Sold on His Livestream, Claimed by His Rival

It all started because my fiancé’s childhood best friend claimed I ruined her custom couture gown—the one meant for her livestream comeback. To cheer her up in front of millions of viewers, my fiancé dragged me before the camera. I had no makeup on, wearing nothing but faded pajamas. He pinned a product link to the stream. The title read: Total Leech of a Woman. Starting bid: $1,500. Highest bidder takes her home. The live chat exploded with mockery and humiliation, urging him to dump this drab, pathetic loser. Watching the viewer count skyrocket, he muted the mic, looked down at me, and sneered, “Since you ruined Cecelia’s comeback, you’re going to pay for the traffic with your dignity.” “Drop to your knees and apologize to Cecelia on camera, and I’ll take the link down.” “Don't be ungrateful. Aside from me, who the hell would want a useless piece of trash who only knows how to do chores?” I stared at the screen without a trace of emotion. Behind my back, I sent a direct message to the stream’s top tipper. The very next second, a massive animation swept across the screen: Top Contributor has purchased the item. My fiancé stared at that notoriously wealthy handle. His hands shook, and his phone slipped, crashing onto the floor. The stream was practically blowing up. Cruel comments flooded the screen like venom, thick enough to suffocate anyone. “She looks so depressing. No wonder Mr. Hayes is selling her off.” “I wouldn’t take her if you paid me fifteen hundred bucks, let alone buy her.” “Just get on your knees and apologize to Goddess Cecelia, you shameless psycho!” Christian Hayes lounged on the leather sofa, his arm wrapped around Cecelia, who was dabbing at fake tears. He glanced at the analytics backend, completely unable to hide his smug satisfaction as the traffic spiked. Cecelia’s eyes were rimmed with red, her voice dripping with frail innocence. “Christian, forget it. Amber probably didn’t do it on purpose.” “Even though that couture gown cost nearly half a million and was supposed to be my comeback piece...” “She’s still been with you for three years. Putting her up for auction in public like this... isn't it too humiliating for her?” She sounded like she was begging for mercy on my behalf, yet her hand deliberately pushed the camera closer, shoving it right into my face. I wore an old pair of washed-out pajamas, my hair a tangled mess, my skin pale and lifeless. For the past three years, for Christian and his fashion empire, I had slaved away over design sketches day and night, destroying my own health in the process. Christian let out a cold laugh and slammed his phone onto the coffee table. “Give her face? Does she even deserve it?” “She ruined your gown. She ruined the company’s cash cow!” “Amber, I’m giving you three seconds. If you don't get on your knees and apologize to Cecelia right now, I swear to God I’ll really sell you off.” “You’re only good for cooking and cleaning anyway. Keeping those hands of yours around is a total waste.” I bit down hard on my lower lip until the metallic taste of blood filled my mouth. “Christian, I didn’t ruin that dress.” “Cecelia cut it herself just to frame me!” “And besides, I’m the one who drew the original sketches for that dress in the first place!” Smack! A violent slap landed squarely across my face. Christian pointed his finger at my nose, the veins on his forehead bulging with fury. “You dare lie to my face! Cecelia is an internationally renowned designer. Why would she ever need to frame you?” “You’re just a college dropout housewife. What the hell do you know about fashion design?” “It looks like you won’t learn your place until I teach you a real lesson.” He spun back toward the camera and shouted at the top of his lungs: “Alright, chat, the bidding starts now!” “Whoever puts up the highest bid takes this woman home tonight!” The live stream went completely feral. Obscene, disgusting comments flooded the chat. Someone bid eleven hundred. Someone else bid twenty-five hundred. As if I weren’t a living, breathing human being, but a piece of trash up for clearance. Staring at Christian’s heartless, ruthless face, every last ounce of warmth in my heart froze solid. I slid my spare phone out of my pocket and opened a chat that had been gathering dust for years. I typed out a single message: Sean, take me away. All my designs are yours. Almost the exact second I hit send. A blinding, golden firework animation exploded across the entire stream screen. The notification chime chimed frantically: User ‘Sean’ sent Ultimate Rocket x100! User ‘Sean’ placed a bid of $1,500,000 and purchased the item! The entire chat went dead silent. Christian froze. He stared at that shimmering gold VIP handle in utter disbelief. It was the heir of the city's most powerful conglomerate, Sean Vance. He was also Christian’s fiercest rival in the business world. “How is that possible... How could a man like Sean Vance ever look at garbage like you?” Christian’s voice trembled. Before he could even process it, the front door of the penthouse was kicked open with a deafening crash. Sean walked in, draped in a tailored black trench coat, flanked by two rows of imposing bodyguards, carrying an aura cold enough to freeze the room. He strode directly toward me, slipped off his trench coat, and wrapped it around my shivering body. “Come with me.” His voice wasn’t loud, but it carried an undeniable, absolute authority. Christian snapped to his feet, lunging forward to block the exit. “Mr. Vance, this is a family matter. What right do you have to interfere?” “Besides, this woman is my fiancée. The live stream was just a joke!” Sean spared him only a chilling glance, pulling out his phone to display the completed payment confirmation. “I paid the price. She belongs to me now.” “Are you planning to go back on your deal, Mr. Hayes?” Christian’s face twisted into an ugly shade of pale green. He looked at me, then back at Sean. Suddenly, realization seemed to dawn on him. He pointed an accusatory finger at me and roared: “Amber! You’ve been sleeping with this bastard behind my back the whole time, haven't you?” “No wonder you refused to apologize to Cecelia—you already lined up your next sugar daddy!” “You filthy whore! You dare cheat on me?!” Cecelia poured fuel on the fire from the side, sniffling softly: “Amber, how could you do this to Christian? You have no shame at all.” “Since you’re so eager to run off with Mr. Vance, I guess you won't be needing those hands anymore, right?” “After all, Christian hates it when other men touch things that belong to him.” Those words completely shattered Christian’s last shred of sanity. His eyes turned bloodshot, like an unhinged predator. He lunged forward like a maniac, grabbing my right wrist in a vice grip. That was my drawing hand. The only thing in this life I was ever proud of. “You want to leave? Fine!” “Leave these damn hands behind first!” He snatched the heavy crystal ashtray off the table and brought it smashing down with all his might. Crack! The sickening sound of shattering bone echoed through the living room. An agonizing wave of pain tore through my entire body. My vision went black, and an ear-splitting scream ripped from my throat. “Aaaah—!” My right hand dangled limp and useless, my fingers twisted at a grotesque, unnatural angle. Christian threw the bloodstained ashtray aside, chest heaving heavily, a sadistic smirk of vengeance plastered across his face. “There. Now you’re just a cripple.” “Tell me, Mr. Vance, do you still want a piece of trash like this?”Sean stared at my mangled, broken hand, and the air around him instantly dropped below freezing. His eyes flared crimson with murderous rage. Without a word, he drove a vicious front kick straight into Christian’s chest. Christian was sent flying through the air, crashing hard against the media console, coughing up a mouthful of blood. “Hayes, you’re a dead man!” Sean knelt down, moving to scoop me up into his arms with extreme care, terrified of causing me any more pain. “Amber, hold on. Don't be afraid. I’m taking you to the hospital right now.” The agony made cold sweat pour down my skin. My consciousness was already slipping into darkness, and I could only instinctively curl against his chest. Just as Sean was about to carry me past the threshold. Christian clutched his bruised chest, stumbling to his feet while waving a document in the air. “Stop right there! Vance, take one more step with her and see what happens!” “This is the prenuptial agreement and non-compete clause Amber signed with me!” “If she walks out with another man or draws a single sketch for another firm, she owes me a hundred and fifty million dollars in damages!” “And don't forget her comatose mother in that private nursing home—I’m the one paying every cent of her life support!” “You can take her, sure. But are you ready to watch them pull the plug on her mother’s ventilator?” Sean’s footsteps froze. He looked down at me, his eyes warring between agony and restraint. The moment the word “Mother” reached my ears, the foggy haze in my brain cleared instantly. That was my weakness. The only family I had left in this world. Using my uninjured left hand, I gripped Sean’s sleeve with all the strength I had left, shaking my head weakly. “Sean... go.” “Don't get involved... I’m begging you.” If Sean forced his way out with me right now, a lunatic like Christian really would murder my mother. I couldn’t afford to gamble with her life. Sean gritted his teeth, the veins at his temples throbbing violently. “Amber! Your hand needs surgery immediately, or you’ll lose it forever!” Christian let out a sinister chuckle, wiping the blood from the corner of his lips. “That’s between husband and wife. No need for Mr. Vance to lose sleep over it.” “If you don't get the hell out of my house right now, I’m calling the cops for home invasion and assault.” “I doubt the CEO of the Vance Group wants to be plastered all over the morning tabloids, does he?” Sean inhaled sharply, leaning in close to whisper in Christian’s ear: “Hayes, you’d better pray she survives this.” “Because if she doesn't, I will bury your entire company along with you.” Sean gently set me down, slipped a black metal card into my palm, gave me one long, searing look, and turned to lead his men away. The triumphant smirk on Christian’s face vanished the second the door clicked shut. Like dragging a dead dog, he yanked me by the hair, hauling me toward the basement stairs. “Aaaagh! Stop! Christian, let me go!” I struggled desperately, the excruciating throb in my shattered right hand nearly making me pass out. He showed zero mercy, dragging me down the cold concrete steps into the damp, pitch-black basement and tossing me onto the floor. “Bitch! You still dare make eyes at another man in front of me?!” “Since you love Sean Vance so damn much, you can rot down here and reflect on your sins!” “Nobody calls a doctor for her without my permission!” With a deafening bang, the heavy metal door slammed shut, plunging my world into absolute darkness. I don't know how much time passed before the basement door groaned open again. Cecelia walked in, wearing that very same “ruined” couture gown, her stiletto heels clicking sharply against the concrete. She looked down at me curled up in the corner, a venomous smirk curling her lips. “Oh my, Amber, look at your hand. It’s swollen up like a balloon.” “Tsk, tsk, how pathetic. I guess you’ll never be able to sketch again, huh?” She crouched down, extended the razor-sharp heel of her shoe, and ground it ruthlessly down onto my shattered fingers. “Aaaah—!” A raw shriek tore from my throat as spasms of agony racked my frame. Cecelia threw her head back, laughing like a maniac, digging her heel in even harder. “You know what, Amber?” “The gown wasn't even ruined. I just picked a few loose threads along the hem.” “The live auction was my idea, too.” “I just wanted to see what mattered more to Christian: your dignity, or my happiness.” “And you saw the result. To keep a smile on my face, he didn't hesitate for a second to destroy you.” The pain was so overwhelming I could barely breathe, let alone speak. I could only glare at her twisted, hypocritical face. “Cecelia... karma will find you...” Cecelia’s laughter grew louder. She leaned close to my ear and purred: “Karma? All I know is that Christian loves me, and Sean Vance couldn't save you.” “Oh, right, I almost forgot to mention.” “Christian said since your right hand is useless now, you can use your left hand to wash my feet from now on.” “After all, we have to make some use of our trash, don't we?”I lay unconscious in the damp basement for two full days. My right hand had swelled to twice its normal size, and a raging fever made me feel as if I were burning alive inside a furnace. In my delirium, my mind drifted back to three years ago. Back then, Christian’s startup was teetering on the edge of bankruptcy. I gave up my scholarship to study fashion in Paris, spending endless sleepless nights churning out sketches for him until my eyes burned raw. He used to say, “Amber, once we take the company public, I’ll give you the most lavish wedding this city has ever seen.” He used to say, “Amber, you are the most precious person in my life.” Turns out, the only difference between a vow and a lie is whether it’s been exposed yet. A bucket of ice water came crashing down over my head, violently ripping me from my memories. The freezing shock made me gasp. I opened my heavy eyes to find Christian standing above me, holding a torn gown in his hands. It was the exact piece Cecelia had worn that night. “Stop playing dead. Get up.” Christian threw the gown directly onto my bruised face, his tone icy cold. “Cecelia’s Fashion Week debut is next week. This finale gown must be restored.” “Aren't you supposed to be some kind of design prodigy? Stitch it back together.” I stared at the dress, then down at my crippled, deformed right hand, and let out a broken, raspy laugh. “Christian, are you completely blind?” “You smashed my hand. The bones are shattered to pieces. How am I supposed to sew?” “Are you trying to kill me?” Christian crouched down, grabbing my jaw in a bruising grip and forcing my head up. “Your right hand is broken, but you still have your left, don't you?” “Amber, don't play dumb with me.” “You think playing the victim is going to make me soft? In your dreams!” “If you hadn't damaged the gown in the first place, Cecelia wouldn't have cried her eyes out on stream.” “You owe her this, and you’re going to pay it back!” He pulled a photograph from his suit pocket and tossed it onto my lap. In the photo, my mother lay unconscious in a hospital bed, surrounded by life-support tubes and monitors. “If you don't sew it, I’ll have them pull her oxygen plug right now.” “Try me. See if I won't.” My heart seized, feeling as if an iron hand had clamped down on it and squeezed with all its might. That was my lifeline. My fatal flaw. Trembling uncontrollably, I reached out with my left hand and clutched the fabric of the dress. “I’ll do it... I’ll sew it...” Tears fell like heavy raindrops onto the delicate fabric. Gritting my teeth against the searing agony in my right arm, I clumsily picked up the needle and thread. My left hand refused to obey. The sharp needle stabbed repeatedly into my fingertips, staining the white satin with crimson specks. Christian frowned in pure disgust: “Don't get your filthy blood on the gown!” “If you ruin it, you couldn't pay for it if you sold your own organs!” He stood over me like a warden. The moment my movements slowed or I stopped to catch my breath, a barrage of curses and insults rained down on me. The basement had no heating; the air was damp and biting cold. My body burned hotter with fever, my vision swimming in and out of focus, but I didn't dare stop moving. Cecelia dropped by occasionally to enjoy the spectacle. Holding a warm cup of coffee, she leaned against Christian’s chest, watching me toil on the floor like an indentured slave. “Christian, she’s working so slowly. What if she ruins my runway schedule?” “If I miss the slot, I’ll be completely humiliated in front of all my fans.” Christian held her tenderly, turning back to bark at me: “Did you hear that?! Move faster!” “If you don't finish it tonight, you don't get food, and you don't sleep!” I could feel the life draining out of me drop by drop. A strange, dull ache began throbbing deep in my lower abdomen, as if something precious inside me was slowly tearing away. I assumed it was just starvation or the fever, so I ignored it. It wasn't until the dawn of the third day. I finally pulled the last knot tight and collapsed, utterly spent, onto the frigid floor. Christian snatched the gown, inspected every seam meticulously, and nodded with satisfaction. “At least you still have some use.” Without glancing at me a second time, he turned toward the stairs. Gathering the very last drop of strength in my body, I reached out and caught the cuff of his trousers, my voice a broken rasp: “Christian... please... take me to a hospital...” “My hand... it’s dying...” Christian kicked my grip away, looking down with eyes devoid of any human pity. “You want to go to the hospital?” “Fine.” “Cecelia needs an assistant to manage her train backstage at the show next week.” “Behave yourself, do your job, and let Cecelia have her moment of glory on the runway.” “Do that, and I might show some mercy and drop you off at a clinic.” “Otherwise, you can just rot down here.”Backstage at Fashion Week was absolute pandemonium. They had forced me into an ill-fitting, drab gray utility jumpsuit, smearing soot across my cheeks until I looked like a circus clown. Cecelia wore the couture gown I had pieced back together with my own blood and tears, surrounded by a horde of stylists like a pampered princess. Catching sight of me, she raised her voice deliberately: “Oh my, isn't this the great designer Amber? How did you end up carrying my train like a servant?” The surrounding models and crew burst into mocking laughter. Christian walked over, glaring at me with a venomous warning in his eyes. “When you step out there, you’d better keep your head down.” “If you dare pull any tricks, your mother’s life is forfeit.” I nodded mechanically. The throbbing pain in my abdomen had turned sharp and violent, as if a serrated blade were twisting inside my gut. Yet I swallowed the agony. I knew that if I spoke up, my mother’s last chance of survival would vanish into thin air. The runway show began. Cecelia stepped out as the finale model, and I followed behind her, bent double, lifting the heavy, flowing train of the gown. The audience below was packed with fashion icons, critics, and dozens of flashing cameras. Right as we reached the center of the runway, Cecelia suddenly came to a halt. She glanced back at me with malice burning in her eyes, then stepped firmly onto the front edge of her own hem. “Aaaah!” She let out a theatrical shriek, throwing her weight backward with exaggerated drama. I had no time to react. The sudden momentum dragged me forward, sending me crashing face-first onto the hard stage floor. Riiiiip—! The delicate train tore open with a sickening shredding sound. The entire venue gasped in shock. Cecelia collapsed onto the floor, clutching her face as she sobbed hysterically: “My dress! My entire life's work!” “Amber! Why would you do this to me?!” “I know you’ve always been jealous of me, but this was my comeback show!” Every camera lens pivoted instantly, locking onto me. Christian charged up from backstage. Without asking a single question, he swung his palm and struck me across the face with brutal force. “You vile bitch! You did that on purpose!” “I told you to carry the train, not sabotage the show!” The blow made my vision explode with white spots, and my head slammed violently against the hardwood runway. The searing agony I had been repressing in my lower belly detonated all at once. A warm, thick wave of fluid gushed down my inner thighs. It soaked through my coarse gray jumpsuit and began pooling across the pristine white runway. My eyes widened in sheer, paralyzing horror as I stared at the bright crimson stain spreading beneath me. “My baby... my baby...” I hadn't even known I was pregnant. But at this horrific moment, a mother’s primal instinct told me exactly what I was losing. Forgetting the burning pain in my cheek, I reached out desperately, clutching at Christian’s pant leg, sobbing for help: “Christian... please help me... it hurts so bad...” “Our baby... it’s our baby...” Christian looked down at the pool of blood. A brief flicker of panic flashed across his face, only to be instantly replaced by icy disgust. “A baby? You think you’re worthy of carrying my child?” “You probably got knocked up by some random scumbag on the street!” “And now you want to use a bastard child to play the victim? Not a chance in hell!” Cecelia scrambled to her feet by then, pointing an accusing finger at me and crying out to the crowd: “Look, everyone! This woman is completely unhinged! She gets pregnant by some unknown stranger, and now that she’s miscarrying, she’s trying to pin it on Christian!” “She did all of this just to destroy my show! To ruin the Hayes Group!” The crowd’s fury was instantly ignited by her performance, and guests began standing up, shouting insults at me. “Disgusting! How did someone like that even get in here?” “Get her off the stage! Don't ruin our eyes!” “Mr. Hayes, why are you still keeping a toxic psycho like her around?!” Listening to the roar of condemnation around him, Christian’s expression turned increasingly savage. To protect his and Cecelia’s public image, he had to sever every tie with me right then and there. He gripped the collar of my jumpsuit, dragging my limp body up from the floor. “Since you want to ruin Cecelia so badly, why don't you just go die!” Right at that moment, the double doors of the auditorium burst open with a resounding boom. A voice drenched in pure, murderous fury tore through the hall. “Hayes, are you tired of breathing?!”