I kind of made a playlist for Clary:

- Woman by Kesha

- Bad Bitch by Bebe Rexha

- Power (feat. Stormzy) by Little Mix

- Seven Nation Army by The White Stripes

- Hot Mess by Cobra Starship

- Prom Queen by Molly Kate Kestner


I didn't really remember getting into the limo with him—my mind was far too busy trying to comprehend what he'd just said. My father was ruthless sure, but human trafficking? Selling off his daughter to the highest bidder at the "Win-A-Date" auction he was hosting? I didn't think even he was that ruthless.

But I wondered for a split second how well I really knew him. He was my father, and I knew what that meant to me—but what did it mean to Valentine Morgenstern?

I leaned back against the leather seat, feeling the coolness of it. "How are you so sure?" I cocked a brow at him. Crossed my leg over the other. "Hate to break it to you, Pretty Boy, but I'm pretty sure you only won a date."

He laughed, the sound sharp and piercing in the near silence in the car. "How am I sure? He told me—congratulated me on winning your hand in marriage."

"I don't…That's impossible." I didn't believe him. My Dad, harsh as he could be…he'd never really turned that heartlessness on me, why would he start now?

"Is it?" He regarded me curiously. I thought about it. This would have been the perfect opportunity for my father to do something like this if, hypothetically, he really had wanted to. No one would suspect anything strange of his daughter leaving the event with the guy; no one would think anything other than that it was a little sudden if they got married a short while later. No one would think anything of there being money involved, after all they'd been at an auction.

"Oh my god," I whispered, dropping my head into my hands. Through the spaces between my fingers, I stared at my shoes, at the French manicure on my toes, at the black barb carpeting on the floor.

He laughed again, and even if it didn't sound like he found any of this funny, if he did it one more time I was going to slap him. "It's the perfect cover."

"No shit," I snapped, vehemently fighting back tears. Crying wasn't going to do me any favours. Tears would not fix anything.

I could feel his eyes on me, but I wasn't going to look up. "I am trying to help you."

My head shot up, colour blooming on my cheeks and rage pumping through my veins. "Help me?! What are you gonna do? What could you possibly do to fix anything?" I glared at him, and he glared right back. We stayed like that, unaware that we'd leaned forward even though we were much closer together than we had been a second ago, our eyes locked. His cheekbones were bright pink to match mine, and as I stared I noticed the unusual colour of his eyes: gold. Like honey.

Neither of us relented our glaring. His eyes bored into mine and I was resisting the urge to slap him. Still.

I tilted my head to the side. "You have no idea how you're going to help, do you?"

I noticed the tick of a muscle in his jaw with great pleasure.

I was getting to him, getting under his skin.

I laughed softly.

When his glare intensified, I leaned back in my seat. "What? You don't like it when I laugh?"

He sat back, too, and ignored my comment. "We have to figure this out."

I gave him a look like, Really, you don't think I knew that?

He gave me a look then, too.

The rest of the ride to wherever the hell we were headed passed in stony, angry silence. When the limo pulled up to a curb, he opened the door and stepped out onto the sidewalk, and I was fully prepared to sit in the car for the rest of the night with my arms crossed when his hand reached back into the car.

I stared at it.

He poked his head in. "Well are you coming or not?"

I took his hand, letting go of it as soon as I was out. I took the lead, wondering if the extra little sway to my hips looked too exaggerated. Or if it was just enough.

I went straight to the elevator, glad to see he was following behind me and I hadn't gone the complete wrong direction—though I'm not sure how that could've happened seeing as there wasn't much else place to go than to the concierge desk.

I looked to him expectantly. He leaned over to press the button for the twenty-seventh floor. No one spoke and the elevator didn't make any extra stops on the way up. He went out first, and as I was halfway out, he turned around and said—like it was an afterthought—"I'm Jace, by the way."

"Nice to know."


"Why'd you bring me here?" I stopped just inside the doorway of what, at first glance, appeared to be a lavish penthouse. Why a penthouse? How in the hell was bringing me to a penthouse going to solve all our problems?

Jace looked back at me, "why do you think we're here?" Before I could answer he turned away and continued further into the room, stopping at the beginning of a hallway. "Well come on," he said impatiently, gesturing to the hallway.

"What?" I snorted. "You're going to take your bride to bed?"

He rolled his eyes, deadpanning: "yes, absolutely. Now come on, I'll show you your room."

I followed him, albeit grudgingly. I wasn't sure how much I trusted him, how much I should trust him. I'd met him less than an hour ago, after all.

My room was, apparently, the very last one at the end of the hall. He turned to head to his room, which was as far away from mine as he could get—the other end of the rather short hall, which seemed a little ridiculous to me. I didn't snore that loud.

I was still watching him as he opened his door. "Look, we'll talk about this in the morning. We've got a lot to talk about. We've got to figure out a lot. Like how this is going to work, for example. And I don't want to do that right now."

"And why's that?"

"Because I've already had my fill of you for the night."

I thought that was a little petty, considering I had just been sold to him. I told him as much.

He sighed. "Clarissa, if it hadn't been me, it would've been someone else."

"So what, I should just be thankful that you bought me?" I demanded, incredulous.

He stared at me, pink blooming across his cheeks. Good, he was getting angry. He should be angry. As angry as I still felt.

"I think you should be a little grateful, yeah," he sounded like he was restraining himself. "Did you even actually notice anyone else who bid on you? Hmm?!" His lips were pursed and his eyebrows raised at me expectantly.

I didn't deign to respond.

"Because they were all old men, each of them looking at you like a meal instead of a person. And how much do you want to bet if it was one of them that by now they'd be trying to coax you into bed?"

I couldn't look him directly in the eyes—so I looked just above them, so it looked like I was still looking him in the eyes as I stood stoically. God, maybe if I had just paid some damn attention tonight, I wouldn't be in this situation.

But that felt highly unlikely, because it seemed like my father had planned this down to a T.

I didn't notice when Jace went into his room, but I noticed when he slammed his door.


The next morning, I felt exhausted. I'd tossed and turned all night long and no amount of rearranging the pillows had helped. So I'd texted Simon and played Piano Tiles until my phone battery died—which hadn't taken very long, mind you.

It was bright outside, the sun shining through the windows in fat, buttery beams. I looked around the penthouse, at the gray-ish sectional and dark wood coffee table where the remotes were lined up exactly, one next to the other.

So he was a neat freak.

I wondered how long it'd take him to notice if I left. Judging from absolute dead silence within the apartment, a long time.

I debated it for a while, just standing there staring at nothing as I thought. I was so angry at my father, and yet, I didn't entirely believe it—that he would do something like this, especially to me.

But he had.

And I needed to—I didn't know what I needed to do. All I could feel was this burning rage and it made me want to kick and scream and punch things. I felt like tearing that flat screen off the wall and throwing it at the windows.

But I wasn't going to do that. I took a deep breath. I hadn't noticed a phone lying around anywhere, and mine was dead—but I was going to talk to him, one way or another.

I spun on my heel, heading towards the hall. I stopped at the first door on my left. Jace's room. I might really regret this if he caught me.

I opened the door, as slow as I possibly could. If it squeaked, I was screwed. Jace tossed around in his bed, and I took note of the impressive biceps, of the messy blond curls that just did things to a girl.

My eyes darted around the room, searching frantically. I didn't plan to stay in here long, and I didn't think I'd need to, because sitting right on top of his dresser, was his phone. If this thing had a passcode, I was screwed.

I snatched it and tried not to slam the door shut in my hurry.

I couldn't believe it—he didn't have a passcode. And quite frankly, I didn't care so long as I could use it. I went to the phone app and dialed in my father's number. I knew it by heart, and I didn't think I'd ever forget.

It only had to ring four times before he answered.

"Good morning, Clarissa. I trust all is well."

My anger was suddenly a fire burning in me, burning up all the oxygen in my lungs as I spoke. "All is well? Are you kidding me? You deserve to burn in Hell, you know."

He continued on as if I hadn't spoken at all, "Was your evening with Jonathan good?" Jonathan? Was that what Jace had told my father his name was?

"What're you going to do when I go to the cops, Dad? Huh? Whatever will you do when they come knocking at the door?"

The line went quiet a moment, and I wondered if he hung up on me when his voice suddenly became lower, noticeably more serious than it had been. "You are not going to tell anyone, Clarissa. You are going to tell your mother—you are going to tell everyone, that the two of you hit it off after you went on a date after the auction. You are going to tell them all in a few months that Jonathan proposed, and we'll be done with this."

"And what do you think you can do to keep me from telling them the truth? From going to the cops, Dad?"

"Oh, Clarissa, how sweet. You think I'm bluffing." He paused. "I'll put it simply, sweetheart: your mother might have an accident. Trip and fall down the stairs, slip in the shower, mugged while she's out shopping. Or, perhaps, you'd like your brother to have a run in with someone he owes a pretty large sum to?"

I didn't respond. I didn't say anything. What could I say?

"Ah, I knew you'd see sense, darling." He chuckled a little. "Until next time, Clarissa."


What'd you guys think? This was a little bit of a filler chapter before the real action starts.