Page 9 of The Auction (The Black Ledger Billionaires #4)

W hy I got dragged out to this thing is beyond me.

No, that’s a lie.

I know exactly why I’m here.

Lucian Vale called me personally.

When the Lucian Vale—owner of The Black Ledger, Lord of Brooding Billionaires, Destroyer of Joy—puts your name on speed dial, you don’t ignore his calls. Especially not when you’re the one who promised his precious auction tech would run so smooth it could seduce a nun.

Which, to be fair, it does.

I didn’t just upgrade his systems—I rebuilt the whole damn thing from the ground up.

Security, encryption, tracking protocols for the Companions, client filters, hidden backdoor logs for safety.

He wanted seamless. I gave him bulletproof.

Hell, I even launched a custom app this year—sleek, anonymous, and sinful as hell—to showcase the very sultry items up for bidding tonight.

And when The Black Ledger auctions something, it’s never simple.

It’s experience, indulgence, fantasy.

And the ultra-wealthy eat it up. They pay, beg, donate to get on the guest list. Every year, the auction grows more exclusive, more excessive, more… debauched.

This year it’s being held on one of The Black Ledger’s skyscraper balconies. The kind of balcony that makes OSHA weep—half a football field long, lined with fire features and plush seating, the kind of lighting that makes everyone look like sex, and not a single expense spared.

The champagne flows like water, the DJ is working the crowd into a slow, rhythmic frenzy, and the air itself feels charged—like everyone’s teetering on the edge of something wicked.

The Ledger Girls are out in force tonight—every last one of them wrapped in that signature shade of Ledger red.

Some draped in silk, others in velvet or lace.

They're mingling with the bidders, giving them a taste before the bidding even starts.

A whisper of what could be theirs—for the right price.

And Eve is up on the block again.

She is every year.

God knows what wild, carnal package she’s offering this time—something involving leather, poetry, and mild emotional trauma, if I had to guess. Whatever it is, it’s worth millions. She always draws a crowd.

I flick her hair clip at her from across the bar. “Your weird-ass lucky charm, ma’lady.”

She snatches it midair like it’s a bar of pure gold and presses a kiss to it, then tucks it beneath the bar top like she’s invoking some ancient sex witch spell.

“May the best pervert win,” she tells me with a wink.

I pull up my admin login on the auction app just as Lucian arrives.

He doesn’t make an entrance—he is the entrance. He moves like he owns the air around him. Black slacks, sleeves rolled, top buttons open, no jacket. A storm disguised as a man. Everything about him screams power, control, menace. The kind of guy who doesn’t just run empires—he devours them.

He strides toward me, scanning the crowd with that cold, calculating gaze like he’s already reading every bid before it’s made.

“The bids are about to start,” he says. “We good?”

I lean back against the bar and grin, “Maybe. This is just the beta version so I guess we’ll find out together.”

His eyes narrow. “You test me on my auction night?”

Which is why I mouth off as much as possible.

Because whatever snark I throw tonight, he’ll make me pay for it in the ring tomorrow.

And let’s be real.

I’m always looking forward to it.

I toss him a mock salute. “Relax, boss. The app’s perfect. Wire transfers are already syncing in real time. The charities are preloaded and ready to receive their cut as soon as the final bid’s locked.”

Lucian watches the room like he’s hunting for problems, but I know he trusts me. He just doesn’t do relaxed.

“I’ll stick around for the first few rounds,” I add, “but I can monitor the rest from my phone. If anything glitches, I’ll catch it before anyone notices.”

He nods once, then steps over to the bar and orders his usual—whiskey, neat. The kind of drink that doesn’t bother pretending to be soft.

“You bidding on anything tonight?” he cuts his eyes at me like a challenge. He already knows my answer and it feels like he’s daring me to make him wrong.

I snort. “You already know the answer to that.”

He arches a brow.

“I only use the Ledger girls for one thing, and this isn’t it.”

Lucian hums, unreadable as always. Then, casually, like it’s not a command, he says, “Stay awhile. Eat something that didn’t come out of a takeout container. Enjoy the spectacle.”

He takes a sip of whiskey, eyes back on the crowd.

“Never know,” Lucian adds, swirling his glass, “you might see something that catches your attention.”

I’m about to turn back to the bar when I spot Elijah fucking Carter.

Of course he’s here.

Tech money. Daddy’s money, to be specific. And just enough facial symmetry to land on one of those Top 40 Under 40 lists that make investors cream themselves.

He slinks up beside me, glass of something amber in hand, smug as ever. “You here as the hired help?”

I smile without showing teeth. “Still playing with code you stole from college kids and pretending it’s innovation?”

He laughs, but there’s a twitch in his eye. Good. I hate this fucking guy.

He took my first real software pitch and resold it under his name when I was thirteen. Called it a “mentorship.” I called it what it was—intellectual theft. Two years out of college, I eclipsed his empire. Now I own half the companies he wishes would return his calls.

He blinks, clearly not expecting the hit. “Still got that mouth on you, huh?” I finally look at him. Really look. And I let the edge creep into my voice.

“You’re still the guy who cashes in on the scraps,” I say, slow and sharp. “I’m the one they build the fucking table for.”

He stiffens.

“Now stop wasting my time.”

And then, like the coward he’s always been, he grins and slinks away—already retreating, but not without tossing one last jab over his shoulder.

“Looking forward to outbidding you tonight.”

That’s laughable.

If I ever cared to step in, he wouldn’t last a round with how deep my pockets go.

Elijah Fuck-face joins the rest of the hoard and the first round of bidding starts not long after.

Pretty tame stuff, compared to what I know is coming later.

Romantic weekends. Private yacht excursions.

One girl’s offering some kind of sensory deprivation retreat, which—look, not judging, but that’s a hard pass for me.

The auctioneer works the crowd like he’s orchestrating a slow, seductive waltz. He teases a "last-minute addition to the catalog—one worth staying until the end."

I snort into my drink. Yeah, right. It’s always the same thing. A high-end flesh market dressed up in red silk and velvet lighting. The Companions design their experiences, sell them to the highest bidder, and hope the winning client is more charming than creepy.

Bidders go after the girls they want, or sometimes they just want to outbid their enemies. Ego over desire. It’s all posturing with a boner.

Still, I’ll give Lucian credit—he runs a clean empire. The Companions set the terms of their contracts. Every single one of them. The clients follow those rules, or they get a very personal visit from Lucian himself.

And trust me—that is not the kind of house call you want.

But he was right about dinner.

I park myself at the bar, claim a plate stacked with grilled steak skewers and lobster dumplings, and watch the chaos unfold from afar.

The food’s decadent. The entertainment, even better.

Drunk billionaires throwing money around like it’s Monopoly and all the girls want Boardwalk.

I sip whiskey and fix a few backend settings when the admin panel pings with a slow transfer.

No big deal. I reroute the traffic and fix the bottleneck in under thirty seconds.

And then, because I’m apparently a glutton for chaos, I check on Cassidy.

She’s been unusually quiet on social today. No breakfast post or Get Ready With Me . No story with Dominion or her grooming Saving Grace.

Honestly, I figured she blocked me after my call with Eve.

She definitely got jealous.

And I definitely enjoyed it.

But then my thoughts shift to her mom.

What if today’s a bad day? What if something’s wrong?

Shit. I should’ve checked earlier.

Her Snap location is turned off—which is mildly irritating—and when I open our messages, I see that her notifications are silenced.

Now I’m getting that tight feeling in my chest. The one that doesn’t mean lust or ego—it means something might actually be wrong .

I shoot her a quick text:

JAXON: You alive, Cricket? Tell your mom I said hi.

The message sits there, unread.

Damn it.

If something’s going on with Mrs. Hayes, Jonathan will never forgive me for not being there.

I toss a few bills on the bar—enough to cover the food, the drinks, and a solid bribe—and give the bartender a nod. I’m already moving toward the exit when the auctioneer’s voice cuts through the air with new energy.

“Ladies and gentlemen, our final lot of the evening. A last-minute addition, submitted just this morning.”

I slow just slightly, curiosity tugging at me.

“An exclusive offering—something never before sold at The Black Ledger’s auction.”

He’s milking the moment.

“A once-in-a-lifetime experience from a Companion offering something... truly special.”

I keep walking. Yeah, yeah. I’ve heard this kind of pitch before. Probably someone offering a public scene or a week of full submission—some kink-laced fantasy for seven figures.

But then the words hit:

“Her virginity.”

I stop cold.

That’s... bold. Even for this place. A virgin auctioned off in front of a sea of wealthy men with God complexes? That’s a hell of a risk.

The auctioneer continues, voice all velvet and heat.

“She’s twenty-three years old, smart, stunning. This is a limited, one-time-only experience. No repeat bookings. No extensions. A singular, unforgettable event.”

I’m halfway to the door when he says her name.

“Please welcome to the block... Cassidy Hayes.”

The blood drains from my face.

I turn, slow as death, and look toward the stage.

No.

No fucking way.