Page 91 of Bid For Me
My heart skips a beat. “What do you mean?”
He places his hand on the folder, his eyes locking with mine. “I’ll tell your family, tell society – everyone – that you sold your virginity at a sex club to the highest bidder to get ahead.”
A gasp slips past my lips and I swallow my panic.
Think, Elle. Think!
Forcing myself to project an air of calm I in no way feel, I take a deep breath and nod at Alexander.
“It’s true that I was sold as a date at an auction for a worthy cause, but it’s also true that your son was the highest bidder. Before he decided to propose. How would that look for the Sterling-Knight family name if it werealsoto come to light?”
I keep my tone light, but inside I’m trembling. Terrified. I’m threatening Alexander Sterling-Knight, calling his bluff and trying to play him at his own twisted game.
It backfires when he scoffs.
“You think that’s all I have to destroy you with, Elle? I knoweverythingabout you… How are your family’s finances, by the way? Can they afford the forfeit fee? And I’ll go to the police about Aiden. I’ll make sure you lose everything you’ve built for yourself, Elle. Your reputation. Your career. Your future. But I’ll also destroy your entire family too.”
I feel my breath catch in my throat as the gravity of his words sinks in. He’s using my past against me. My mistakes, my secrets – the things I’ve fought so hard to bury – he’s ready to expose them all.
Tears sting my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. I’ve already been through too much to let him control me. But just as I’m about to speak, Alexander presses his lips together, his voice dropping lower. “And if you think that’s bad, I’ll do worse. I’ll release the original records of Candy’s. The ones your family worked so hard to bury to give her a fresh start. The ones she tried to leave behind. You won’t just lose everything – she will too.”
My knees feel weak, my vision swimming with tears. The weight of his words crushes me, suffocating me in a way I’ve never felt before. I have no choice. He’s backed me into a corner, and I can’t find a way out.
“Please,” I whisper, my voice breaking. “Please, don’t do this.”
Alexander’s gaze hardens, his resolve unshaken. “Sign the prenup, Elle. And keep it a secret. You’ll marry Sebastian. You’ll give him the family he’s expected to have. And in return, you will have everything you’ve ever wanted.”
I stare at the document in front of me, the contract that ties me to a future I don’t want. The weight of everything – my past, my family, my future, and everything I’m about to lose – presses down on me like a boulder.
I take a deep breath, my hand shaking as I reach for the pen. It feels like lead in my sweaty grip. I swallow past the lump in my throat and sign my name, feeling like I’m signing away my soul in the process.
“Thank you, dear,” Alexander says, his voice colder than ever. He takes the document from me, his eyes scanning it one last time. “I’ll make sure this remains between us.”
With that, he leaves the room without another word, his footsteps echoing in the hall.
I sit there for a long time, my chest heaving as the weight of the last few minutes settles over me. Tears spill over my cheeks, but I don’t make a sound.
This is the moment that changes everything. The moment I lost myself for the family’s legacy. The moment I realised that, no matter how hard I try, I will never be free.
And all I can do is wait for the wedding.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Seb
The church is full.Too full. Rows of impeccably dressed guests murmur softly, as sunlight filters through the stained-glass windows, painting jewel-toned patterns across the stone floor. The air is filled with quiet anticipation, the sound of it somehow filling my head and drowning out my thoughts. I’ve been to hundreds of weddings in my life – hell, I’ve been best man at half a dozen of them – but this feels different. It’s like every beat of my heart is hammering a countdown to something I can’t undo.
Something I don’twantto undo.
My hands are shoved deep in my pockets, nerves flickering under my skin like live wires. I’m not nervous about the vows or the ceremony itself – I’m nervous about seeingher.
The pews are full of guests, faces I half-recognise from boardrooms and galas, men and women dressed in finery that costs more than some people’s annual salaries. They’re talking in whispers, like they know they’re about to witness something important, something more than just the sterile union of two wealthy families. I feel their gazes skim over me as I stand atthe altar, their speculation a murmur of static in the back of my mind.
I don’t care about any of them.
My eyes lift to the altar flowers – white hydrangeas, lilies, roses – a statement of wealth and purity. What a fucking joke. The entire production is for show, a meticulously curated illusion of perfection for families that care more about legacy than love. I hate it.
I don’t care about the flowers that were imported from god-knows-where. I don’t care about the ridiculous cost of the gilded decorations or the delicate silk ribbons tied to every pew.