Amara's POV
“That’d be worth any price if I could take her to bed for a night.”
The lewd shout sliced through the air, and Grayson’s face went from dark to darker by the second.
He clenched his fist but kept his voice low. “Honey, Alyssa was my woman once. You can’t just do this. Take the video down. If you’re angry, I’ll handle her myself.”
Handle her like what, kill her in bed? I laughed coldly. “Fine.”
Quickly, the video vanished cleanly from the screen.
Finally, Grayson let out a breath, but then his pupils suddenly widened as a huge gilded cage dropped from above the stage.
Alyssa was bound, her hands and feet tied, tape over her mouth. She shrank into a corner and trembled. Scars raked across half her body like a jagged landscape. Through her thin clothes, they showed plainly, stirring the crowd’s worst instincts.
The room exploded with noise. Men shouted bids like animals.
“One million! I want her!”
“Five million. She’s mine today!”
“Not a chance! I’ll bid the highest!”
I smiled, mild and sharp. “Grayson, auction the money for Alyssa and buy me a new wedding dress.”
“That’s enough!” Grayson could no longer pretend. His eyes were bloodshot as he glared at me and yelled, “Amara, put her down this instant. The man in that video is me!”
Silence crashed over the hall. I looked up slowly.
He locked eyes with me and, for a moment, I saw a frantic flicker beneath his bravado. His voice softened, pleading. “Sweetheart, it’s my fault. I can explain. Punish me however you like. But Alyssa’s innocent. She’s carrying my child.”
Alyssa? The woman he’d claimed he wanted dead for revenge.
I stared at him, cold as death. “What about our child? Do you expect me to just accept that he’s gone?”
He launched into a rehearsed line as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “Alyssa agreed. When her baby’s born, she’ll give it to you to raise. Boy or girl, the child will inherit our wealth. We’ll be a happy family of three.”
His shamelessness stunned me. I stood there for two seconds, then laughed through my anger. “You lied to me. You tricked that woman, made her lose her child, and now you expect me to raise your bastard? You actually think that’s a gift?”
“Grayson,” I said slowly, “aren’t you afraid my child will come back to collect?”
His face hardened. “What do you mean by ‘bastard’? It’s our child. When did you get so cruel and petty? I’m disappointed in you.”
When I stayed silent, he sighed theatrically. “Amara, please. Let her go. I’ll only let Alyssa see the baby five times a week. Isn’t that punishment enough?”
I was so furious I laughed. Then I slapped him hard across the face, each word squeezed out between my teeth. “Let her go? Don’t make me laugh.”
I pointed to the man who’d just bade the highest and stated, “Mr. Bishop, Alyssa’s yours. Enjoy.”
Mr. Bishop hesitated for a heartbeat, so I reminded him, cool as ice, “Whether you want her or not, I'm not going to refund your money.”
That pushed him over the edge. He quickly grabbed her and dragged her offstage toward the lounge.
Grayson started forward, but I stepped behind him and warned, “If you go in there today, Grayson, we’re finished.”
He froze, body stiff, eyes nearly bleeding. Then a woman’s scream rang out from the lounge.
“Grayson! Help me… ah—”
