Page 2 of Sold to the Silver Foxes

I blink. “Why would I judge you?”

She runs a hand through her hair, carefully checking that we’re alone. “I had a weekend gig at this club—adult-oriented. Let’sjust say I was…entertaining some well-paying clients, and things got a little intense.”

“Entertaining?” I think I know what she means, but I want clarity.

Her cheeks flush pink. “As in, kinky sex.”

My eyes widen, and I swallow my initial surprise. “So…you got paid a lot for that?”

“I earned more in two nights than I usually make here in six months. It’s insane. The bartender—Gabriel—hooked me up. I needed quick cash for my bills, so I figured…why not? I mean, they have rules and security, so it’s not total chaos.”

I shift in my seat. Six months’ wages in two days? “No judgment, but that’s a little scary. You sure you’re okay?”

She looks relieved I’m not condemning her. “Yeah, well, I’m fine. Definitely not up for it every weekend, but I don’t regret it at all.”

“Are you going to do it again?”

“Not anytime soon. But I’m jealous of the girls working next Saturday—it’s some special event.”

“Special how?”

Her lips twitch. “They’re auctioning off virginities. Apparently, it’s a big deal to some people.” She shrugs. “Sometimes it’s a single night, sometimes it can be extended to a month if both parties agree. The payouts are astronomical. I’ve heard rumors of girls walking away with enough money to buy a house outright. I’d do it in a heartbeat if I still had my V-card.”

My heart hammers as I take that in. Selling virginity? It sounds like something you’d read in a sensational headline or watch in ascandalous TV show. But the way Greta says it—calmly, matter-of-fact—makes it feel very real.

And I can’t ignore the jolt of…possibility? We need a massive amount of money for Erin’s surgery. I’m a virgin at twenty-three, thanks to a busy schedule and a million family obligations. I force a casual laugh. “Wow. I had no idea that kind of thing existed outside, I don’t know, certain corners of the internet.”

Greta shrugs. “The Armory is pretty legit, from what I’ve seen. They have a guy named Pietro who runs the virginity auctions. He’s got a no-nonsense reputation—if anyone mistreats his virgins, they pay dearly. So it’s not as if it’s a free-for-all. It’s just…a very adult transaction. Some folks think it’s shady, others see it as a shot at life-changing money. Depends on your perspective, I guess.”

I nod, my mind spinning. “Yeah. Perspective. For sure.”

My perspective is a little different from Greta’s. I’m not worried about my personal bills—I have almost none, thanks to moving in with Grandma Judy. Still, my three jobs barely scratch the surface of Erin’s medical bills. But a virginity auction that pays out like she’s talking…?

Greta checks her watch, then stands slowly, wincing. “End of break time. If you ever wanna know more, Gabriel’s the one with the connections.” She gives me a half smile, then heads back onto the floor.

I remain seated for a moment, heart pounding. My break ends in a few minutes, but my thoughts reel. Could I really sell my virginity to strangers at some secret club?

My phone buzzes again, and I check the screen—another missed call from an unknown number. Probably a bill collector.

My stomach tightens. If I pretend I’ve never heard of this virgin auction, am I letting Erin’s chance slip away? How could I do that to her?

Exhaling shakily, I get up, smooth my apron, and slip back into the bistro’s main room. The gentle clink of silverware and the murmur of patrons fill the air. Colette scurries by, reminding me we have a five-top reservation soon. I nod, automatically reciting the table number I’ll seat them at, but my mind is elsewhere.

I blink, and we’ve hit that odd lull between lunch and dinner. My mind’s too busy, contemplating the auction. Only a few tables remain occupied. Gabriel polishes wine glasses at the bar, humming to himself. He’s always been kind to me, tossing an extra lemon slice in my water or giving me a heads-up about slow nights.

Now, I wonder about his other side—his “club connection.” If he helped Greta, he could point me in the same direction.

But I don’t move from behind the hostess stand. I just stand there, flipping the corners of the reservation book and smiling mechanically at the handful of customers finishing their meals. Over and over, a single question loops in my brain:Can I do this?

The practical side of me scoffs that I’m not even adventurous enough to date around, let alone sign up for a BDSM club. Another side of me, the side that sees Erin lying in a hospital bed, knows I’d endure any humiliation for the money to save her.

When the last lunch diners pay their checks, the staff sets about reconfiguring some tables for the dinner crowd. A busboy wipes down the tabletops while Greta fetches fresh silverware. It wouldfeel like a normal day, if I weren’t thinking about strangers paying me for sex.

My hands are trembling. It’s almost like my body already knows the decision forming in my mind. Even if it’s scandalous, even if it means stepping into a world that terrifies me. It’s not about me—it’s about saving my sister’s life.

The day drags on. Around three thirty, we get a few stragglers wanting coffee and pastries. I seat them, deliver menus, and return to my little station. I tap a pen against the wooden countertop, my reflection staring back at me from the brass trim.

I look tired and older than twenty-three. The events of the past few years have forced me to grow up fast—dropping out of college, juggling multiple jobs, and supporting Erin through her endless treatments. Sometimes, I don’t even remember what it’s like to have a normal life.

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