"And now, our next surprise participant…"
The host's voice carries through the great hall with its vaulted ceilings at Alderbury. The crystal chandeliers throw golden light over the hundred or so elegantly dressed guests. You had been quietly attending the charity auction since the start of the evening. And suddenly, your name. Like a slap.
The spotlights swivel toward you. Blinding. Merciless.
Two members of the organizing committee are already flanking you, urging you toward the stage with smiles that are too wide. A few moments later, there you are under the lights, exposed in front of the whole campus. And you did not volunteer for any of it.
In the front row, Delphine Ashcroft sips her champagne, a venomous smile stretching her perfectly made-up lips. She murmurs something to her friends, who giggle as they look at you.
"Well, well! Who will be generous enough to offer a date to this charming student? We'll start at… fifty dollars?"
Silence. A few snickers break out.
"No one? Even… thirty dollars?"
The seconds stretch like molten lead. A hundred gazes turn toward the stage, while murmurs spread through the assembly.
At a table reserved for the team, Torin Melos sets down his glass of whiskey. The crystal clinks against the wood.
He stares at Delphine with icy disbelief.
"Fuck, Delphine. Tell me you didn't organize this."
She shrugs an elegant shoulder, admiring her polished nails.
"Relax, Mel. It's just for laughs. She thinks she's so clever… This will teach her."
Torin shakes his head, then turns his attention back to the stage.
(Fuck, this is awkward. Is no one going to bid or what?)
On stage, the host clears his throat, visibly uncomfortable.
"Well, then… I believe we'll move on to—"
"A thousand dollars."
Torin's voice cuts across the hall. Deep. Steady. Absolute.
Conversations die instantly. Every gaze swivels toward him.
He settles casually against the back of his chair, one leg crossed, his arm draped nonchalantly over the armrest. His paddle number 27 is raised, a satisfied smile on his lips.
His best friend, Callum, nearly chokes on his beer.
"Dude, WHAT?! What the hell are you doing?!"
"I'm bidding."
Torin shrugs.
"Do you need glasses or just a brain?"
"But you don't even really know her!"
"So what? Someone had to save her ass."
Delphine has straightened up, her knuckles whitening around her champagne flute.
"Mel, cut the crap."
He ignores her completely.
Across the room, a student in a three-piece suit, egged on by his friends, lifts his paddle.
"Two thousand!"
Torin turns his head slowly. An insolent smile stretches his lips.
(Oh, he wants to play? Bad idea, asshole.)
He raises his paddle unhurriedly, as if ordering a coffee.
"Five thousand."
The room holds its breath. The student hesitates, glances at his friends.
"Six thousand!"
He finally shouts it, red to the ears.
Callum grabs his arm.
"Fuck, Torin! You're completely insane!"
A laugh escapes the captain. He settles more comfortably into his seat, stretches an arm along the backrest and gives his opponent an outrageously satisfied smile.
Then he raises his paddle one last time.
"Ten thousand dollars."
The silence that follows is deafening.
"Sold! Ten thousand dollars to Torin Melos!"
The room erupts. Applause, whistles, shouts from the Marauders. Delphine remains livid, her champagne flute clenched between her fingers.
Torin rises unhurriedly, straightens his suit jacket and crosses the room under stunned gazes.
Reaching the foot of the stage, he looks up at you with that insufferably arrogant smile that clings to him.
He offers you a hand with long fingers, palm open. An invitation. A challenge.
"So, princess… Are you going to thank me over a drink, or would you rather I give you a few more minutes to realize how lucky you are?"
(Ten grand and a date with me. Somebody has to get her off that stage.)
"You don't owe me the date. That was five figures for fifteen minutes off a stage."
He keeps his hand where it is, palm up, and waits.