Page 9 of Auctioned Innocence (Bonds of Betrayal #3)

The knowledge should horrify me, but instead it fuels the anger building inside me.

The anger that’s keeping me functional, keeping me thinking instead of breaking.

When they finally lead me off the platform, my legs are shaking from the effort of standing still instead of launching myself at Madame Rouge’s throat.

In the preparation room, I sink onto a velvet settee, fighting for composure.

“You did well,” Maisie whispers, squeezing my hand as she’s led out for her own display. “Very…floating.”

I watch her go, guilt churning in my stomach.

I could leave now, knowing rescue is coming.

It would be easier to focus solely on my own survival, on getting back to my family.

But Maisie…the others…they don’t have a Dante coming for them.

They don’t have family mobilizing to save them.

No one deserves this.

Not Maisie with her quiet strength.

Not Jessica with her tears.

Not Ava with her bruises.

Not even Kira with her cold calculations.

No one.

“Two more viewings tonight,” the guard announces from his post by the door. “Then the individual appointments begin tomorrow.”

My blood runs cold.

Of course.

Private viewings for serious buyers.

More intimate examinations.

The thought makes bile rise in my throat.

One by one, the others are paraded out.

One by one, they return.

Jessica is crying again, silently now, tears tracking through her careful makeup.

Natalie still hasn’t spoken, moving like a programmable doll.

Kira returns looking thoughtful.

Ava comes back with her jaw clenched so tight I worry for her teeth.

Zoe is the last.

When she returns, there’s something wild in her eyes. “They’re discussing me like I’m not there,” she hisses, just loud enough for us to hear. “Like I’m a fucking racehorse.”

“Zoe,” Ava warns, glancing at the guard.

But Zoe isn’t listening.

Her hands are shaking worse now, her pupils dilated. “I can’t do this again,” she whispers. “I can’t go back out there. They’ll see. They’ll know .”

“Know what?” I ask quietly.

“That I’m broken.” Her laugh is hollow. “Damaged goods.”

When Maisie returns, pale but unbroken, I catch her eye.

Signal her to follow my lead.

An idea is forming—desperate, perhaps, but I need to speak to the others without the guards overhearing.

“I feel faint,” I announce, swaying slightly. “Please…I need water.”

The guard steps closer, suspicion warring with concern.

These “goods” need to remain in sellable condition, after all.

Maisie immediately plays along, rushing to support me. “She’s burning up,” she says with convincing worry. “Is there a doctor?”

In the chaos of calling Madame Rouge, fetching water, and checking me for fever, we manage to whisper quick instructions to each other.

Maisie will tell Ava, who will tell Natalie. I’ll speak to Jessica. Kira, watching us with knowing eyes, seems to understand without being told.

Tonight. After final viewings.

I know Dante’s here, that help is coming.

But I won’t leave these other girls to suffer.

Won’t let them be sold like cattle to men who see them as objects to be owned.

Besides, what better distraction is there for whatever rescue is planned than seven girls already fighting for their freedom?

“Feeling better, my dear?” Madame Rouge appears, her voice solicitous while her eyes remain cold. “Perhaps some air?”

I nod weakly, playing into the role. “Yes, please.”

She escorts me personally to a small balcony off the preparation room.

The night air is cool against my skin, but the bars across the opening remind me that this small freedom is an illusion.

Like the expensive clothes and gourmet food.

Gilded bars are still bars.

“You made quite an impression,” she says, watching me carefully. “ There a several serious inquiries already. You should be pleased.”

I say nothing, keeping my eyes on the distant tree line.

How far are we from civilization?

“Your silence is charming, but unnecessary,” she continues. “We both know you’re more than the pretty doll you’re pretending to be.”

When I turn to her in surprise, she smiles. “I’ve been doing this a long time, Sofia Renaldi. I know when someone is playing a role.”

The use of my full name reminds me that this isn’t random.

I’ve been targeted specifically.

“What do you want from me?” I drop the pretense of meek compliance.

Her smile widens. “Nothing you aren’t already providing, my dear. Your presence here has attracted exactly the attention we hoped for.”

She glances at her diamond watch. “Now, it’s time for your second viewing. Remember—grace, poise?—”

“Submission,” I finish flatly. “I remember.”

“Good girl.” She pats my cheek again, and it takes everything in me not to slap her hand away. “And Sofia? I’d reconsider whatever little plan you’re hatching with the others. It would be a shame if young Jessica suffered for your…initiative.”

Fear freezes my blood.

She knows.

But how much?

Has she overheard or is she simply anticipating rebellion?

When they parade me out for the second viewing, I let myself look at Dante again.

Just for a moment.

Just long enough to see the rage burning behind his careful mask.

His eyes meet mine, and in that brief connection, I find renewed strength.

Soon , I promise silently.

But first, I have work to do.

Because no matter what Madame Rouge thinks she knows, she doesn’t understand what it means to threaten a Renaldi.

I’ve been trained since childhood to assess threats, find weaknesses, and exploit opportunities.

I float through my second viewing, observing more details now that the initial shock has worn off.

I note which men seem most interested.

Which have the most security.

Which ones Dante seems to be avoiding.

And I note something else—a pattern to the guard rotations.

A three-minute window when the hallway between our rooms is unwatched during shift change.

A potential opportunity, if we’re quick enough.

If we’re brave enough.

As we wait for the third viewing, my mind races with plans and contingencies.

I think of Dante, somewhere in this same building, planning his own rescue.

I remember the moment our eyes met, the promise in that look.

The other girls are dealing with this nightmare in their own way.

How dare Madame Rouge’s threaten Jessica.

The casual cruelty of it disgusts me, the assumption that she can control us through fear indefinitely.

She doesn’t realize her mistake.

Fear can paralyze, yes. But it can also galvanize.

Can transform from weakness to weapon in the right hands.

In my hands.

My plans might get us all killed—or might just set us free.