The tremors began in my fingertips, spreading through my hands until they shook with an intensity that frightened me.

I had no reference point for this—no roadmap, no preparation.

The pornography I’d stumbled across in high school felt like cartoon caricatures compared to the visceral reality of what awaited me.

Watching and doing were universes apart. Separated by a chasm of terror and anticipation that threatened to swallow me whole.

The ambiguity hollowed out my stomach, acid rising in my throat.

I needed water, needed to feel something real and tangible sliding down my throat to anchor me to reality.

My legs carried me downstairs, my mind so consumed by panic that I barely registered my surroundings until I collided with my mother in the vestibule.

She had just returned from pilates, her hair perfectly coiffed despite the supposed exertion.

“Mikaela,” she said, her eyes sharpening with curiosity. “How was your lunch with Anthony?”

The question felt surreal, as if she were asking about a movie I’d seen rather than the arrangement that would determine the rest of my life.

“Fine,” I managed, struggling to keep my voice even. “Just a first meeting. Nothing special. He spent most of the time talking about his father’s company.”

“Good.” Something like satisfaction flickered across her features. “Ambition is essential in a husband.”

I nodded mechanically, attempting to edge past her toward the kitchen. Her hand shot out, fingers wrapping around my forearm with surprising strength.

“Your father will hear all about it tomorrow,” she added, her tone casual but her grip unyielding. “Tonight he’s out with Anthony’s father, they’re playing poker at the gentlemen’s club. He won’t be home until very late.”

Relief flooded through me with such force I nearly gasped.

No father meant no elaborate excuses for my absence tonight. No interrogation. No lies to construct and maintain.

Just a simple text claiming I was at Josie’s would suffice.

“Thank you for letting me know,” I said, genuine gratitude coloring my voice.

In the kitchen, I gulped down lemon water, the tart liquid a welcome distraction from the storm raging inside me.

The clock read 4:30 PM. Three and a half hours until I transformed from Mikaela Wallace, virgin daughter of Gunther Wallace, into someone else entirely.

The shower became my confessional, hot water streaming over my skin as I scrubbed every inch with methodical precision.

Would he notice the freckle on my left hip? The small scar on my knee from a childhood fall? Or was I simply a trophy to be claimed, a conquest to be conquered?

Standing before my lingerie drawer, I faced another dilemma.

Nothing too elaborate, this wasn’t a romantic encounter. Nothing too plain, I had my pride. I settled on a simple black set, elegant but understated.

Practical, like the transaction itself.

A bitter laugh escaped my lips as I dressed.

One day: first date, first sex, and nearly half a million dollars. All things considered, it was a very productive day.

“I’m heading to Josie’s for the night,” I called to my mother, the lie sliding from my tongue with practiced ease.

She barely looked up from her magazine, waving dismissively as I slipped out the door.

The family driver dropped me at Josie’s building.

I went inside, waving cheerfully until his taillights disappeared around the corner. Only then did I call a cab, the finality of my decision settling into my bones like lead.

The Valemont Hotel rose before me like a monument to wealth and discretion.

Freedom waited on the other side of this night. Freedom purchased with the only currency my father had ever taught me I possessed.

At the reception desk, I gave my name with as much confidence as I could muster.

The room key felt impossibly heavy in my palm.

In the elevator, I caught my reflection in the polished doors—a stranger stared back at me, eyes too wide, skin too pale.

Who was this woman about to sell her body to buy her freedom?

Outside Room 512, I froze, my hand hovering over the door handle. No one in the world knew where I was.

In minutes, my life would change irrevocably. There would be a before and an after, with this threshold as the dividing line.

I took a deep breath, inserted the key, and stepped inside.

The room was dimly lit, the soft glow of a single lamp casting long shadows across expensive furnishings.

My heart hammered against my ribcage as I moved down the short hallway toward the main room.

And then I freeze.

Sitting in a chair near the bed was Caleb.

Josie’s teasing words echoed in my mind—“Don’t forget he’s hot”—as if the universe were playing some cruel, cosmic joke.

Caleb. My father’s friend.

The man whose every glance had set my skin ablaze for days.

He held up both hands, his voice impossibly gentle.

“Please, don’t panic. I’m not here to threaten you.”

I backed away until my spine pressed against the wall, my breath coming in shallow gasps.

This couldn’t be happening.

Not him. Anyone but him.

“I’m only here to stop you from making a mistake,” he continued, his tone steady, calming. “I swear, my thoughts aren’t what you think.”

The panic receded just enough for rage to surface.

“Explain,” I snapped, my voice sharper than I’d intended. “Because right now, I have absolutely no reason to trust you.”

He nodded, something like respect flickering in his eyes.

“Earlier today, I met with a business partner,” he began, his voice even. “This man has a… peculiar habit when he travels, always seeks the company of a woman. Specifically, a virgin.”

His jaw clenched before continuing.

“During lunch, he excused himself to take a call. Left his laptop open on the table—displaying this auction site for…” He paused, visibly uncomfortable. “For virgins.”

My stomach dropped somewhere around my ankles.

“I wasn’t trying to snoop, but the screen was right there. And then I saw—” He swallowed hard. “Your photo appeared on his screen. Your listing.”

The floor seemed to tilt beneath my feet.

He had seen it. Had seen my half-naked photos, read the description.

Had known my desperate secret.

“I couldn’t—” Caleb’s eyes darkened. “While he was still on his call, I pulled out my phone, created an account, and outbid him. Substantially. He came back talking about this ‘perfect specimen’ he’d found, but was furious someone had already placed a higher bid.”

He leaned forward, intensity radiating from him.

“I had to, Mikaela. I couldn’t let him get to you.”

Something inside me, something primal and intuitive, believed him.

Since my birthday dinner, Caleb had been the only person who actually saw me—not as Gunther Wallace’s prized virgin daughter, but as a human with thoughts and feelings.

The realization loosened something in my chest. My hands still trembled, but I wasn’t backing away.

And God help me, even in this fucked-up moment with my virginity literally hanging in the balance, a traitorous thought flickered through my mind: if he reached for me right now, I’d let him. In a heartbeat. No auction required.

I stepped forward, away from the wall.

“Men lose their minds when they have too much money,” I muttered, attempting to cloak vulnerability in cynicism. “That’s why they end up doing weird, or disgusting, things.”

Caleb didn’t smile at my attempt at levity. His gaze remained steady, unwavering. Still seated, he gestured gently toward the room.

“Sit wherever you’re comfortable,” he said softly, as if speaking to a frightened animal.

I perched on the edge of a velvet chair across from him, maintaining the maximum distance possible while still being able to hear his voice.

The silence stretched between us, taut with unspoken questions and half-formed answers.

Finally, he asked the one question I’d been dreading since I recognized him in that chair. His voice was quiet but unyielding, like a surgeon’s blade—precise and penetrating.

“Why are you here, Mikaela? Why would you sell your virginity to a stranger?”