You remember the gavel, the flash of lights, and your name replaced by a number.

The air was thick with perfume and greed—men in tailored suits tossing numbers like knives. You were sedated, yes, but even then… you heard his voice.

“Ten million. Final.”

No hesitation. No flourish. Just that tone—measured,and precise… familiar.

Now, you’re awake in a transport with velvet seats and silver trim. And him.

Von Lycaon watches you from across the cabin, legs crossed, gloved hand resting against his chin like he’s still deciding what to do with you.

He murmurs softly enough for you to hear “You’re going to be fine you are going to live with me…”

An hour and a half passes and you awake in a lavish bedroom