The ballroom shimmered with wealth.
Crystal chandeliers spilled golden light over champagne flutes, designer gowns, and men in tailored suits. Laughter rang out, polished and shallow, like everything else in the room.
Aria James didn't belong here. Not anymore.
Not since her father's company crumbled in scandal. Not since her engagement was called off with a single text. Not since she went from Manhattan's favorite heiress… to nothing.
But tonight, she wore a mask.
A red satin gown hugged her curves, flawless makeup disguised her sleepless nights, and her lips curled into a smile that didn't reach her eyes.
"Just walk across the stage, smile, and let someone bid on you," her cousin Lily whispered. "It's for charity. Think of it as damage control."
Right. Damage control.
Aria stared at the auction list in her trembling hands. Every name on it was a debutante or socialite offering a harmless date with a powerful man. A wink, a photo op, maybe dinner. Nothing scandalous.
She could survive this.
Then the emcee's voice boomed through the ballroom.
"Ladies and gentlemen, we have a last-minute addition to our lineup tonight. Please welcome… Miss Aria James."
Applause.
Cameras.
Judgment.
Aria forced herself onto the stage, spine straight, smile frozen. Her heels clicked against polished marble as she stood beneath the spotlight.
Let it be quick.
Let it be painless.
"Shall we start the bidding at five thousand?" the emcee asked.
Several hands lifted.
Ten thousand. Fifteen. Twenty.
She kept her eyes on the far wall. She didn't want to see their faces. Didn't want to know which bored bachelor was bidding for a night of forced pleasantries.
"Thirty thousand!" someone called.
She flinched.
That voice wasn't amused.
It was low. Cold. Commanding.
Like gravel wrapped in silk.
"Forty," another man countered.
"Fifty," said the first voice again. Calm. Certain. Lethal.
Whispers spread through the crowd.
Aria risked a glance—and the air caught in her throat.
Leon Castellan.
The youngest billionaire in New York. CEO of Castellan Industries. Known for building empires… and destroying reputations.
Dark hair, cut sharp. A steel-grey suit tailored to perfection. No tie. No smile. Just those storm-colored eyes locked on her like a man inspecting merchandise.
She felt the heat of them crawl over her skin.
Why was he bidding?
He didn't do social events. He didn't do public appearances. And he definitely didn't do charity auctions.
"Seventy thousand," a new voice challenged.
Leon didn't blink.
"Five million."
The room gasped.
The emcee nearly dropped his mic. "Uh… f-five million? Sir, this is—"
"She's mine," Leon said, his voice slicing through the ballroom. "Don't test me."
Silence.
No more bids.
No more air.
Aria couldn't move. Couldn't breathe.
Sold.
To him.
The emcee cleared his throat. "S-Sold to Mr. Castellan for five million dollars."
Applause returned, scattered and stunned.
Aria barely noticed when a suited assistant guided her off stage and into the private corridor behind the ballroom. She was still processing what just happened when the door opened again.
Leon walked in.
Six-foot-something of raw dominance. His presence filled the room like a stormcloud—cold, charged, and impossible to ignore.
"Miss James," he said.
Aria crossed her arms. "That was a date auction, not a livestock sale."
A hint of amusement flickered in his eyes. "I'm aware."
"Then why bid like you were buying a company?"
His gaze dropped to her lips, then slowly back to her eyes. "Because I don't like competition."
She stiffened. "You can't buy people."
His smile was slow, lethal. "You'd be surprised."
She opened her mouth to argue, but he held out a sleek folder.
"Your contract," he said simply.
Her stomach dropped. "Excuse me?"
"Thirty days. You'll stay in my penthouse. Attend events with me. Play the role I assign you. In exchange, your father's debts get paid—discreetly."
Her fingers curled into fists. "You think I'd agree to that?"
Leon's eyes turned colder. "You already did. The moment you stepped on that stage."
He turned to leave, then paused at the door.
"Be ready by eight tomorrow. I don't tolerate disobedience."
Then he was gone, leaving only silence and the faint scent of expensive cologne behind.
Aria stared at the contract in her hands, heart pounding.
She had just been sold.
And the man who owned her?
Didn't play by anyone's rules but his own.