Page 59 of Auctioned

When she sees what I have planned for her, she’ll have no other choice.

Topher:Boardin. Goin 2 catch some Zzzzzzz. Talk when I wake up

Embarrassing. A twenty-one-year-old man drunk-texting his father.

I don’t hold it against him, though. It doesn’t even aggravate me as much as it has in the past.

I need to care in order to be pissed off.

Truth is, I don’t care about any of them.

The time the four of us spent backstage together was insufferable.

One glass of champagne after the other went down their throats. They blabbered about Topher’s flight to Ibiza. About Oliver and Camden’s father-and-son bonding trip to Amsterdam, then to who the hell remembers.

Listening to them had me nearly rolling my eyes.

They bored me half to death.

I didn’t want to be there.

Here.

Here is where I wanted to be.

Inside her cell. Watching Ophelia.

Alone.

Clara helped Griffith in getting her here. But not before I texted her that once the staff is back, should anyone, including her, mention to an outsider—yes, even Topher—about my new acquisition, they’re as good as dead. No questions asked. No mercy. Gone.

She agreed.

Now Ophelia is sitting on the harsh, cold floor. The bag is still placed over her head as was instructed. Her dress is crumpled. Her hands fidget as she tries to push them through the cuffs.

I think I can hear her cry.

My cock jerks in response to the beautiful sound. I step forward, almost brushing against the bars that separate us.

As my footsteps echo in the space right outside her cell, Ophelia lifts her head. “W-Who’s here?”

Me. Only me.

I stay silent for a few beats. Stretching out the torture.

And this is only the beginning of what lies ahead for her.

“I asked who’s there,” she murmurs, backing up on her ass to the wall. “I’ll remove the bag if you don’t say something. I’ll goagainst your orders if you don’t identify yourself. You can try to kill me, you fucker. I dare you to try.”

She’s adorable, talking through her tears. Threatening me.

“Just us.” I get in, locking both of us inside the cell. The gold key slides smoothly into my pocket.

“James?” She sits up straighter. There’s no relief in her eyes. In her squared shoulders.

Ophelia knows she should fear me.

I fucking love that.

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