The Mermaid He Sold Away

The Mermaid He Sold Away

Gavin

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I was Lot 734. A living, breathing mermaid, displayed in a massive tank, waiting to be sold to the highest bidder. In the front row, watching it all, was Dr. Aris Thorne, the man who had promised me forever on a hidden beach, the man I had loved with my whole being. His colleagues had surrounded my secret cove with nets the day after he discovered my tail; he stood by, silently allowing my capture. He called me a "scientific anomaly," a "new species," transforming me from his beloved Lyra into a specimen for his research facility, where I was poked, prodded, and drained. His fiancée, Isabelle, delighted in tormenting me, kicking away my food, tapping on my tank, her laughter echoing his betrayal as he stood by, silent and complicit. I tried to tell him that she had sabotaged my tank, almost suffocating me, but he simply believed her tears over my frantic gasps. When he ripped my precious scales from my bleeding palm, claiming it was to "prevent contamination," I knew the man I loved was truly gone. My pain was just data points on his tablet as he watched Isabelle douse me in burning sterilization agents. He then sedated me, turning me into a docile object for auction, a car ready to be sold. I tried to fight back, unleashing a burst of raw power, shattering Isabelle's glass. He reacted by electrocuting me, then draining my tank, letting me suffocate on the dry concrete. Loathing in his eyes, he hissed, "If you try anything like that again, I will make sure you arrive at your new owner's home in pieces." Then, through my pain, a sharp voice cut through the haze: "Let's see the merchandise." The buyer's representative dismissed my "damaged" scales, demanding one more spectacle: "He wants to see her cry pearls. Make it happen." My last flicker of hope died when Aris, his voice flat, agreed.

Introduction

I was Lot 734. A living, breathing mermaid, displayed in a massive tank, waiting to be sold to the highest bidder.

In the front row, watching it all, was Dr. Aris Thorne, the man who had promised me forever on a hidden beach, the man I had loved with my whole being.

His colleagues had surrounded my secret cove with nets the day after he discovered my tail; he stood by, silently allowing my capture.

He called me a "scientific anomaly," a "new species," transforming me from his beloved Lyra into a specimen for his research facility, where I was poked, prodded, and drained.

His fiancée, Isabelle, delighted in tormenting me, kicking away my food, tapping on my tank, her laughter echoing his betrayal as he stood by, silent and complicit.

I tried to tell him that she had sabotaged my tank, almost suffocating me, but he simply believed her tears over my frantic gasps.

When he ripped my precious scales from my bleeding palm, claiming it was to "prevent contamination," I knew the man I loved was truly gone.

My pain was just data points on his tablet as he watched Isabelle douse me in burning sterilization agents.

He then sedated me, turning me into a docile object for auction, a car ready to be sold.

I tried to fight back, unleashing a burst of raw power, shattering Isabelle's glass.

He reacted by electrocuting me, then draining my tank, letting me suffocate on the dry concrete.

Loathing in his eyes, he hissed, "If you try anything like that again, I will make sure you arrive at your new owner's home in pieces."

Then, through my pain, a sharp voice cut through the haze: "Let's see the merchandise."

The buyer's representative dismissed my "damaged" scales, demanding one more spectacle: "He wants to see her cry pearls. Make it happen."

My last flicker of hope died when Aris, his voice flat, agreed.

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I was the "Ice Queen," the perfect Mafia wife who managed the De Luca empire's millions while my husband, Alessandro, played the part of the feared Underboss. I thought my silence and competence earned me respect. That was until I woke up in the estate's medical bay with a shattered leg. My saddle had snapped mid-jump. It wasn't wear and tear; it was sabotage. Lying in the dark, feigning sleep, I heard Alessandro whispering outside my door with his enforcer. "The buckle was filed down," the enforcer said urgently. "Aria tampered with it. She could have broken her neck." I waited for Alessandro’s rage. I waited for him to execute the mistress who tried to kill his wife. Instead, his voice was cold and dismissive. "Bury it," Alessandro ordered. "It’s just a broken leg. Aria was upset about the credit cards. She just wanted to teach Katarina a lesson." A lesson. My husband wasn't just cheating on me; he was protecting the woman who tried to cripple me. Three days later, at the Family Charity Gala, he humiliated me publicly. He outbid me for my grandmother's heirloom necklace and clasped it around Aria's neck while I watched from my wheelchair. He thought I was broken. He thought I was just a piece of furniture to be rearranged. He didn't know I had bugged the entire villa while I was recovering. He didn't know I had the recordings of what Aria was really doing when he wasn't looking. I gripped the USB drive in my pocket and signaled the tech team to lock the doors. The statue was broken, but he was about to learn that shattered ice is sharp enough to slit a throat.

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