Chapter 5 Lot fifty five

They threw me into the room like I weighed nothing.

This place was nothing like the cell I had come from. This room screamed money—soft lights, thick carpet, furniture that looked like it had never known dirt. Luxury wrapped itself around me, mocking me. Whoever bought me hadn’t spared a single cent.

A billion dollars.

The thought made my stomach churn. Who pays that much for a woman? And worse—he hadn’t even been there. He hadn’t sat in the dark with the rest of them. He had watched from somewhere else. Chosen me from a distance.

I stayed where I landed, on the floor, my back against the wall. I didn’t move. I couldn’t. My body felt hollow, like everything inside me had been scooped out and left behind on that stage. I just waited. For someone to laugh. To tell me this was a sick joke. To say I could go home.

The door opened.

Two men walked in, silent as ghosts, carrying a tray loaded with food. Real food. Plates filled with color. Meat. Bread. Fruit. Drinks that looked expensive even from where I sat. My stomach twisted painfully, betraying me. I hadn’t eaten properly in days.

They set the tray down and left without a word.

I still didn’t move.

Minutes passed. Or hours. I couldn’t tell.

The door opened again.

I didn’t look up. I was tired of faces. Tired of men who looked at me like I was something to own. The door closed softly behind whoever entered, and then—nothing. No footsteps. No voice.

Just a scent. One so sharp, clean and expensive forcing me to inhale it like a dying dog. 

“You didn’t eat.” The voice hit me like a slap. So deep, so familiar, so impossible. 

My head snapped up so fast my neck hurt. My heart slammed violently against my ribs, terror and recognition crashing together until I couldn’t tell them apart.

I pushed myself to my feet, ignoring the way my body screamed in protest. The room tilted slightly, but I stayed standing.

The universe had to be laughing at me.

Because there was no way Fabian Trevanti was standing in front of me.

My stepbrother.

The man I had ruined myself running from.

“Fab—”

He moved faster than I could blink. One second he was across the room, the next his finger was pressed firmly against my lips. The contact sent a shock straight through me, freezing me in place.

My heart stuttered.

His eyes were cold and Hard. Nothing like the boy I remembered.

“I am not him to you in here,” he said quietly. His voice carried no warmth. “I am your owner. And you will regard me as such.”

I jerked my head back, ripping my mouth away from his touch. My hands curled into fists at my sides.

“Like hell I will.”

He didn’t react. Didn’t raise his voice. Didn’t step back. That scared me more than anger ever could. He just stood there, looking at me like I was already his.

“What am I doing here, Fabian?” I demanded, my voice shaking despite my effort. “How did you find me?”

His lips curved, but there was no humor in it. Just cruelty.

“I do not know what you are talking,” he said calmly. 

His eyes flicked to the number tag still pinned to my dress. “Lot Fifty-Five.”

The words sliced deeper than I expected.

It hadn’t hurt when the auctioneer said it. He was nothing. But hearing it from Fabian, hearing him strip my name away so easily, felt like something inside me cracked open.

I swallowed hard, my chest tight, fear curling low in my stomach.

“And to answer your question,” he said quietly.

He slid his hand into his pocket and strolled deeper into the room, slowly, like time bent to his will. He stopped at the edge of the bed and sat, crossing his legs with infuriating ease..

“You are here to fulfill your duties as a prize I bought,” he continued, voice smooth. “I wasn’t looking for you, Fifty‑Five. You were placed right on my lap.”

The words hit harder than a slap.

My chest tightened, breath catching painfully in my throat. I hated how my body reacted before my mind could catch up, hated the tremor in my legs, the heat behind my eyes.

“So that’s what I am now?” I whispered, my voice cracking despite myself. “A thing you paid for?”

His eyes lifted slowly to mine, cold and assessing, stripping me bare in a way no touch ever had.

“You were already a thing on that stage,” he said calmly. “I just decided your fate before someone worse did.. really, you should be thanking me.” 

The room felt smaller and heavier. His presence pressed in on me from all sides.

“And if I say no?” I asked, forcing strength into my voice. “If I refuse?”

One corner of his mouth twitched, not a smile, not quite a smirk.

“Then I let you go,” he said. “Back to men who won’t bother locking a door before they ruin you.”

My heart stuttered.

“You’re alive because you’re here,” Fabian finished coldly. “And you’ll stay that way as long as you remember who owns you now.”

I let out a shaky breath and shut my eyes tight, forcing strength into limbs that wanted to give out.

“You don’t understand, Fab—” I stopped myself just in time. His gaze sharpened slightly. I swallowed. “You don’t understand, sir. I have to get out of here.”

“I do not need to understand—”

“Sir. Please.”

The word hung between us, fragile and desperate. For a second—just a second—I thought it reached him. I needed it to. The Fabian I knew had to still be in there. He had to be.

He turned away instead.

“I heard you stole something,” he said casually.

My eyes snapped open. “H–how?”

He pulled a cigar from the inner pocket of his suit, lit it, and inhaled slowly, smoke curling around his face like a shield.

“We’re given life histories of every lot we bid on,” he replied. “Your petty thefts were listed. I thought you left that life behind, Fifty‑Five.”

The longer he called me that, the deeper the anger rooted. 

“I did it to survive,” I said through clenched teeth, my head already light from the smoke.

“Is that the lie you tell yourself now?” he asked coolly. “That every sin is survival?”

“I’m not lying.”

A thin look crossed his face. “You do that a lot too.”

Something in me snapped.

“Are you going to let me go or not?” I demanded, stepping forward.

“I already told you,” he said calmly. “Bring me one billion dollars, and I’ll let you walk out that door. I’ll even kill anyone who tries to stop you.”

My breath left me in a sharp gasp. “That’s insane. Where am I supposed to get that kind of money?”

“From your stealing, I presume?” he smirked.

I stared at him, disbelief turning into anger. Was he enjoying this?

This is not how this was supposed to go. Not like this. It could have been worse—I knew that. Another man. An older one. Someone crueler. But instead it was Fabian.

My stepbrother. Which begged the question.

“Did you bid on me on purpose?” I asked quietly.

He shrugged. “Does it change anything?”

“Maybe,” I said. “What happens when they find out you knew me before this?”

His eyes hardened. “Is that a threat?”

“Is it working?”

He gave a low, humorless chuckle. “Go ahead. Scream it. Let’s see how far that gets you.”

“You could’ve just said no.”

“And miss all the fun?” he replied dryly.

“I don’t remember you talking this much,” I blurted.

“You don’t remember me,” he said sharply. “Period.”

He stubbed out his cigar and unfastened his suit jacket.

“Enough catching up,” he said. “Time to get to business. Strip.”

I froze.

“What?” I whispered.

He only looked at me.

A hollow laugh slipped out. “You can’t be serious.”

“That,” he said calmly, “or the money, Fifty‑Five.”

“My name is Indigo,” I snapped.

“Time is running out,” he replied, a quick glance at wristwatch. “Strip.”

“I am not doing that.”

“I can make you,” he said simply.

He walked to the door and knocked. It opened immediately. Two men stepped in—the same ones who dragged me here.

Fear slammed back into me full force.

I gripped my dress, tears burning my eyes, and turned to Fabian. He didn’t look away. Didn’t flinch. His face was cool and unreadable.

The man I knew was gone.

“You can do this the easy way,” Fabian said mildly, “or the hard way, Fifty‑Five.” He shrugged. “Your choice.”