Chapter 1 The First Bid
I never thought I'd see Damien again, especially not while on my knees scrubbing blood off the floor of an underground organ auction house. Yet there he was—Damien Cross, tech visionary and the man who once promised me the stars—standing just ten feet away, his arm wrapped around a woman whose diamond earrings probably cost more than my entire existence.
"Lot number forty-three," announced the auctioneer, his voice echoing through the repurposed bunker beneath San Francisco's forgotten district. "Fresh liver, compatibility rating nine-point-seven, minimal alcohol exposure."
I kept my head down, my pregnant belly pressing uncomfortably against my thighs as I scrubbed harder at the crimson stain. Three months along, and already my body was betraying me with exhaustion. But in places like this, showing weakness was worse than showing your face.
"Two hundred thousand," called a voice from the back—clinical, detached, the voice of someone shopping for groceries rather than human organs.
My mop hit something solid. A tooth. I discreetly pushed it into the drain. The underground market had rules: clean thoroughly, see nothing, remember less. It was the only job that would take me without identification papers, paying just enough to keep me and my unborn child alive until I could figure out what came next.
"Five hundred thousand," Damien's voice cut through the murmurs. I froze. That voice had once whispered promises of love against my skin.
I couldn't help it—I looked up.
He was thinner than before, his once warm eyes now calculating as he surveyed the merchandise. The woman beside him—Vera Quinn, I recognized her from society magazines—whispered something in his ear that made him smile. It wasn't his real smile. I knew his real smile. This was his business face, the one he wore when closing deals that would destroy lives while enhancing his own.
"Going once for five hundred thousand..."
My elbow knocked over the bucket of dirty water. It spilled across the concrete floor, streaming toward the auction platform. Heads turned. Including his.
Our eyes met.
For one breathless second, I saw recognition flash across his face. Then confusion. Then something worse—calculation.
"Wait," he said, his voice carrying across the suddenly silent room. "Is that... Evelyn Hart?"
My heart stopped. No one used real names here. Names were dangerous. Identities were currency.
"The cleaner?" The auctioneer looked annoyed at the interruption.
Damien's lips curved into a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Change of plans. I'd like to place a bid on her instead."
Murmurs rippled through the crowd. The auctioneer frowned. "Sir, she's staff, not merchandise."
"Everything has a price," Damien replied smoothly, reaching into his jacket. "Especially in establishments such as this one." He pulled out a chip—black, with gold edges. A billionaire's credit line.
The auctioneer's expression changed. "Perhaps we could make an exception."
Two security guards grabbed my arms, hauling me to my feet. I struggled against them, panic rising.
"Damien!" I gasped. "What are you doing?"
He acted as if he didn't hear me. "Let me introduce tonight's special offering," he announced to the crowd, his voice taking on the practiced charm of a presenter. "A failed experiment from Cross Biogenics. She believes herself to be human. She believes herself to be pregnant. She even believes she once knew me."
Laughter rippled through the audience. My face burned with humiliation.
"In reality," he continued, "she's a replica—a biological duplicate created to replace my departed girlfriend, Aria. Unfortunately, the memory implantation was imperfect. The emotional calibration, flawed. A tragic technical error."
"That's not true!" I shouted, struggling against the guards. "Damien, I AM Aria! I'm Evelyn! We met at Stanford! You proposed on the Golden Gate Bridge! I'm carrying your child!"
Vera stepped forward, her perfect features arranged in a mask of sympathy. "The poor thing. She truly believes her false memories." She turned to the crowd. "My fiancé's company has fallen on hard times. We're liquidating assets, including failed projects. But she could be useful to the right buyer. Her organs are lab-grown perfection."
"This is insane," I whispered, my voice breaking. "Damien, look at me. Please."
He did look at me then, his eyes cold and unfamiliar. "The bidding starts at one million credits for the complete package. Or individual organs can be harvested on demand."
"She's pregnant," someone called out from the crowd.
"A simulated pregnancy," Damien corrected smoothly. "An experimental feature we were testing. The fetus is non-viable, of course. Just protein and synthetic tissue."
My knees buckled. This couldn't be happening. This man had held my hair back when morning sickness first hit. He had placed his hand on my belly just weeks ago, tears in his eyes as he felt our baby move.
"Two million," called a voice.
"Three," countered another.
I watched in horror as Damien smiled at the increasing bids, his hand possessively on Vera's waist. What had happened to him? What had happened to us? Was it money? Was it her?
"Damien," I called out one last time, my voice breaking. "The baby—"
"Five million," said a quiet voice from the back. The room fell silent. A man in surgical scrubs stepped forward. "Five million for the complete specimen. I have particular interest in the brain tissue. The complexity of false memory architecture is... fascinating."
Damien nodded appreciatively. "Doctor Chen. I didn't expect to see you here."
"I go where the interesting specimens are," the doctor replied, his eyes cold as they assessed me.
"Five million going once..." the auctioneer called.
I closed my eyes, tears streaming down my face. This wasn't a nightmare. This was worse.
"Going twice..."
"Damien," I whispered, though I knew he couldn't hear me now. "We were going to name her Stella."
"Sold! To Doctor Chen for five million credits."
As they dragged me away, I caught one last glimpse of Damien. For just a moment, something like doubt crossed his features. Then Vera whispered in his ear, and his expression hardened once more.
The last thing I heard before the door closed was Vera's voice, sweet as poison: "You did the right thing, darling. Aria would have wanted you to move on."