Your Eyes Are Way Brighter Than the Milky Way

I was born simple. The day my parents stripped me naked and placed me on the auction block, Mark happened to be passing by. He idly tossed out a staggering nine hundred million to pull me from that stage, then told me: “From now on, you’re Sharon. No one will dare bully you again.” So even after the Corwin empire fell, I still followed loyally behind Mark. When despair drove him toward the river to end it all, I prepared to follow. But after that day, Mark found his footing again. It took him two years to rebuild the Corwin commercial empire. And just as he’d placed me on a pedestal—his cherished princess— a woman named Andrea appeared. She said if I slashed my face, Mark would like me even more. I believed her. But Mark flew into a rage and locked me in a dark room. … For the first eighteen years of my life, I had no name—only the label “Dog.” My birth parents claimed I was born slow, worse than a dog, and kept me only to sell someday for the right price. That day finally arrived. They stripped me bare and pushed me onto the gilded auction stage like a lifeless object. Harsh spotlights beat down. I shrank back, trying to hide behind my long hair, until the host yanked it away. Below waited countless eyes—greedy, amused, disdainful. Those gazes pricked my skin like needles. It hurt. I couldn’t understand what they were shouting. The soaring numbers meant nothing to me. All I knew was fear—a bone-deep, desperate urge to flee. Just as despair tightened its grip and my tears threatened to fall, a cool, clear voice cut through the noise. “Half a billion.” The hall fell silent. I looked toward the voice and saw him. He sat in a second-floor private box, backlit. I couldn’t make out his face—only the sharp profile silhouetted against the box lights, and the glowing tip of a cigarette between his fingers. The man beside him seemed to be advising against it, but Mark just waved a dismissive hand. The host’s voice cracked with excitement. “Half a billion! Any advance?” Whispers rippled through the crowd. “Is that the Corwin heir? Has he lost his mind?” “A simpleton—worth that much?” “You don’t get it. Some men pay for that.” I didn’t understand the crude words, but I felt it—this man had silenced them all. “Half a billion, going once… going twice…” “Nine hundred million.” Again he spoke, his voice edged with lazy finality. The hall went utterly still. The gavel fell. My fate was sealed. Two burly men led me to his private box. The door closed. Shoved inside, I stumbled to my knees on the plush carpet. Terrified, I looked up—and for the first time saw his face clearly. Handsome. Aloof. An iceberg that would never melt. His eyes were depthless, a starless night, giving nothing away. He stubbed out his cigarette. “Name?” he asked slowly, his voice colder than before. I stared blankly and shook my head. The man beside him—an assistant, it seemed—hurried forward with a file. “Mr. Corwin, she’s registered as Sharon. But she’s… not all there. Hasn’t been since childhood. Her parents just called her ‘the fool.’” Mark’s brow furrowed almost imperceptibly. He stood, his tall frame looming over me, casting a long shadow. He took off his suit jacket and tossed it over me, covering my nakedness. The jacket was large, warm, carrying a faint scent of tobacco and something cool and clean—his scent. “From now on,” he said, looking down at me, his tone allowing no argument, “your name is Sharon. Stay with me. No one will dare bully you again.” I nodded, though I barely understood. In that moment, I didn’t yet know this man, Mark Corwin, would become the only light in my life—and the very nightmare that would one day shove me into endless darkness.