Lot seventeen.
Not Olivia.
Not daughter.
Not sister.
Not friend.
Not Cobra’s.
Lot seventeen.
My throat tightens.
No.
I blink fast, forcing the tears back before they can fall.
They don’t get that.
The thought cuts through the panic.They can take enough from me tonight. They can force me to walk under their lights. They can cover me in makeup and put metal around my throat and call me whatever number helps them sleep at night. But they don’t get my tears. Not here. Not for the cameras. Not for the hidden buyers waiting behind screens where I can’t see their faces.
A low murmur rises around me. Not in the room exactly. Through speakers. Distorted voices. Some filtered. Some barely audible. Men discussing me like I’m not standing there with a heart trying to beat its way out of my chest.
“Turn her.”
“Camera three.”
“Good symmetry.”
“Any resistance?”
A man near the far end of the runway glances down at a tablet. “Minimal.”
Minimal.
The word scrapes over me.
My hands shake once. I make them stop. A camera turns slightly, following me as I take another step. The mirrors catch everything. Every angle. Every movement.
I want to close my eyes, but I don’t. Closing them feels like giving the room more power, like admitting I can’t stand to see myself here. So I look. I force myself to see. The girl in the mirror looks terrified. But she is also standing. She is breathing. She is moving because movement keeps her alive, not because they own her. That matters.It has to.
“Stop at the mark,” the man says.
There’s a small gold line on the floor near the center of the runway.
I step onto it. Stop. The lights intensify. Heat rolls over my skin. The collar feels heavier. My pulse beats against the metal, and each beat seems to press the spikes in just a little more.
The voice from the speaker returns. “Lot seventeen. Verified. Bidding begins.”
Bidding.
God.
A sick wave rolls through my stomach, and for one terrifying second I think I might throw up in front of everyone. I swallow it down so hard my throat hurts.
Another voice filters through, lower and amused. “She’s prettier scared.”
