Looking for a book - The husband I bought for $12000?

Hi everyone, Im keen on reading this story, not sure if this is the legit title. Ideally would prefer to purcahse whole story/book.... but the web-based platform it opens on seems dodgy. Does anyone know where I can read this or what the real title is/who the author is? TIA!

Chapter 1 I, Vivienne Ashford, bought a husband for $12,000 at an underground auction. He came with a scar across his throat and eyes that promised murder. The inheritance clause was simple: marry before 28 or lose everything to my stepsister. I had six days. My lawyer, Ruth, had begged me not to come here. "There are dating apps, Viv. Normal ones. With normal men." But normal men asked questions. Normal men wanted prenups reviewed. Normal men didn't come with a no-return policy and a vow of silence. The auction house was beneath a slaughterhouse in the Meatpacking District. Poetic, really. The host-a woman with a voice like burnt honey-gestured toward the lineup. "Lot 12 through 18. Disposable grooms. Background-scrubbed Legally dead or undocumented. They'll sign whatever you need do whatever you want, and disappear when the contract ends. Most of them looked broken. Hollow-eyed men who'd made bad deals with worse people. Then there was Lot 16. He stood a full head above the rest. Dark hair, sharp jaw, a lean, brutal kind of beauty--like a knife someone had tried to snap in half but couldn't. His wrists were bound in front of him with zip ties, which struck me as almost funny. The way he held himself, those zip ties were a suggestion, not a restraint. His eyes found mine across the room. Not the desperate scanning of someone hoping to be picked. Not the dead stare of someone who'd given up. He looked at me the way a predator identifies the only other predator in the room. I raised my paddle. "Twelve thousand," I said. The host smiled. "Sold. Congratulations, ma'am. Lot 16 is yours." His name-according to the index card-was Damien Wolfe. No listed age. No background. Under "Special Notes," someone had scrawled in red ink: Do not remove restraints until alone. They walked him to me like a prisoner on transfer. Two handlers flanked him, keeping a careful distance. Up close, the scar across his throat was worse. Someone had tried very hard to cut it open. Someone had failed.