The Alpha Behind The Mask-Chapter 22: Bid

Aurora’s POV

​I stepped out from behind the velvet curtains, the bright red stage lights blinding me for a second. I felt exposed in the emerald silk dress, every inch of my skin tingling under the gaze of the crowd.

​I scanned the room, my heart hammering against my ribs. And then, I saw him.

​In the corner booth, sitting like a king on a throne of shadows, was the Masked Dom. My breath hitched. Even with the leather mask and the different clothes, I knew that presence. I knew those broad shoulders and the way he sat with such cold, terrifying authority. He was the man who had pinned me against the wall the other night. The man whose touch I still felt in my dreams.

​I frowned slightly behind my lace mask, but I had to compose myself. Maybe he won’t recognize me behind this blonde wig and lace mask.

​I began to dance. It wasn’t a fast dance; it was slow, fluid, and provocative. I moved like a flame, my eyes locked on the floor to avoid meeting his. Men began throwing cash onto the stage, the paper fluttering around my feet like fallen leaves, but I didn’t care about them. I could feel his eyes on me. They weren’t just watching; they were devouring me.

​Finally, the music faded. I stood there, breathless, as the announcer stepped onto the stage with a microphone.

​"What a performance!" the announcer shouted over the cheering crowd. "Now, as per tradition, our dancer will give a private lap dance to the highest bidder for one full hour in the VIP chambers. Let the bidding begin!"

​My stomach did a somersault. I hated this part, but it was where the real money was.

​"One thousand!" a voice called out.

"Two thousand!" another shouted.

​I looked toward the corner booth. The Masked Dom was just sitting there, swirling his drink. He wasn’t bidding. A strange pang of disappointment shot through my chest. Had he changed his mind about me? Or was it because he didn’t know I was the one? I felt a flash of anger—he had been so possessive the other night, and now he was just going to let someone else take me for an hour?

​The bids climbed higher. "Five thousand!" a man at the front table yelled, looking at me with greedy eyes.

​"Five thousand once!" the announcer cried. "Five thousand twice—"

​I looked at the Dom one last time, feeling a bit angry. He looked bored, as if he had given up on chasing me.

​"And sold to the gentleman in the—"

​"One hundred thousand."

​The voice echoed through the room. It was deep, gravelly, and carried so much power that the entire club went silent. The music seemed to stop on its own.

​I turned my head. The Masked Dom hadn’t moved an inch, but his hand was raised slightly. He had just bid a ridiculous, life-changing amount of money for sixty minutes of my time.

​The announcer stammered, his eyes wide. "O-one hundred thousand? Sold! To the gentleman in the back!"

​My heart was racing so fast I thought I might faint. I looked at the Dom, and through the slits of his mask, I saw his eyes. They weren’t cold anymore. They were burning with a dark promise to devour me.

​He stood up, his massive frame towering over everyone else in the room. He didn’t wait for me. He simply turned and walked toward the private VIP rooms, knowing I had no choice but to follow.

​My heart raced so hard I could hear it in my ears as I followed him. Each step toward the VIP room felt like walking into a trap I had set for myself. The air in the private suite was cooler, smelling of expensive tobacco.

​He sat down on the leather sofa, spreading his legs in a dominant stance that made the room feel tiny. He took a slow sip of his drink, his eyes never leaving me. I stood there, frozen, my hands trembling by my sides.

​"Take off your mask," he commanded, his voice vibrating through the floor. "And that ridiculous wig."

​My breath hitched. My heart sank into my stomach. He knew. Despite the blonde hair, despite the lace, he had seen right through me. I reached up, my fingers fumbling with the ties of the mask. It fell to the floor, followed by the heavy blonde wig. My natural red hair tumbled down my shoulders, glowing like embers under the dim lights.

​As I looked at him, my eyes caught the dark ink of the tattoo on his wrist—the same mark I had seen on the man who haunted my nightmares. My fear suddenly curdled into sharp, hot anger.

​"Start the dance," he ordered.

​I wanted to scream at him, telling him to go to hell, but I had to control my emotions. Yes, I want to kill this man, but if I want to do that, I can’t do that as his enemy. I have to get close to him.

​Sucking in a deep breath, I stepped closer, the emerald silk of my dress rustling. I climbed onto his lap, my knees on either side of his powerful thighs. I could feel the heat radiating from him, the solid muscle of his chest just inches from my face. I placed my hands on his broad shoulders, my skin burning where we touched.

​I began to move, my hips swaying slowly against him. I saw his jaw clench, a muscle jumping in his cheek. He didn’t touch me yet; he just watched, his green eyes dark with a hunger that felt like it could swallow me whole.

​Suddenly, he grabbed my ass cheek. I gasped in shock, and he gave me a slow, annoying smirk. I furrowed my brow; God help me, he has the same smirk as Alpha Oliver. Or was I just imagining things?

​"Tell me, Aurora, why do you stare at me with so much hate? You don’t even know me, but you stare at me like I am a monster."

​My frown deepened. Because you are! I screamed in my head, but I knew I couldn’t say that to him, so I lied.

​"Because I hate men like you?" I responded, still rolling my hips against him.

​His brow furrowed. "Men like me?"

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