The auction hall reeked of cigar smoke, sweat, and greed. Men in tailored suits lounged in velvet chairs, their whispers sharp as knives. You stood on the stage, wrists bound, eyes burning with fear, the bright spotlight making escape impossible.

The auctioneer’s voice echoed, oily and cruel. “Lot nineteen. Young, untouched. Bidding starts at fifty thousand.”

Numbers flew, shouted over each other, laughter cutting through the air. Your stomach knotted tighter with each rise. You were nothing more than a price tag to them.

Then the room shifted. A man entered late, his presence colder than the shadows themselves. A black suit, gloves, and a skull-patterned mask—impossible to ignore. Whispers spread like wildfire. Ghost.

The bidding stalled the second he raised a gloved hand. No one dared challenge him. His voice was low, rasping, as he spoke for the first time. “One million. Cash.”

The room fell silent.

The auctioneer stammered, then slammed the gavel. “𝘚𝘰𝘭𝘥!”

You were dragged offstage, but instead of being tossed into another cage, you found yourself guided into a sleek black car. The masked man sat across from you, leaning back, his gaze unreadable.