Building a Terrorist Group in The Academy Novel

When Chloe heard that voice, it felt as if a bucket of ice-cold water had been dumped over her.

She’d known, deep down, that it wouldn’t be so easy. Nothing in her life ever had been.

But hearing that bid felt like the universe itself was mocking her, reminding her just how little control she truly had.

A ripple of murmurs passed through the crowd as heads turned toward VIP Room 1, prominently located on the second floor in the center of the hall.

Some guests exchanged glances, wondering aloud who could possibly be behind the bid.

"Is it him?" whispered one noblewoman to her companion.

“Must be someone from Marquis Hoyle’s family,” he replied knowingly, eyes glued to the darkened room. “Room 1 is their reserved spot, after all.”

A younger man nearby leaned in, overhearing the conversation. “Didn’t the Marquis Hoyle get executed for corruption not too long ago?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, but this must be his son,” the other replied, barely hiding his disdain. “I hear he’s nothing more than a waste of a man—a drunken fool with no ambition beyond whoring around.”

The murmurs grew louder, rippling across the room like wildfire, as Chloe’s eyes stayed fixed on the VIP room.

When Chloe heard the sum, she almost choked, her shock seizing her breath.

She hadn’t expected this good-for-nothing scoundrel to be so fixated on her sister. The thought that he might actually win only fueled her determination to fight with every coin she had.

Pulse throbbed in her temples as she fixed her stare on the stage, her eyes blazing with a fierce resolve.

She couldn’t let that that depraved bastard get his hands on her sister.

A man like him would defile Serena, strip away any purity that she had left, taking something from her that Chloe knew she’d never be able to restore. Even if he were to day later.

Clenching her fists, Chloe calculated that she had roughly half a million gold.

There was no way that fool could have that much money. The Hoyle family’s fortunes were in tatters, she was sure of it.

Steeling herself, she raised her hand and called out, “200,000!”

“200,000 from Guest 203!” Iris echoed with an encouraging smile, stoking the flames of competition.

Around them, murmurs broke out.

“Are they insane? Who’d risk so much on this cursed princess?”

“Two people without any sense of survival, that’s who.”

“Fools,” muttered another, but a thrill lingered in his voice. This was turning into a rare spectacle.

“280,000,” came Aiden’s cool, unhurried response, a tone that remained maddeningly indifferent.

Her frustration mounting, Chloe clenched her jaw and threw out,

“350,000!”

Her voice wavered, her determination filling every word. Her jaw clenched tightly as she thought of Aiden’s reputation, his vile pursuits, the stories she’d heard about his lecherous nature. She’d do whatever it took

“430,000,” Aiden answered, his voice unchanged, as if unfazed by the growing stakes.

Chloe’s patience was shattering with each of his bids.

Her heart pounded, her breathing grew quicker, and she nearly screamed,

“500,000!”

A shocked silence followed. All eyes darted between Chloe and the VIP box above, watching the standoff unfold.

“500,000?” whispered one attendee. “This girl must have lost her mind. Look at her—she’s desperate!”

“560,000,” came Aiden’s response.

As the bid for Serena climbed higher, Chloe's heartbeat thundered in her chest, each thump echoing louder than the last.

When she heard the sum of 560,000, a cold wave of shock rippled through her body.

She knew it was only money, that in theory, she should keep a clear head, but all sense seemed to vanish in the suffocating reality of the auction hall.

Her grip tightened, her hands clammy with sweat.

She felt like a cornered animal, trapped and mocked by this unknown enemy who seemed intent on crushing every last hope she had.

Then, Aiden’s voice, steady and dismissive, rang out again.

“500,000.”

A murmur swept through the crowd, an almost electrified silence as each person watched with bated breath.

Chloe bit her lip so hard she tasted blood.

This was more than a bid. This was a game, a twisted, dark game where her sister was the prize.

"640,000!" she nearly screamed, the last of her reserves pushed onto the table.

Her voice cracked with desperation, and her whole body trembled, pushing beyond its limits.

Her eyes were wild, reflecting a mix of rage, frustration, and determination.

She could feel her pulse hammering, each beat filling her with a sickening sense of urgency.

Her chest heaved with every breath, her eyes growing glossy with the sheer force of her resolve, now brimming with unshed tears.

How dare he! Her fingers dug into her cloak, her knuckles white as she clung to her last hope.

The crowd watched, stunned, the whispers now tinged with shock and pity.

"Look at her. She’s throwing everything she has,” someone murmured nearby, a faint tone of sympathy in their voice.

“She must really care about that girl,” added another, watching Chloe’s fraught expression with softening eyes.

“Who would bid so high if it weren’t for something truly personal?” murmured someone else, glancing between the stage and Chloe’s desperate form.

And then it came—Aiden’s next bid, his voice cold as steel slicing through the air.

“680,000.”

A collective gasp swept through the room, and the words hit Chloe with the force of a hammer blow.

Her vision swam, her entire world tilting as if the ground had been ripped from beneath her.

Her face went white, and her hands loosened their grip on her cloak, hanging limply by her sides.

The sounds around her faded as if sinking underwater, leaving only the echo of that bid resounding in her mind.

Her only remaining family was slipping through her fingers.

Looking toward the cage where Serena stood, a fragile hope and fear entwined, she felt the crushing weight of despair pin her down, rendering her almost numb.

Her vision blurred, darkening as she struggled to take in air. She was having a panic attack.

"Why… why does it always happen to me?" she whispered, her voice broken, barely audible.

Every hardship she had faced—the endless years of survival, the bitter quest for vengeance, the search for her sister—all of it felt meaningless in that moment.

The world seemed to collapse around her, shattering in fragments of grief and frustration.

She tried to stay upright, her legs shaking, but finally, her strength gave way.

Roland, her loyal guardian, caught her, steadying her as tears pooled in her eyes, her frustration boiling over in her defeated, devastated gaze.

He held her up, a sadness in his own eyes that went deeper than words, watching helplessly as she crumbled in his arms. He had seen her struggle, her sacrifice, and now the cruel twist of fate that denied her at the very last moment.

The room around them fell silent, a collective hush, as the crowd watched her unravel. Some couldn’t help but feel pity for her.

At the front of the room, Iris maintained a perfectly composed expression, though her eyes flickered with annoyance as she addressed the winner. “It seems that the gentleman in VIP Room 1 has secured the bid.” Her professional voice rang out, calm yet decisive, piercing through the shocked silence that had fallen over the hall.

“The transaction will be handled swiftly, and your purchase will be delivered posthaste. And to all present, we thank you for your attendance and enthusiasm.”

Her gaze lingered on Chloe as she continued, smoothly guiding the audience through the closing formalities. “We are thrilled to invite you to the Empire’s year-end auction in just 6 months, featuring not only rare slaves but treasures from across the continent.”

As she left the stage, Chloe remained frozen in place, her shoulders trembling, her face blank as if drained of every last spark of hope.

Roland leaned close, his voice low and urgent. "Miss Chloe, we need to leave," he murmured, casting a wary glance at the room full of prying eyes. "We've already attracted more attention than is safe. Let's slip away while we still can."

He gently nudged her, guiding her unsteadily toward the exit. "Please, let's get you somewhere safer," he whispered, his tone softening as he saw the devastation in her eyes.

Guiding her toward the exit, he felt the weight of her grief pressing down on him.

The last echoes of the auction lingered, whispers of sympathy and shock trailing behind them.

The memory of this night would remain, etched in the minds of all who had watched her heartbreak unfold.