The Wife Auctioned For One Dollar Chapter 04
Those words struck like a thunderbolt, and the entire auction hall fell into stunned silence.
Every head tilted upward toward the black-and-gold box high above.
In this underworld, that box represented absolute wealth, absolute power, and the kind of untouchable authority that no one—*no one*—provoked.
Vito jolted upright in his seat.
A flicker of panic crossed the eyes behind his mask, but greed swallowed it almost instantly.
Ten million dollars.
This was far beyond the humiliation value he’d had in mind.
“Sir.”
Vito stood, craning his neck toward the upper level.
“Since you’re offering such a generous price, all those earlier conditions are off the table.”
“The woman is a bit headstrong, I’ll admit, but she’s easy on the eyes. Once you take her home, you can handle her however you see fit. I won’t ask questions.”
He actually believed the man in the box wanted me as a *purchase*.
No response came from the black-and-gold box.
Just when Vito took the silence as consent, that cold voice cut through again.
“I said—I’m buying her freedom.”
“Are you hard of hearing?”
The words were quiet, but they carried the kind of force and authority that only someone accustomed to absolute dominance could project.
Vito stood frozen.
“Ten million dollars. To sever every tie she has to you.”
“From this moment on, she’s under my protection.”
“As for those filthy little games you had planned—”
The voice paused.
“I find them beneath me.”
The room erupted in whispers.
This wasn’t a bid anymore.
This was a public slap across Vito’s face.
Vito’s breathing turned ragged.
It had never crossed his mind that his meticulously designed revenge would be shut down from above—with the kind of contempt usually reserved for insects.
But he didn’t dare push back.
Because he knew perfectly well that whoever sat in that box could crush him more easily than stepping on an ant.
“Ten million dollars, going once.”
I finally found my voice.
Behind the distorter, it was steadier than it had ever been.
“Ten million dollars, going twice.”
“Ten million dollars, going three times.”
“Sold.”
The gavel came down hard, its dull thud resonating through the hall.
My photo vanished from the screen, replaced by two words: **AUCTION CLOSED.**
I exhaled a long, shaking breath.
Every ounce of strength drained out of me in a single moment.
My legs buckled, and I nearly collapsed right there on the stage.
The voice of the floor manager crackled through my earpiece, barely above a whisper.
“Miss Nightingale, please follow me to the top floor for the handover.”
I forced myself upright, turned, and walked into the backstage corridor.
The handover room was on the top floor.
I pushed open the door.
A man stood before the floor-to-ceiling windows, his back to me. Tall, straight-shouldered, the clean lines of his black suit carving out a silhouette that radiated quiet dominance.
He heard me enter and turned.
That sharply defined, striking face emerged into the light.
My pupils contracted.