stood by the window, pushing it open, looking down to gauge the distance to the ground. The wind lifted her hair—honey-gold strands floating in the dim light, blindingly bright.The high-rise night view floated in her pupils, reflecting the city's glowing contours.

Oh, was she going to jump?

Took sixty thousand and still wanted to run.

I leaned against the door, smiling, flicking ash onto the carpet where it quickly died. "If you want to jump, I won't stop you. Just so you know, this building's thirteen floors. Jump and your brains'll splatter on the pavement."

It sounded like helpful advice, but only I knew—I was threatening her on purpose.

Live, or die?

She turned and looked at me.

After two seconds of silence, she closed the window, turned around, and said softly, "Sir, you misunderstood. I value my life very much."

I thought she'd cry. Shake. But she just closed the window.

Value her life.

She said it, and I was shocked. In our line of work, your head's always on the line—valuing your life is priority one. But for a young girl to be that clear-headed?

That dark little thought stirred in me again. I wanted to make her cry. Wanted to see her tears, her struggle, wanted to see if she could keep that composure.

I stubbed the cigarette out in a glass of water sitting on the entryway table. It hissed, releasing a faint wisp of white smoke.

I took two more steps in and loosened my tie. "Then do what you're supposed to do."

Almost instantly, the air went tight. She stumbled back half a step, shifting from calm to alert. "No, you misunderstood, I'm not—"

I didn't wait for her to finish. I pinned her to the bed while she screamed.