Queen of mafia

Serena~

The cold light of the spotlight hit my skin, and I gasped.

Where am I?

My head spun as I blinked into the brightness, the world around me fading in and out like a nightmare. But this wasn't a nightmare-it was real. Too real. I was standing in the middle of a room filled with shadows, the murmur of voices echoing ominously around me. My heart pounded, each thump echoing through my chest, and panic gnawed at the edges of my mind.

"Eight hundred dollars," a voice boomed from the darkness, cold and detached.

What?

I swallowed, my throat dry. The weight of what was happening crashed down on me, the sharp realization piercing through the fog of confusion. They're bidding on me. Me. The room felt smaller and tighter, as the spotlight trapped me like an animal on display.

"Eight hundred dollars, one."

"Eight hundred dollars, two."

The numbers climbed, and with each new bid, fear clawed its way through my body. Where am I? Why is this happening? My thoughts spun wildly as I clutched the towel wrapped around my body, desperate to shield myself from the unseen eyes devouring me from the darkness.

I had come to a party, hadn't I? A party my father had organized. I could still feel the fabric of the too-tight red gown. My stepmother, Liliana, had forced me to wear earlier-her dress, her choice. I hadn't wanted to wear it, but Vittoria, my stepsister, had told me it was my father's request. I had no choice but to obey.

A party. For me.

But where was I now?

"Five thousand dollars," another voice broke through the fog of my mind, sending a shiver down my spine.

I turned, searching for a way out, my eyes darting around the room, but the shadows swallowed everything beyond the spotlight. My legs shook beneath me, and I stumbled slightly, feeling like the world was closing in. My throat burned with the remnants of the strange juice Vittoria had practically forced into my hand.

And then it hit me.

Vittoria. Liliana. They had planned this. The party, the dress, the drink... they had set me up. This wasn't about celebration. This was about betrayal.

"Ten million dollars."

The voice, cold and devoid of emotion, cut through the room like a blade. I froze, the sound paralyzing me. The crowd grew silent, anticipation thick in the air. Who would pay that much?

"Ten million, one."

"Ten million, two."

The finality of it washed over me like a wave of cold water.

"Sold."

The lights flickered on, and the room exploded into clarity. I stood, exposed, on a stage in front of a sea of faces. Men-powerful men-sat at round tables, their eyes gleaming with greed. My stomach lurched as their gaze traced the outline of my barely covered body. I had been reduced to an object, nothing more than a prize to be bought and sold.