Sapphire Bay's Grand Ballroom was lit like a diamond mine.
Chandeliers dripping with crystals.
Golden pillars towering to the ceiling.
A velvet carpet so soft it felt like walking on clouds.
Sunrise University's top faces were all here — celebrities, heirs, CEOs' kids, politicians' sons and daughters.
The scent of expensive perfume and ego poisoned the air.
Outside, Fred stood in the shadows of the bushes, watching.
He wasn't part of their world.
Not by blood.
Not by money.
Not by design.
Yet tonight, his story would crash into theirs like a falling star.
---
On a massive stage inside:
Top 10 campus girls stood nervously.
All dressed in glittering silver gowns provided by sponsors.
Each wore a small number tag like cattle at an auction.
Fred recognized some:
Sophia Langston, 21, Business Major, caramel skin, model-level beauty, flawless reputation — hiding her ruthless gold-digging nature.
Chantel Mbiwa, 20, Law Student, dark silky skin, curves like a dream, secretly sponsored by a corrupt politician.
Melissa Carter, 22, Journalism Major, freckled cheeks, sweet fake smile — dating two billionaires behind their backs.
They smiled for the cameras.
But Fred saw it.
Behind their makeup and perfect hair: terror.
They knew they weren't auctioning just dates.
They were auctioning their worth.
Their value.
Their price tags in a world that measured souls in dollars.
---
The host — a famous TV presenter — shouted into the microphone:
> "Ladies and Gentlemen! Let's open bidding for the first diamond of the night!"
Laughter, cheers.
Bidders raised platinum paddles.
The numbers shot up faster than Fred's heart could process.
$10,000
$30,000
$80,000
$150,000
For a single night with a girl.
Not marriage.
Not love.
Just bragging rights.
Just a new trophy.
Girls giggled and blushed.
Pretended it was fun.
Fred knew it was survival.
---
Behind the stage, Fred spotted Trevor, the golden boy himself — designer suit, Rolex watch, champagne in hand.
Beside him were campus security officers and two photographers.
Trevor whispered something to them.
One security guy nodded and pointed casually toward the side doors.
Fred's heart dropped.
They had seen him.
The trap was set.
If Fred entered now — even a step inside — they would "catch" him.
Label him a stalker.
Expel him.
Destroy him.
> "All for breathing the same air as them," Fred thought bitterly.
---
Fred's fingers tightened on his old backpack.
He could walk away.
He should walk away.
But then he thought of Nadia's tired eyes.
Mark's trembling betrayal.
His mother's voicemail from months ago still saved on his cracked phone:
> "Work hard, my boy. One day they will see you."
No one ever saw the invisible.
Unless they forced the world to look.
Fred took a deep breath.
And slipped away into the night.
---
Instead of confronting them, Fred walked around the ballroom's outside wall.
Found a back alley.
Graffiti.
Overflowing dumpsters.
The true face of luxury: garbage hidden behind gold.
He sat there in the dirt.
Pulled out his sketchbook.
And began to draw.
Not the auction.
Not the pretty faces.
Not the fake smiles.
He drew the truth.
The girls crying in the dressing room.
The boys betting on bodies.
The security planning the trap.
His own face — a ghost watching a masquerade of cruelty.
Every line of the pencil carved the pain deeper into the paper.
Into his bones.
Into his future.
---
Above him, fireworks exploded over Sapphire Bay.
Celebrating the millions of dollars spent tonight.
Celebrating corruption.
Celebrating dreams sold to the highest bidder.
Fred smiled bitterly.
> "Let them feast," he whispered.
> "I'll build a kingdom from the crumbs they leave behind."
He tucked the sketchbook back into his bag.
He recorded a short message on the old voice recorder:
> "Tonight, they tried to erase me.
But even ashes tell stories.
And broken wings still remember how to fly."
Then he disappeared into the night, leaving only silence behind.
But the storm he would bring?
Would be louder than anything this city had ever heard.
---