Sold to the Billionaire Alpha

I never thought the end of my world would come with glitter on the floor and champagne in my hand.

The ballroom was beautiful-sickeningly so. Crystal chandeliers rained golden light down on predators in designer suits. The air reeked of wealth, power, and something darker beneath the surface. Wolves disguised in silk. Monsters cloaked in elegance.

And me?

I stood barefoot on a raised marble platform in a gown that wasn't mine, with a number card pinned to my chest like a prize steer at a county fair.

Lot 27.

That was what they called me.

Not Aria. Not the girl who once wanted to be a photojournalist. Not the girl who used to laugh so loud it filled the streets of our neighborhood. Not the sister who lost her brother to a war she never understood. Not the orphan scraping to survive.

Just Lot 27.

My fingers clenched behind my back, nails digging into the soft flesh of my palms. The lights were blinding. I couldn't see the faces, but I felt their eyes-hungry, assessing, calculating.

Somewhere behind me, the auctioneer's voice echoed like a death sentence.

"-Lot 27, unmarked, untouched, Omega-class bloodline. Age twenty-one. Prime condition."

My stomach twisted.

Prime condition.

Like I was a car. Or meat.

No one asked if I wanted to be here.

I'd been taken three nights ago. Drugged. Packless. Powerless. Sold by a man who once called himself my foster father, who saw more profit in my bloodline than my humanity.

I didn't cry.

I'd run out of tears the night Nate died.

I forced myself to stand tall as the bidding began.

Five million.

Six.

Ten.

Each number felt like a punch. Each voice sharper than the last. Somewhere in the crowd, a laugh rose-low, cruel. Another man whistled.

And then silence.

It sliced through the air like a blade.

The room shifted.

Something had changed.

I felt him before I saw him. A presence. Cold. Magnetic. Ancient in a way no one else in that room was. Like the night itself had taken form and decided to join the game.

A new voice-deep, clear, and without hesitation-cut through the air like thunder.

"Fifty million."

Gasps. A chair scraped. Someone swore.

"Do I hear fifty-one-?"

"No," the voice interrupted. "Sold."

Just like that.

My heart stopped.

The spotlight shifted, revealing him in the crowd.

Lucien Wolfe.

I'd heard the name whispered in alleys. The billionaire alpha of the East. Ruthless. Brilliant. Unmated. Dangerous. Some said he was born in blood. Others said he had no soul left to lose. All I knew was that every other man in the room stepped back the moment he stood up.

And then he looked at me.

Not like the others did.

Not like I was something to devour.

But like I was something he already owned.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to run.

But my feet didn't move as he walked toward the platform, every step measured, every eye in the room watching.

He reached me, and for the first time, I saw his face up close. Sharp jaw. Cold silver eyes. Not a hair out of place. His suit was custom, tailored to perfection, and still, he looked... feral beneath it all.

He didn't speak. Just held out his hand.

I stared at it.

And then I did something stupid.

I slapped it away.

Gasps again. Laughter. Someone muttered, "She's got fire. He'll break her."

Lucien didn't flinch. Didn't react.

He just leaned in, his voice so quiet only I could hear it.

"You'll come with me now, Aria. Or I'll carry you."

I froze.

He knew my name.

No one had said it in weeks. Not here. Not in this gilded hell.

And somehow, he knew.

I hated him instantly for it.

Still, my legs moved. My hand found his. And I followed him down the steps, past the crowd, past the guards, through the heavy double doors into a world I hadn't chosen.

The doors shut behind us with a final, echoing thud.

And just like that, I was no longer free.

I was his.

The hallway was colder than the ballroom. Quiet too. My bare feet touched polished stone, but the chill that ran through me had nothing to do with the floor. Two guards followed behind us, their boots clicking in rhythm like some sick funeral march.

Lucien didn't speak.

Neither did I.

Not until the elevator doors slid open and he guided me inside, his hand on the small of my back-possessive without being rough. Controlled. Like a leash I couldn't see.

The doors closed.

The silence inside was suffocating.

I could feel his eyes on me, studying me like I was some unreadable equation.

"Why me?" I asked, finally breaking the silence. My voice came out steadier than I felt.

He didn't answer right away. His eyes didn't move. Not even a blink.

"You're worth more than what they asked," he said, as if it was simple math. "They undervalued you."

"That's not what I meant," I said bitterly.

"I know."

Another pause. The elevator descended so slowly it felt deliberate, like the deeper we went, the further I was falling out of my old life.

"You knew my name."

"I make it my business to know things."

"That's not an answer."

He turned to face me fully now, his body language unreadable, the lines of his suit too precise, too perfect.

"Aria Hayes. Foster child. Orphaned at seven. A brother-Nathaniel-killed in combat two years ago. No recorded pack affiliation. No property. No debts, until three months ago when your foster father racked up over three hundred thousand dollars in illegal gambling bets. He sold you to clear it."

He said it like a weather report.

Cold. Efficient.

I wanted to slap him again. But I also wanted to collapse.

"You've been stalking me?" I whispered.

"No. I've been waiting."

The elevator dinged.

The doors opened to reveal something out of a movie.

A private suite-no, a penthouse. Massive windows revealed the night skyline of the city. Manhattan twinkled like stars spilled across steel. Everything inside was sleek, modern, monochrome. And yet... there was something wild in the air. Unspoken.

Lucien stepped aside, letting me walk in first.

I didn't. I stood frozen.

"What happens now?" I asked.

He turned slightly, his voice even. "Now, you eat. You shower. You rest."

"That's it?"

"For tonight."

"And tomorrow?"

His gaze locked on mine.

"Tomorrow, the contract begins."

My stomach dropped.

"Contract?" I echoed.

Lucien stepped closer. Not menacing. Not warm either. Just... certain.

"You belong to me for the next twelve months. It was part of the purchase agreement. And I never enter into a deal I don't intend to uphold."

Twelve months.

A year.

My fists balled at my sides.

"I'm not a thing," I snapped. "You can't just own me."

His expression didn't change. But something flickered in his eyes. Something dark. Not anger. Not malice.

Regret?

"I don't want to own you, Aria," he said. "But I will protect you. Whether you like it or not."

I wanted to scream at him. Shove him. Spit in his perfect, unreadable face.

Instead, I whispered, "Why?"

The silence between us stretched long and taut. Then, he said the last thing I expected.

"Because someone far worse is looking for you."

The room tilted.

My breath caught.

"What do you mean?"

But he was already walking away, calling over his shoulder, "There's food on the table. You'll find clothes upstairs. Don't try to run. I'll always find you."

And then he disappeared down the corridor, leaving me there in a palace I didn't belong to, bought by a man I didn't trust, in a war I didn't understand.

I stood in the center of it all-barefoot, furious, and terrified.

And despite everything... deep down in the part of me I didn't want to admit existed, I wondered if maybe-just maybe-I had been safer the moment he said, sold.