I was never late.

  Every move I make is deliberate, precise—a part of the game only I control. Arriving a few minutes into the auction wasn’t a mistake. It was a test. A game I’ve waited nine years to play.

  So, I stood in the shadows, watching as they paraded her in front of a room full of animals. Dressed in a sheer white robe, chained, exposed like some prize to be won. The sight should have enraged me, but instead, it made me smile.

  I wanted to see if she would break. If she would look for me. If she would care.

  And she did.

  Mira’s eyes darted through the crowd, scanning, searching—but not for escape. No, she wasn’t looking for a way out. She was looking for me.

  Good girl.

  Then the bastard bid on her.

  Fat, old, pathetic. His greedy hands itched to touch what wasn’t his. His mistake.

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  I let him enjoy his victory for exactly three seconds. Let him believe he could own what was already mine.

  Then I pulled the trigger.

  One shot. One second. The room fell into a terrified silence, the only sound left was the thud of his body hitting the stage, blood pooling beneath him.

  Mira flinched, the warm splatter painting her cheek and soaking into that useless excuse of a robe. But she didn’t scream. Didn’t collapse. Didn’t cry.

  Of course, she didn’t.

  She was still my Mira.

  I stepped forward, slow and measured, feeling every gaze drop, every body stiffen. Men who thought themselves untouchable suddenly bowed in silence. I ignored them. They were nothing.

  I only had eyes for her.

  And she—she was looking at me with that same fire I remembered. Defiant, even in chains. Beautiful, even covered in blood.

  I stopped in front of her, close enough to feel the warmth of her breath. My eyes dragged over her, over the curve of her lips, the faint tremble of her fingers. I reached out, wiped the blood from her cheek with my thumb, then traced it down to her lower lip. She shivered.

  So it does bother her. Interesting.

  I leaned in, inhaling the scent of her—the same one I dreamed about for years. Mine.

  “Moya dyavolita,” I murmured against her skin.

  My little devil.

  And then, just like that, I lifted her into my arms. A single nod to my man, and a gunshot shattered the chain holding her wrists.

  Mira tensed but didn’t resist. She knew better.

  I turned without another word and walked out, taking her with me. My men parted like the Red Sea, and as I reached the doors, I gave my final order.

  “Burn it down.”

  Because anyone who thought they could put Mira on display didn’t deserve to breathe.

  She was mine.

  She always had been.