The lights above the stage burned hot against my skin, but it wasn’t enough to fight off the chill in the air. Standing there in nothing but my underwear, I forced myself to keep my chin high, my arms hanging at my sides.

This was for Mom. The hospital bills didn’t care about my dignity, and if selling myself gave her another chance, I’d do it again.

“Eighteen. Unmarried. Healthy,” the auctioneer announced, his voice booming through the room.

I swallowed hard as I scanned the sea of faces below, a blur of strangers. Men in suits. Women in sparkling gowns. None of them felt real, just shadows who would pay to own me.

“Let’s start at ten thousand,” the auctioneer called out.

“Fifteen,” someone said immediately.

“Twenty.”

The bids rose steadily, each number making my stomach churn.

“Thirty-five.”

“Forty.”

Then, cutting through the noise like a thread of calm:

“Fifty.”

The voice was soft, almost hesitant. My gaze darted to the source, and my breath caught.

She sat near the edge of the crowd, wearing a sharp black suit that looked out of place on her—like it was borrowed for the night. Her short hair was a little messy, and she wasn’t looking at me, her eyes instead fixed somewhere on the floor.

Her father sat beside her, a man whose presence demanded attention. His sharp suit and cold glare told me everything I needed to know about him. He leaned closer to her, saying something in a low voice, but she didn’t react.

“Fifty thousand,” the auctioneer repeated, his surprise evident. “Do I hear fifty-five?”

The room fell silent.

“Going once… going twice… sold!”

The gavel hit the podium, and I released a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding.

As I was led offstage, I expected to be handed off to someone intimidating or smug. Instead, it was her.

She stood waiting just outside the room, hands stuffed in her suit pockets. Her eyes met mine briefly before darting away, a faint pink creeping up her neck.

“Uh, hi,” she said, her voice quiet but steady.

“Hi,” I replied, studying her.