My duffle is at my feet, the room’s lights are dimmed, but it’s nothing like it would be for a regular viewing. Mr. Sam walks into the viewing room, a flash of white behind him. She appears behind the glass with little fanfare.

She doesn’t need it.

She’s breathtaking.

I stand, walking closer to the glass, knowing that she cannot see me.

I recognize her. She’s in the ballet, a principal dancer. A fucking star.

A few moments later, Mr. Sam is at my side. He isn’t looking at her though, he’s watching me, watch her. “Is she more to your liking?” he asks, an obvious smile to his words.

I can’t take my eyes from her. If I thought I was going to negotiate with the man, that ship has sailed. I’ll pay whatever he asks for her. “Much better,” I croak. “She’s pure?” I ask.

I don’t know why I think it matters so much. It doesn’t, not really. I could give a fuck at this point, I’m taking her.

“I vouch for it, personally,” he says. Lifting a brow, I turn to him. “My daughter, Mr. Sullivan.”

People don’t typically surprise me. In fact, being around Hollywood, I can say that the shit people do does not shock me one bit. Except in this moment, I am surprised. Genuinely surprised. “Mr. Sam…”

He holds up his hand, his eyes drifting over to her for a moment, then back to me. “She has known this to be her fate. I was saving her for just the right client. Typically, I would make sure she was used for some kind of good business trade, but…” his words trail off.

I want to beat the fuck out of him for even suggesting he use her for a business trade. I don’t. I want her for myself, therefore I have no place to judge him, not on this.

“How much?” I ask.

He looks from his daughter again, then back to me. “Ten million out the door. She will be yours,” he offers.

Lifting my gaze to his, I tilt my head to the side. “Any stipulations?”

He shakes his head once. “None.”

“Draw up the contract,” I announce.

I would have paid double the amount he stated without blinking an eye. I would have drained my accounts for her, to keep her, to just fucking taste her. “You into shit like Aldrich?” he asks, with a cough.

“Little late to ask me that,” I chuckle.

He lifts a brow and I roll my eyes. “I’m vanilla, mostly,” I grin.

He shakes his head, thrusting the contract toward me. Sitting down, I read every line. He probably thinks that I won’t. That I’ll blindly sign the documents because I want that tight little pussy. He’s not wrong, yet, he’s beyond wrong. I’m a stickler for contracts.

“No contact once the trade is made?” I ask, wondering if I’d read the words correctly, once I’m at the end of the document.

He clears his throat, his eyes meeting mine when I look up. “No contact. Like I said, Stassia was raised for this.”

“Raised for this,” I murmur.

My eyes find hers and I let out a breath.

Raised to be mine.

Just like I was raised to be in the spotlight, so was she. Except not only was she raised for the stage, she was also raised to be fucking mine.

I’m taking her.

Keeping her.

A pretty ballerina princess for my very own.

I stare at my reflection. He’s out there. My mother explained how this works. The man can see me. He’s judging me, deciding whether he wants me or not. If he does, he’ll sign some contract with my father, then he’ll pay him. My father will summon me, and then I’m handed over.

Bought and sold.

Owned.

Property.

Staring at my reflection, I wonder if I will ever look like this again? What will I look like once this man has me in his clutches? Will he beat me? I’m so scared about what is to come.

I jump when the door opens, my father stands there. His gaze is stone as he stares at me.

“Stassia, come,” he barks.

I lift my chin, stepping down from the pedestal. Slowly, I walk toward him, then past him. He doesn’t touch me, falling in line behind me until I freeze.

The man sitting across from the mirrored room where I was just held, his head is tilted down. My body is frozen at the sight of him. “Mr. Sullivan, she is yours,” my father announces from behind me.

The man lifts his head, his eyes finding mine. They’re deep brown, and they turn into liquid chocolate when they focus on mine. His face is clean shaven, his jawline sharp and pronounced. He is by far, the most beautiful man that I have ever laid eyes on.

His dark hair swoops across his forehead, styled perfectly and messy, just like someone has run their fingers through it for hours. He stands slowly and my breath hitches. He’s tall, at least a foot taller than me, and I’m not sure how this is going to work. He towers over me.

“Come, Stassia,” he rumbles.

My legs tremble as I take a few steps toward him. I suck in a breath when his warm hand presses against my lower back. I can feel his heat through the sheer lace fabric. I shudder, just thinking about how hot his hands will feel on the rest of my body.

“Sullivan,” my father calls.

The man growls low before he turns his head. I don’t look back, I can’t. I cannot see the man who is supposed to protect me, that same man who sold me to this giant stranger. I don’t think I can ever look him in the face again.

“Don’t bring her back,” he states.

My shoulder’s slump and I feel the stranger’s hand flex against my back. He doesn’t respond. He applies a bit more pressure and together we walk out of my father’s club.