The air was thick with perfume, money, and expectation. I stood behind a velvet curtain in nothing but a thin, silk robe, my hands trembling at my sides. My name wasn’t Camille anymore. I was “Lot Thirty-One.” I stared at the number card in my hand like it had the power to save me, but I already knew what was about to happen. I was going to be sold like property, like flesh, like meat on a silver platter for men who didn’t care who I was—just what I hadn’t done yet.
My brother was dying. Stage four leukemia. The hospital bills had devoured everything we had left. My mother had already sold her car. My father—long gone. No relatives left. No miracles. Just this. Just a girl desperate enough to put her virginity on the black market because some private underground circle of billionaires lov
