He Sold His Blindfolded Mistress To The Highest Bidder

I rose on trembling toes, extending my arms in a graceful arc that belied the humiliation burning through my veins. The spotlight followed my movements across the raised platform, harsh and unforgiving against my skin. The ballet costume Alexander had selected clung to my body—ornate with crystals and feathers, yet cut to reveal more than it concealed.

"Higher, Sarah," Alexander's voice cut through the murmurs of his guests. "Show them what a broken bird looks like when it tries to fly."

Laughter rippled through the penthouse. I kept my eyes fixed on a point above their heads, refusing to meet their gazes as I executed the next series of pirouettes. The marble beneath my bare feet was cold, but not as cold as the emptiness that had settled in my chest over these three years.

From the corner of my eye, I could see him—Alexander Blackwood, the man I had once pulled from flames, now watching my degradation from his black leather chair. His face was impassive, one hand wrapped around a crystal tumbler of scotch, the other resting possessively on Victoria Sterling's thigh. She sat perched beside him like a venomous bird, her crimson lips curved in satisfaction.

"Look how she stumbles," Victoria whispered, loud enough for me to hear. "Perhaps she needs more... intensive training."

I faltered, just slightly, and Alexander's eyes narrowed. That momentary break in form would cost me later. Everything had a price in this gilded cage.

A heavyset man in the front row—Mr. Harrison, one of Alexander's business associates—raised his champagne flute toward me. "I've always wondered, Blackwood, what would a blind ballerina fetch at Silas Croft's special auctions? I hear the collectors pay premium for... unique merchandise."

More laughter. More clinking glasses. I completed my final pose, holding it as the music faded, my body screaming in protest after hours of performance.

Alexander didn't dismiss me immediately, letting me stand there, frozen in position, while conversations resumed around me as though I were merely a statue. A possession. Which, according to the contract I'd signed three years ago—the contract that had seemed my only escape from worse consequences—was exactly what I was.

Finally, he nodded, and I stepped down from the platform, keeping my head bowed as I moved to the corner where I was expected to wait until needed again.

The party continued well past midnight. I served drinks, performed twice more, and endured casual touches from guests who saw me as nothing more than an exotic pet. When a drunk investor stumbled, spilling champagne across the pristine marble floor, Alexander's gaze found mine immediately.

"Clean it up," he ordered, his voice carrying no room for defiance.

I sank to my knees, the thin fabric of my costume soaking through instantly as I began to scrub with the cloth a staff member silently handed me. The guests barely paused their conversations, stepping around or over me as needed.

As I worked, Victoria's stiletto heels appeared in my line of vision, stopping just