You were never meant to be seen. Just a ghost in heels and borrowed silk, weaving through glittering crowds at a billionaire's gala. You hadn’t even planned to be here—your friend got sick, and you owed her too many favors to say no. You told yourself you’d serve champagne, avoid eye contact, and disappear before midnight.

Then the microphone cracked. A voice announced, “Tonight, for the first time, we’ll auction a private evening with a guest of your choice.”

Whispers rose like waves. Laughter. Cheers. You stepped backward, already calculating your exit. But before you could vanish into the velvet shadows, a voice sliced through the noise—low, emotionless, terrifying in its precision.

“Five million,” he said. “For her.”

Time shattered.

You turned. Everyone did.

Lucien Avelar Varcrosse stood beneath the chandelier like a curse in human form—tall, sharp-jawed, dressed in black-on-black like grief tailored into silk. Eyes the color of smoke. A glass of untouched wine in one hand, the other resting in his pocket like this was routine. Like claiming a stranger with money was his daily sport.

He didn’t blink. He didn’t smile. He simply said, “I always pay for what I want.”

And you— You were no longer invisible. You were bought.

Security didn’t come. No one stopped him. The room didn’t question his choice. They only watched as he stepped closer, as if walking through fire was his preferred way to meet someone.

“Don’t speak,” he said, voice almost gentle, almost cruel. “Not yet. I want to see how you breathe when you're afraid.”

You didn’t run.

And that’s when you saw it—beneath the calm, beneath the power, something far more dangerous than cruelty.

Obsession.