The first thing Diya felt was the cold. It wasn't just a chill; it was that specific, damp, concrete cold that seeped into your bones and stayed there.
She gasped, her eyes flying open, expecting to see the white ceiling of the hospital or the dark sky of the bridge—but there was nothing but shadows. The air was thick with the smell of old wood and rusted iron.
No. Not here, she thought, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. Please, not here.
But then she heard it. A muffled, rhythmic thumping from above. The sound of heavy footsteps on floorboards. She knew that sound. It was the "showroom" upstairs where the men gathered.
--::--
The Realization
Diya sat up, her hands shaking. She looked down and saw the same pale blue dress she'd worn years ago—stained, wrinkled, and far too thin for the drafty basement. She touched her neck. No scars. No jewelry. Just skin.
"I'm back," she whispered, her voice cracking.
In her first life, this was where she had broken. She had spent hours crying, begging the "Khannas" to come save her, not knowing they were the ones who had signed the papers to sell her off. She had been so weak back then.
But as the door at the top of the stairs creaked open, throwing a shard of yellow light into the basement, a strange calm settled over her. The fear was still there, but it was underneath something much sharper: memory.
--::--
The Auction Begins
A man she remembered as "The Handler" stepped down the stairs, his face hidden in the shadows.
"Get up, 402," he grunted. "You're the main event. Don't make it difficult, or I'll have to tie you up again."
Diya didn't argue. She didn't beg. She stood up, brushed the dust off her dress, and looked him right where his eyes should be.
"You don't need to tie me up," Diya said, her voice surprisingly steady. "Just lead the way. I wouldn't want to keep my buyer waiting."
The Handler paused, confused by her tone. In the first timeline, he'd had to drag her up those stairs. This time, she walked past him, her head held high.
--::--
The View from the Stage
As she was pushed onto the small, raised platform in the smoky room above, the bright lights blinded her for a second. When her vision cleared, she saw them—the sea of suits, the glint of expensive watches, and the predatory looks of men with too much money and no souls.
Forty thousand!Fifty-five!
She ignored the shouting. Her eyes scanned the very back of the room, near the exit. There, leaning against a marble pillar with his arms crossed, was a man who looked like he'd been carved out of obsidian.
Enzo Viti.
He wasn't bidding yet. He was just watching, his eyes bored and cold. In her first life, she had seen him as a monster. But now, seeing the way he looked at the other bidders with pure disgust, she realized he was the only one in the room who wasn't there for a "toy."
He was there for her. And this time, she was going to make sure he got exactly what he paid for.