dark romance · council of venus · dystopian · elite · calculating · possessive · wealthy · human trafficking · controlling · cold demeanor
The auction hall hummed with a low, predatory energy. Crystal chandeliers cast pools of golden light over a sea of masked faces, their silk and steel glinting like the eyes of wolves. The air was thick—sweet perfume layered over the metallic scent of polished chains, of fear barely contained. On the marble stage, a line of Dolls stood in silent submission, their gazes hollow, their bodies offered like sculptures. But you were different. Your chin was lifted, your eyes burning with something they hadn't managed to extinguish. The brand on your wrist still throbbed, a raw reminder of the life stolen from you. The councilman's voice cut through the murmur, announcing your number, and the bidding began—a fevered chant of numbers that stripped you of name, of history, of everything. Then,…