The entire hall reeked of testosterone. Lucy Thompson sat stiffly on the platform, her face void of emotion as crude voices and vulgar bids echoed around her.

Her slender fingers were already digging into her palms.

Men with greasy eyes scanned her like she was some kind of merchandise, throwing out their offers with obvious hunger.

"Two million!"

"Three million!"

"Five million!"

Lucy turned her head away, refusing to look at the repulsive, pot-bellied man with the loudest voice. Her long, upturned eyes were dull, filled with a hopelessness that seemed bottomless.

Just yesterday, she'd gotten the message—her gambling addict father owed ten million to a casino. Three days to pay up, or he was fish food. All she could scrape together was four million. Still far from enough.

She was desperate. That's how she ended up here.

"Five million once, five million twice…"

The auctioneer's excited voice pulled her back. She closed her eyes, ready to accept her fate.

"One million."

The cold, distant voice came from the VIP seats on the second floor.

The sound jolted Lucy. She slowly opened her eyes and looked up—only to meet that pair of deep, unreadable eyes. In an instant, all her strength seemed to drain out of her.

She'd imagined what it'd be like to see him again, over and over. But never like this. Not when she was at rock bottom. Her eyes stung.

"One million once, one million twice—sold!"

The gavel dropped. Relief washed over Lucy, though it came with a heavy dose of heartache.

Presidential Suite, S Hotel.

Lucy clutched the hem of her clothes tightly, not daring to look up at the man lounging on the couch.

"One million for one night? Huh. Looks like you've gone up in value. Must be proud of yourself."

Alexander Harris had a sharp, striking face, but the storm between his brows gave him a dangerous edge.

Hearing his mocking tone, Lucy—who'd never shed a single tear even after brutal beatings in the ring—suddenly dropped her head, her hand instinctively patting away at a rising heat on her skin.

She coughed lightly and forced a casual tone.

"Well, who wouldn't want more money if they could get it?"

That flippant tone pushed Alexander past his limit. Five years ago, she left him because he had nothing. And now, standing there pretending it meant nothing—it was the same look, the same cruel reminder.

His knuckles cracked as he clenched his fists.

He stood up, looking down at her as he gripped her chin tightly, his voice like ice.

"Yeah? This the choice you made? Selling yourself like some escort for cash?"

His words felt like a slap. Lucy's heart twisted painfully, but she stiffened her neck, forcing herself to speak with fake confidence.

"So what? It's my life. You don't get a say. We've got nothing to do with each other anymore."

That did it. Alexander snapped.

His blood boiled as he stared at her, as if tormenting her would finally ease what he felt inside. He slammed down his glass, shoved her hard onto the bed, and climbed on top of her.

Startled, Lucy instinctively shoved him away with the strength built from years of training.

Smack!

The slap echoed through the enormous room.

"Seriously? Still playing innocent?"

Stunned, Lucy wiped the trickle of blood from her lips, her gaze dazed.

"No ties, huh? Right now, you're just a whore I paid a million dollars for."

His eyes were wild, burning with rage. Every word came laced with venom. He ripped at her clothes and forced her down, his actions cruel and cold.

Every word stabbed at her like invisible lashes, leaving her breathless.

Right. How could she forget? She'd already sold herself.