The Auctioned Wife: Escaping The Billionaire's Cage

Aleida POV

The humiliation wasn’t just an event; it was a calculated campaign.

Two days later, Derek hosted a dinner for his extended family. I wasn't asked to attend. I was summoned.

I sat at the far end of the long mahogany table, an exile in my own dining room. Else sat on Derek's right.

She was the center of gravity, pulling every eye and ear toward her. She spun stories about her time in Paris—her art, her suffering, her delicate constitution.

She looked at me across the floral centerpiece, her eyes wide and glistening.

"It was so hard being away," she said, her voice trembling with practiced fragility. "Especially knowing that some people... worked so hard to keep me there."

The table went quiet. Derek's mother glared at me with undisguised disdain.

"Aleida," his aunt said, her tone sharp. "Is it true you told Derek that Else needed to stay in Europe for her health?"

I gripped my fork until my knuckles turned white. "I never said that."

Derek put a protective hand on Else's shoulder. "She's here now. That's what matters. No one is going to hurt her again."

He looked directly at me when he said it.

He was rewriting history in real-time, painting me as the villain who had exiled his beloved sister.

*I'm his wife,* I wanted to scream.

But I stayed silent. I sat there, rigid, letting their judgment wash over me. Silence was my only shield; if I spoke, I would shatter.

Later that night, I woke to a sound.

It was a sharp notification tone. Not from my phone.

I rose and followed the noise down the dark corridor. It was coming from the study.

The door was cracked open, spilling a sliver of yellow light across the floorboards.

I peered inside.

Derek was sitting at his desk. Else was leaning over his shoulder, her hand resting possessively on his chest. Edison was sitting in the guest chair, his posture relaxed.

They were studying a monitor.

"Look at the data," Else said. Her voice was excited, breathless. "The compliance rate is ninety-eight percent."

Edison laughed, a dry, rasping sound. "Obedience Serum. God, that sounds medieval. But effective."

"It induces a state of hyper-suggestibility," Derek said. He sounded fascinated, clinical. "It suppresses the trauma response. They do whatever they're told, and they don't even remember the pain."

My blood ran cold.

"Imagine using that on her," Else giggled. She pointed at the screen. "We could make her sign the divorce papers. We could make her sign over the baby."

Derek smiled. He actually smiled.

"It would save us a lot of legal fees," he said. "And it would make the auction go smoother if she's... cooperative."

The room seemed to tilt on its axis.

They weren't just planning to sell me. They were planning to drug me. To erase my mind.

I backed away from the door, my breath trapped in my throat. I stumbled down the hallway to the bathroom, locking the door behind me with trembling hands.

I turned on the faucet and splashed cold water on my face.

It didn't help. The image of Derek's smiling face burned behind my eyelids.

He was a monster.

I grabbed my phone. I dialed Sarah, my best friend.

It rang once. Twice.

Sarah picked up immediately. "Aleida? Is everything okay?"

I opened my mouth to speak. To tell her about the ring, the auction, the serum.

But only a choked sob escaped.

"Aleida?" Sarah's voice pitched up in panic.

I couldn't do it. If I told her, she would come here. She would try to be a hero. And they would hurt her, too. I couldn't have her blood on my hands.

I hung up.

I slid to the floor, hugging my knees to my chest.

I remembered our first date. We sat on a park bench and ate ice cream. He had wiped a smudge of chocolate off my chin and told me I was the most real thing he'd ever found.

Lies. All of it.

I looked at myself in the mirror. I looked gaunt. Tired.

But my eyes were dry.

He never loved me. The realization hit with the force of a physical blow, yet within the pain lay a strange, cold key.

If he never loved me, I didn't have to mourn him. I just had to survive him.

For the next week, I became a ghost in my own house.

I ate alone. I slept in the guest room. I kept my door locked.

Then came the party.

Derek was celebrating Else's official return to the company. A massive gala at a downtown hotel.

"You're coming," Derek said that morning, adjusting his cufflinks without looking at me. "No excuses."

I put on a black dress. It was simple, severe. Mourning clothes for a marriage that was already dead.

The ballroom was filled with the city's elite. Champagne flowed. Music swelled.

People approached me, oblivious. "Oh, Aleida, you look glowing! How is married life?"

I smiled. My face hurt from the effort. "It's... enlightening," I said.

I saw Sarah across the room. She started to surge toward me, her face furious. She had sensed something was wrong.

I shook my head, a microscopic movement. I gave her a look that pleaded: *Stay away. Not yet.*

She stopped, confused, but she listened.

I walked over to the VIP table.

Derek and Else were sitting there. Else was practically in his lap.

She was feeding him a grape, wiping a drop of juice from his lip with her thumb.

It was intimate. Grossly, publicly intimate.

I pulled out the chair next to them and sat down.

Derek froze. He looked at me.

For a second, just a fraction of a second, I saw something flicker in his eyes. Guilt? Regret?

Then Else spoke.

"Derek," she said loudly, her voice carrying over the music. "Did you forget Aleida doesn't eat sweets? She's so picky."

It was a lie. I loved sweets. Derek used to buy me cupcakes every Friday, rain or shine.

He looked at her. Then he looked at me.

"She's right," he said, his voice cold. "You shouldn't be here, Aleida. You're ruining the mood."

But he didn't look away from me. His hand twitched on the table.

He remembered. I knew he remembered the cupcakes.

But he chose to forget.

He chose her. Again.