Chapter 1

“Bidding starts at one dollar.”

The words echoed from the high-end speakers throughout the Pierre Hotel’s ballroom, hitting me like a slap across the face.

My heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vise.

One dollar.

On Manhattan's Upper East Side, that wasn’t even enough to tip the valet.

But that was all I, Aria Williamson, was worth in the eyes of my own brother, Brandon.

A moment of dead silence was followed by a burst of harsh, mocking laughter.

“My God, is the great Williamson heiress really that cheap now?”

“I heard it was to please that stepsister of hers. How cruel.”

I stood in the spotlight at the edge of the stage, with nowhere to run. The dark blue gown I wore was a two-year-old style, hanging loosely on my frame after I’d lost weight from anxiety.

I turned my head to look at Brandon.

My half-brother, dressed in a custom-tailored suit, wore a perfect, fake smile. He didn’t even glance at me, his gentle gaze fixed on the front row.

There, my stepsister, Lily, was nestled in the arms of my ex-boyfriend, Alex Carter, wearing a pink Chanel couture dress and stifling a giggle.

To make her happy, my brother had decided to publicly execute me.

The auctioneer awkwardly pointed the microphone toward the VIP section. “Mr. Carter, as Ms. Williamson’s partner for many years, won’t you… make a bid to show your support?”

I looked toward the man I had loved for seven years, clinging to him like a final lifeline.

Alex elegantly sipped his champagne, even thoughtfully adjusting the shawl on Lily’s shoulders as if I didn’t exist.

Finally, he spoke into the microphone, his voice crisp and cold.

“We were just classmates. The press got it wrong.”

He paused, a contemptuous smirk playing on his lips as he delivered the fatal blow.

“Besides, I wouldn’t dare get involved in such a cheap transaction. I wouldn’t want to upset Lily.” He looked at me, his eyes full of disgust, as if he were looking at trash. “After all, even a dollar is money.”

The laughter in the room reached a crescendo.

The sound washed over me like a tidal wave. I wanted to scream, but my throat was clogged with shame.

But his words, sharp as a surgeon’s scalpel, precisely severed my last thread of illusion about this family, about these people.

My sacrifices? My duty to the family?

Fuck it all.

A wave of ice-cold fury instantly burned away my tears.

I straightened my back, no longer looking at Brandon’s furious face or Alex’s indifferent coldness. I gathered my skirt, the heels of my shoes clicking sharply against the polished floor.

My gaze swept across the room like a razor’s edge, finally landing on the darkest corner of the ballroom.

A man was standing there.

He wore the black vest and white shirt of a waiter, but he was built like a wall. He held a tray of champagne, leaning lazily against a marble column.

He was the only person in the entire room who wasn’t laughing.

Instead, his deep, gray-blue eyes held a dangerous, predatory laziness. He was like a lion that had wandered into a flock of sheep, bored and looking for prey—

Until his eyes met mine.

In that instant, it felt like electricity had crackled in the air between us.

He was the one.

Ignoring Brandon’s furious shouts from behind me, I walked straight through the crowd, step by step, until I stood before him.

All the laughter died down.

I lifted my chin, and in front of all of New York's high society, I pulled a wad of cash from my clutch—my entire remaining savings. Ten thousand dollars.

Slap!

I slammed the money onto his tray, making the champagne glasses shake violently.

I stared directly into his bottomless eyes, swallowing the metallic taste of blood in my throat. My voice wasn't loud, but it was clear enough for the entire hall to hear.

“Ten thousand dollars. To buy you for the night.”

I took a step closer, my eyes burning with the fire of a desperate, final gamble.

“Get me out of this hellhole.”

“Do you have the guts to accept?”

Time seemed to freeze. Hundreds of pairs of eyes were fixed on us.

The man looked down, slowly glancing at the money on the tray, then raised his eyes. The indifference in his gray-blue depths slowly faded, replaced by a slow-burning, chilling amusement.

It wasn't the obedience of a waiter to a guest.

It was the satisfaction of a demon accepting a contract.

Clang!

With a flick of his wrist, he tossed the heavy silver tray onto a priceless antique side table as if it were garbage.

Then, his long fingers reached for his collar, and with a soft click, he undid the button at his throat.

The gesture was filled with an indescribable wildness and tension, as if he wasn't unbuttoning his shirt, but breaking some kind of seal.

He held out a large, dry, calloused hand to me, palm up.

“Done.”

His voice was deep and husky, with a gravelly texture that made my eardrums vibrate.

He took my hand in his, his thumb sensually stroking my palm as a wild smirk spread across his lips.

“Let’s go, princess. Have you had enough of this shitshow?”