My Devoted Demons

Chapter 12 - Who Are You?

Gwendolyn

"This is Gwendolyn Sage." I began to notice that every member of the audience was holding a paddle in their hands. "She is the only daughter of Dexter and Charity Sage, and is eighteen years old." That was a lie. I didn't turn eighteen till March, and we were still in September. "The bidding starts at $200,000."

Quicker than my eyes could follow, at least fifteen paddles flew into the air, each displaying different numbers.

"$300,000," the auctioneer announced. Five of the fifteen paddles came down to rest on the laps of their holders.

"$400,000." My eyes widened as I caught the stares people shot at me from the crowd. Some lustful, some annoyed, some envious.

"$500,000?" he questioned. Five more fell, and five remained.

"$600,000..." the auctioneer trailed off, eager for their responses. Three paddles disappeared, leaving two in the air.

A man on the left stood and declared, "$700,000."

All faces pointed towards a petite woman in a satin, black dress. A smirk formed itself on her lips as she stood and sneered, "$1,000,000."

The man's face and neck flushed, embarrassed, and he scratched the back of his neck before sheepishly sitting back down in his chair, head low in shame.

The auctioneer peered over every table in the audience before placing his hands on the sides of the podium and proclaiming, "If no one objects, then Gwendolyn Sage is to be auctioned off to the Jett family for $1,000,000."

Not a single soul moved a muscle or made a sound.

"And she is sold!"

I took a closer look at the woman in the black dress, and as she gracefully sat down, her fiery red hair bounced with the movement, complementing her jade green eyes. Something about her face was familiar, like I'd seen her before, but I knew I hadn't.

I didn't recognize anyone else at her table, and I didn't get the chance to graze my eyes over the rest of the room because I felt a thick arm, which could only have belonged to none other Henry, coil itself around my waist and drag me off the stage, away from curious eyes.

"It's over," he whispered into my ear. "It's over."

I was pretty sure that he was trying to console me, but I didn't need to be consoled; I felt perfectly fine.

"Henry," I muttered. "I'm okay."

He stopped in his tracks, hand braced on the door handle that would lead us out of the stage area.

"Are you sure?" His grip on me was turning shaky, and I could've sworn I saw tears in his eyes. "You-You're okay?"

I turned in his embrace to cup his face in my hands, and the look in his eyes was akin to a little boy lost in the grocery store, unable to find his parents.

"I promise you," I breathed. "I am okay. It probably just hasn't hit me yet."

He swallowed hard, and I took the liberty of wrapping my arms around his neck, letting his head fall onto my shoulder. I felt the single drop of a tear splash onto the hollow of my collarbone.

This was not the ice-cold man I had met just last night.

He sniffled and pulled his head up, forcing my arms out of their place around his neck, and then wiped his face of any emotion before turning the handle and sliding the door open.

"We have to meet the family in an office to sign the contract before we can let you go," he rasped, and I saw him exhale a shaky breath as he pulled me through the doorway with him.