Page 19 of My Soul for Sale

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“I can’t afford that,” I tell him, my stomach sinking as the words leave my mouth.

He sets his hand on my shoulder. “No, but together we can. I know how long and hard you’ve been looking. She can’t leave here with anyone else, Atlas. She’s ours.”

“Yeah, but now you can’t buy anything.”

“That’s alright. No big deal. I’m happy we finally found her. Now we just have to wait until this is over to see her. I plan on asking what the hell she’s thinking, auctioning herself for money. If she’s in trouble, she could have tried to reach out.”

Finally, my search is over, and Sloane is only a few hours away. There’s only one problem now. I’m not returning her on Sunday. I’ve waited too long—fought too hard. She’s not leaving again.

Chapter Eleven

Sloane

I’m back in my dressing room, and while Natalie told me to stay in my lingerie unless my buyer wants something different, I’m not. No one told me to bring a fucking coat and one sure the hell wasn’t provided for me, so I’m not leaving here in my bra and undies.

We can compromise; I’ll leave them on underneath, but I’m putting my clothes back on. He can undress me like the one million dollar package I am.

I can’t believe I sold for that much. When Natalie said my final bid was a million, I about passed out. While I’m sure others will go for way more, I'm cool with my number. It sounds like whoever bought me swooped in at the last minute, so he must have been biding his time, waiting for it to be close to over.

Lord, please just don’t let him be some wrinkly old fat guy.

I’ll still do my part so I can get my money, but a girl has to at least be able to get wet and that’s not gonna happen with grandpa balls.

The lights on the stage were bright as hell and the audience dark as night, so any chance of seeing who was bidding or even in the crowd was shot.

I’m hoping Edward screens his buyers like he did his sellers. They’d be at least a little bit attractive, right? Otherwise, they wouldn't be able to do this year after year because people would stop volunteering to sell themselves.

I slide my dress back on and plop down in the chair to remove my heels. I don’t know where I’m going after this or what the walk will be like, so I’d feel better wearing my boots that I came here in.

I shove my heels back into my bag and drop it to the floor next to me. Grabbing a pop, I crack it open and take a long drink.

Boredom settles over me like a dark shadow. The nerves of the performance have faded and now all that’s left is waiting. With a sigh, I reach for my phone, grabbing it from my bag where I left it.

My fingers tap against the smooth surface, navigating to the familiar icon of Monopoly Go. I guess while I wait I can work on my sticker collection and get revenge on those who attacked me. Lord knows there might not be time to play this weekend.

I don’t know how much time has passed, but I’m out of dice and didn’t even get one new sticker. Fucking bastards.

Swiping over to TikTok, I scroll my for you page until I come across my guilty pleasure: pimple popping videos.

And down the rabbit hole, I go.

There is a knock at my door, startling me. I jump, quickly dropping my phone back into my bag as if caught in the act of something forbidden.

“Birdie, your winners are here to take you,” Natalie croons from the other side.

Winners?! More than one? Shit, I knew it was a possibility, but I didn’t think I’d be one who had more than one buyer. I’ve never had a threesome.

Get it together, Sloane. Five hundred grand is on the line. You’ll just fake it till you make it.

Before I can get up to answer it or even utter a ‘come in’, the door swings open.

My jaw drops, heart races, and stomach flips all at once.

No fucking way.

Time stands still, the air thick with uncertainty. I scramble to compose myself, forcing a smile to my lips as I meet the gaze of the unexpected visitors. But beneath the facade of calm, my mind races.

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