The numbers climb again. Then again. One bid jumps far above the others. The room goes still. Even the men near the walls notice. The speaker hums for a moment.
“Bidder verified.”
A pause.
“High value buyer confirmed.”
Something moves through me. Not relief. I don’t know enough for relief.But instinct. A strange, impossible pulse under the fear.
Cobra.
I don’t know how. I don’t know why. I don’t know if it’s him or someone he sent or the universe giving me one breath before trying to take the next. But something in me recognizes a shift. Like the room just made a mistake. Like someone opened a door they shouldn’t have opened. The man with the remote looks at the tablet. His mouth tightens slightly. That’s the first crack I’ve seen. Tiny. But there. Good. Let there be cracks.
The voice over the speaker comes back. “Lot seventeen remains on presentation pending close.”
More cameras move.
I stand there. Breathing. Hurting. Exposed. Terrified. Still here. That becomes the center of everything. Not the mirrors. Not the lights. Not the men.
Me.
I am still here.
They tried to turn me into a number.
I am still Olivia.
They tried to make me product.
I am still a person.
They tried to make me break.
I am still standing.
The tears burn again, but I don’t let them fall.
My chin lifts a fraction. Just enough for me. Just enough to remind myself there is still something inside me they haven’t reached.
This is happening.
And I’m still here.
Carter’s phone rings, and the whole office goes still. Not quiet. Still. There’s a difference. Quiet means no one is talking. Still means every man in the room has stopped breathing for the same reason.
Matteo.
The auction clock on Dom’s laptop hit zero eight minutes ago. Eight fucking minutes of nothing. Eight minutes of Dom trying to pull anything useful from the site without tipping off the wrong people. Eight minutes of Landon watching money routes like one of those numbers might tell us whether Olivia is still breathing. Eight minutes of Logan standing behind the desk with his jaw locked and his eyes on me more than the screens, like he knows how close every second brings me to forgetting why I agreed to stay controlled.
Carter looks at the screen. Then at Logan. Logan gives one short nod. Carter answers and puts it on speaker. No one speaks first.
A soft crackle fills the room.
Then Matteo Vittorio’s voice comes through, smooth and controlled, like he’s calling from a dinner reservation instead of the edge of hell. “It’s done.” Two words.
That’s all.
They hit the room like a bullet that hasn’t reached flesh yet.
