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Jasmine’s POV: I’m twenty-five, broke, a glorified coffee-fetcher in a glass tower, and this month I found out two things about myself: One typo can get me publicly shredded by my ice-cold boss. My virginity is apparently worth more money than my entire life. My little brother owes forty-five grand to men who break bones for interest. I have seven thousand, no rich family, no safety net—just a clean body, a clean record, and a desperation the internet knows how to monetize. So yeah, I did the unthinkable: I put my first time up for auction. Anonymous. Discreet. Highest bidder wins my body and pays off Leo’s debt START READING HERE…. START READING HERE…. Three days had passed since Leo's breakdown, and I could feel the weight of it crushing us both. I sat at my desk staring at the numbers I'd scribbled on a napkin. My savings: $5,000. Leo's contribution from tips and his small emergency fund: $2,000. Total: $7,000. We were still thirty-eight thousand dollars short. Lunchtime at work used to mean scrolling through Instagram and pretending my desk salad was actually satisfying. Today, it meant diving headfirst into the seventh circle of internet hell, hunting for ways to make forty-five grand appear out of thin air. I'd already burned through the obvious shit—side jobs that would take three years to pay off Leo's debt, gig economy apps that required cars I didn't own, and freelance opportunities that demanded skills I'd never developed because I'd been too busy raising my brother to learn how to code or become a social media influencer. Selling everything I owned might get me another few thousand, but it wouldn't even make a dent. "Come on," I muttered, scrolling through job boards. "There has to be something." Every search led to the same dead ends: scams promising easy money, pyramid schemes disguised as "business opportunities," and offers that were either too good to be true or required me to sell my soul to some multi-level marketing cult. Conclusion: there was no legitimate way to make that kind of money in a week. My browser history was becoming a monument to desperation. Quick cash jobs. Emergency loans no credit check. Ways to make money fast without skills. Each search is more pathetic than the last. That's when I stumbled across something that made my stomach drop straight through the office floor. A forum thread titled "Selling virginity for millions: real or myth?" My cursor hovered over the link for a full thirty seconds. Part of me wanted to close the laptop and pretend I'd never seen it. The rational part of my brain was screaming to scroll past, find a normal solution, be a normal person with normal problems. But forty-five thousand dollars wasn't a normal problem. I clicked. The thread was surprisingly detailed, with links to news articles about women who'd made headlines for auctioning their virginity. A model who'd supposedly received over a million dollars, a college student who'd paid off her entire education. The amounts were staggering. One comment caught my attention: "It's not just a myth. There are legitimate sites for this. High-end, discrete, safe. Virtue Exchange is the most reputable." My hands shook as I typed the name into a new browser window. The website that loaded was nothing like what I'd expected. Sleek, professional, and disturbingly legitimate. Like someone had taken the concept of human trafficking and given it a Silicon Valley makeover. Women auctioning their virginity for jaw-dropping sums, all under the guise of "empowerment" and "luxury experiences." My hands were shaking as I scrolled through profiles of women who looked nothing like me—polished, confident, the kind of people who probably had trust funds and backup plans. But the numbers... fuck, the numbers were real. Starting bids in the tens of thousands. Completed auctions reaching six figures. "This is insane," I whispered to myself, but I kept scrolling. It was terrifying. Degrading. Absolutely fucking insane and dangerously tempting. Because here's the thing nobody tells you about desperation: it makes the impossible seem reasonable. It takes your moral boundaries and relocates them to more convenient zip codes. All my life, I'd been too busy playing mom to Leo to have relationships. Too focused on survival to waste time on boyfriends or one-night stands. I'd always thought my virginity and inexperience was just another thing that made me different, another way I'd missed out on normal teenage experiences. Turns out, some rich assholes were willing to pay a premium for that exact thing. The irony was so twisted it almost made me laugh. My "purity", which was really just years of having zero time for romance, apparently had market value. Who knew? As I read through the site, calculating figures in my head, a knot formed in my stomach. Nothing I'd found so far offered this kind of solution. Nothing else could solve Leo's problem this quickly, this completely. And that fact alone made it impossible to look away. I was so deep in the rabbit hole, so lost in conflicted thoughts about whether I could actually go through with something like this, that I didn't sense someone behind me until I felt it—a soft breath on my neck, a warm, low voice brushing my ear. "Having fun at the workplace, Harlow?" I nearly launched myself into orbit, slamming the laptop shut so hard I probably cracked the screen, spinning around to find Finn Blackwood standing right behind me. Way too close. That trademark smirk playing across his lips and a dangerously amused gleam in his eyes. My heart was doing some kind of arrhythmic death dance. Had he seen what was on my screen? How long had he been standing there? "Jesus Christ," I gasped, pressing a hand to my chest. "Do you have some kind of ninja training, or do you just enjoy giving people heart attacks?" The words were out before my brain caught up with my mouth. Shit. I just swore at my boss. My extremely powerful, could-fire-me-with-a-snap-of-his-fingers boss. "I mean— Sorry, Mr. Blackwood. You startled me. That was unprofessional from my side." "Relax," Finn said with amusement in his eyes. "I just came to ask if you had those numbers for the Drake account." Right. Work. Normal, professional work things that didn't involve researching how to auction off my virginity to pay my brother's debt to loan sharks. "The Drake numbers," I repeated, trying to get my brain to function. "Right. Yes. I have those." But Finn wasn't moving. If anything, he seemed to be enjoying my flustered state way too much. "You seem... distracted today," he said, his voice taking on that playful tone that made my pulse stutter. "Everything okay?" "Fine," I said too quickly. "Everything's totally fine. Just, you know, working. Doing work things. Very professional work things." His smirk widened. "Uh-huh." I turned back to my computer, pulling up the Drake files with hands that were definitely not shaking. Definitely not. I could feel him behind me, still standing too close, his presence like a live wire against my back. "Here," I said, printing out the reports and handing them over without looking at him. "Everything you need should be in there." Finn accepted the papers with a lazy smile, but his eyes lingered on my face. "You know, Harlow, if I didn't know better, I'd say you've been a bad girl, getting distracted at work." The words hit me like a physical blow. Heat shot straight down my spine, and my thoughts spiraled into parts of my body they absolutely shouldn't go. Especially not here. Especially not with my astronomically hot boss. My cheeks flushed crimson, but I forced my voice to stay steady. "Just focused on getting you what you need." "Mm-hmm." His gaze swept over me once more, that sly smirk lingering as he stepped back. "Thanks for these. Try not to work too hard." And then he was gone, leaving me alone with my racing pulse and the lingering scent of his cologne. For a breathless second—okay, maybe more than a second—I considered it. Considered doing something reckless, something career-ending, just to see what it would feel like to have that man against me, on the desk, near the wall. On me, in me. But the moment passed. Reality crashed back like ice water. This was Finn Blackwood. Heir to a music empire, probably had a different supermodel in his bed every night, definitely out of my league in every conceivable way. What would someone like him want with someone like me anyway? Totally inexperienced, totally ordinary, totally drowning in problems he couldn't even imagine. And besides, I had actual problems to solve. Dangerous ones. The kind that involved broken legs and concrete shoes if I didn't figure out a solution fast. Leo's crisis was still looming and the loan sharks' deadline was still ticking down. Lusting after my boss was a luxury I couldn't afford. I reopened my laptop, staring at the Virtue Exchange website still glowing on my screen. Forty-five thousand dollars. Eleven days. Sometimes the impossible was the only option left. Meeting Nora for lunch is usually the highlight of my week—my best friend's chaotic energy and zero-filter commentary serving as the perfect antidote to whatever corporate bullshit I've been drowning in. We were sitting in our usual spot at the little café across from Cadence Records, taking advantage of our lunch break to catch up. Today, though, I'm carrying Leo's debt like a lead weight in my chest, and even Nora's trademark snark isn't quite hitting the same. She's already two mimosas deep, her dark hair perfectly tousled in that effortless way that takes her forty-five minutes to achieve. Legal department pays better than the administrative, apparently. "You look like death," she announces, not bothering with pleasantries. "What fresh hell has life delivered to your doorstep this time?" "Good to see you too," I mutter, flagging down the server. "And I'm fine." "Girl, you've literally got that haunted Victorian orphan thing going on." She leans forward, studying my face with the intensity of someone who's made a career out of reading people. "Spill." I order a drink, something strong enough to numb the edges of my panic, and deflect. "Tell me about your weekend first. I need to live vicariously through someone who actually has a sex life." Nora's eyes light up like Christmas morning. "Oh, honey. Buckle up." What follows is a graphic, enthusiastic play-by-play of her latest conquest—some investment banker she met at a rooftop bar who apparently had both stamina and creativity. She describes positions I'm not sure are anatomically possible and techniques that would make a porn star blush. "And then he did this thing with his tongue that literally made me see God," she finishes, taking another sip of her mimosa. "I'm talking about a full-body religious experience. I might convert to whatever religion he practices." I can't help but laugh despite the weight crushing my chest. "You're insane." I envied her confidence. Nora moved through the world like she owned it, taking what she wanted and leaving the rest behind. She'd been trying to set me up with someone for years, but I always found excuses. "Speaking of men," she said, leaning forward with that mischievous glint in her eye, "how are things with the holy trinity of hotness and masculine perfection upstairs?" My drink pauses halfway to my lips. "The what now?" "Don't play dumb. The Blackwood brothers. Please tell me you've at least noticed that you work for three of the most fuckable men in the music industry." Heat crept up my neck. "Nora, they're my bosses." "So? That makes it hotter, not illegal." She leans in, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Liam's got that whole golden retriever energy, right? All sweet eyes and gentle smiles until you realize he's probably the type who'd absolutely wreck you in bed and then bring you breakfast after." "Jesus Christ, Nora!" "What? I'm just being honest. And don't even get me started on Asher. That man got that whole controlled dominance thing going on. Like he'd fuck you on his desk and still expect you to take notes afterward." I tried to focus on my food, but images flashed through my mind. My face is on fire now. "Can we not—" "And Finn," Nora continued, completely ignoring my discomfort, "is basically a walking sex. All that lazy confidence and that smile which could talk a nun out of her vows. I bet he's the type who'd make you laugh right before he made you come." "Oh my God, stop." I buried my face in my hands, but I could feel myself blushing furiously. "You're thinking about it now, aren't you?" Nora's voice was pure delight. "Finally! I was beginning to think you were made of stone." "I am not thinking about anything," I lied. "Bullshit. You're thinking about what it would be like to have one of them pin you against a wall and—" "Nora, please stop." But even as I protested, my mind was already there. I especially think about yesterday, about Finn's voice in my ear, about the way my body responded to something as simple as proximity. About fantasies I can't seem to turn off. "Why? You're practically squirming in your seat right now." Nora's grin is wicked. "When's the last time you felt this turned on just from talking about someone?" Never. The honest answer is never, but I'm not giving her that ammunition. "They're completely out of my league," I say instead. "I'm just a regular assistant in their label. They probably don't even see me as female." "Cut the shit." Nora's voice turns serious. "Jas, you're gorgeous and you have no fucking clue. You walk around in those conservative little outfits, thinking you're invisible, but trust me—they notice. I've seen how they look at you." "How would you even know?" "Because I have functioning eyeballs and I pay attention. Last company mixer? Finn couldn't stop staring at you. And don't get me started on the way Liam watches you during meetings like you're the most interesting thing in the room." My stomach does this weird fluttery thing that I absolutely hate. "You're imagining things." "I'm observant. There's a difference." She points her fork at me accusingly. "Your problem is you're so busy taking care of everyone else that you've forgotten you're allowed to want things." The words hit like a slap. "It's not that simple." "It could be. You're already working with them every day. You're smart, beautiful, and you're the only woman in that office who doesn't throw herself at them like they're some kind of k-pop boysband." "Because I have professionalism." "Because you're scared." Her voice gentles slightly. "Look, I'm not saying you have to sleep with all three of them—though honestly, that would be the power move of the century. I'm just saying maybe it's time you stopped acting like wanting someone is a crime." "Even if you were right, which you're not, I wouldn't know what to do. I don't have your... extensive field experience." "Experience is overrated. Enthusiasm counts for way more." That wicked grin returns. "Besides, with men like that? They'd probably enjoy being your teacher." "I can't just walk up to one of them and say, 'Hey, want to take my virginity?'" I protested. "Why not? I bet they'd fight over the privilege." "You're insane." "I'm practical. Look, I've seen the way they look at you. All three of them. It's not a professional interest, honey. It's hunger." "That's not... they don't..." But even as I tried to deny it, I remembered moments. Lingering glances, casual touches that lasted a beat longer than necessary, the way conversations seemed to carry undercurrents I didn't understand. The conversation shifts after that, but her words stick with me like thorns under my skin. As we part ways, she grabs my arm. "Seriously, Jas. Life's too short to spend it wondering 'what if.' And virginity isn't some precious gift you have to save for marriage. It's just another experience to have." Nora's words stayed with me long after I'd returned to work and home after that. That night, I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, my mind racing. I pulled out my laptop, telling myself I'd look for legitimate opportunities one more time. But every job board led to the same dead ends. That's when I found myself typing those words again: virginity auction. The Virtue Exchange website loaded just as pristine and professional as before. The whole thing looked more like a luxury concierge service than anything sordid. "What the hell am I even doing?" Shame coiled in my stomach, but so did something else. Hope? Desperation? I couldn't tell anymore. I closed the laptop without making any decisions, but I didn't clear my browser history either. The next morning, I was in the kitchen making coffee when Leo stumbled through the door, still wearing his work clothes from the club. His face was pale, his hands shaking as he pulled a crumpled envelope from his jacket pocket. "They left this for me," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "On my car windshield when I got off work." I took the envelope with trembling fingers, tearing it open to find a single piece of paper with a message scrawled in red ink: ‘Eight days. No more delays.’ My blood turned to ice. "Eight days? I thought we had longer than that." "So did I." Leo's voice cracked. "Jas, what are we going to do? I'm scared."