Bought by Midnight

Chapter One: The Auction

Rain pelted the city in cold sheets, turning the sidewalks into glassy streams. Sophia Lane stood under the awning of a hotel that cost more per night than her rent did in a month.

Her coat was soaked, her boots were cheap, and her nerves were fraying fast.

She clutched the invitation tighter. The black envelope was crisp despite the weather, the embossed lettering still gleaming under the streetlight.

One word was printed across the front in silver foil: Midnight.

She hadn't meant to come. Not really.

But when the eviction notice arrived that morning and the power company followed with its own threat an hour later, she had no other option.

The gallery had dropped her last exhibit, her commission work had dried up, and her mother's medical bills had tripled after the most recent hospitalization.

Sophia needed a miracle-or a devil willing to buy her soul.

A liveried doorman opened the hotel door without asking her name. As if he'd been expecting her.

Inside, the lobby was hushed and opulent. Crystal chandeliers sparkled overhead like captured constellations.

Every surface gleamed-mahogany, marble, velvet.

People moved with quiet purpose, dressed in black and silver, like shadows of old money and dangerous secrets.

A woman with white gloves and an earpiece approached. "Miss Lane?"

Sophia blinked. "Yes?"

"This way, please."She followed the woman through a series of winding halls until they reached a private elevator. No buttons. No sound.Only the hum of fate ascending.

When the doors opened, she stepped into a room unlike anything she'd ever seen.

It was circular, dimly lit, with midnight-blue walls and a domed ceiling painted with a star map. Velvet armchairs were arranged in a ring, each occupied by someone masked in half-shadow.

Men in tuxedos. Women in silks. Power cloaked in anonymity.

At the center stood a raised platform, bare except for a single black chair.A man in a tailored suit approached, clipboard in hand."Sophia Lane?"

"Yes," she said, her voice barely above a whisper."You understand the terms of the auction?"

"I-yes. I think so."

He nodded. "You are here by personal invitation. You may leave at any time, but once bidding begins, your consent is binding. The winner will negotiate final terms.

You will be compensated handsomely."

Sophia's mouth went dry.She was selling herself.

Not in the traditional sense. There was no mention of sex, no contracts etched in sin. But this was an auction for company, companionship-some would say ownership.One year. One arrangement.

A transaction that came dressed in elegance and walked hand-in-hand with silence.

Her fingers trembled as she signed the release form.

When the man stepped away, the lights dimmed further. A bell chimed.

Midnight.

She stepped onto the platform, her heart a wild animal in her chest. The silence was palpable, like an orchestra waiting for its cue. She stood in the black chair, back straight, eyes forward.

One by one, the masked guests raised their paddles. Numbers flickered across a screen in golden type: $50,000. $100,000. $300,000.

Sophia's knees nearly buckled.

She wasn't beautiful in the usual way. Her hair was too unruly, her eyes too large, her lips always chapped. She wore borrowed heels and a dress from a clearance rack. But the bidders didn't seem to care. Or maybe they saw something in her that she didn't.

$500,000. Then-

$1,000,000.

The room stilled.

And then a new paddle rose. One no one else dared challenge.

$2,000,000.

The screen froze. The host stepped forward.

"Sold," he said, his voice smooth as silk. "To Bidder Thirteen."

Sophia didn't breathe.

Not until a man in a dark suit rose from the far corner and removed his mask.

Her heart stopped.

Damon Wolfe.

Billionaire. Tycoon. Phantom king of Wall Street.

He was tall, devastatingly composed, with a presence that could silence thunder. Sharp cheekbones, darker eyes.

Rumor said he once bought a bankrupt airline just to fire its CEO.

Another said he hadn't been seen with a woman in years-by choice, not lack of offers.

And now, he owned a year of Sophia's life.

He approached slowly, like a storm rolling in.

"Miss Lane," he said, voice low and unreadable. "I trust the price was acceptable?"

Sophia swallowed. "I didn't expect anyone to bid that high."

"I don't do anything halfway."

She couldn't look away from him. He was dangerous, yes-but not in the way she'd feared. His danger wasn't in his wealth or his reputation.

It was in his eyes-how they looked at her as if he already knew the shape of her soul.

"Do you want to discuss the terms now?" she asked, voice tight.

Damon smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "We'll start tonight."

She blinked. "Tonight?"

"I paid for your time, Miss Lane. Midnight starts now."

They rode in silence in the back of a sleek black car. Outside, the city never slept.

Inside, she could barely sit still.

His penthouse was everything the hotel was not-minimalist, sleek, private. No chandeliers. No art. Just space and glass and silence.

He handed her a glass of water, not champagne.

"You're trembling," he noted.

"I'm trying not to panic."

"Why did you come?"

Her answer came too quickly. "Money."

"Try again."

She hesitated. "Because I'm tired of being powerless."

Damon nodded, as if he understood that more than she knew.

"Then let's make one thing clear-this arrangement gives you choices, not chains. You can leave any time. But if you stay, I expect discretion and commitment."

"To what?" she asked.He looked her dead in the eyes. "To being my wife."The words hit like a shot of whiskey-sharp, confusing, and far too warm.

"This is more than companionship," he added. "There's a business deal I need to close. It requires a partner. A believable one.

Someone who can stand by my side and not flinch when the cameras flash."

Sophia's throat tightened. "I don't know how to be that person."He stepped closer. "You'll learn. I'll help you."

"And in return?"

"You get protection. Stability. Money, obviously. And when it's over, your life will be yours again. Better than it was."

A strange silence fell between them.She looked at him-not the billionaire, not the bidder-but the man who had sat in the shadows until the last moment, then bought her not out of hunger, but precision.

"Why me?" she asked softly.

Damon tilted his head. "Because you don't belong here.

And that makes you more honest than anyone else in that room."For the first time that night, Sophia smiled.

It was small, unsure.But it was real.