Vanessa still sat in her chair near the long table, the gleaming necklace displayed under the spotlight in a glass case before the room. The auctioneer’s voice rang out over the murmuring crowd again, crisp and rhythmic, calling for bids that escalated in tension with each passing second. Vanessa’s eyes were locked on the sparkling piece, her fingers drumming impatiently against the table. Her pulse was quickening, not just at the sight of the necklace, but at the presence of Iris a few feet away, calm, composed, radiating that infuriating ease Vanessa couldn’t stand.The bidding had started modestly, almost as if testing the waters, but Vanessa had already decided that she would not let Iris claim the piece this time. Whoever thought that this simple auction was just about jewelry had underestimated Vanessa’s competitiveness. Her mind raced through numbers, calculations, strategies—how much could she push Charles to offer without revealing panic, without showing desperation, without

Iris stepped out into the quieter stretch of the hallway, away from the hum of speculation still vibrating through the auction house. The marble floors gleamed under the chandelier lights, reflecting shadows of guests drifting in small clusters, whispering about what had just unfolded. She lifted her phone to her ear and dialed Adrian’s number, a small smile tugging at her lips.He picked up on the second ring.“Where are you?” she asked sweetly, her voice softer than it had been all evening.There was a pause, then his low voice answered, smooth and steady. “Why? Miss me already?”Before she could respond, she froze.She could hear his voice again.Not through the phone.Behind her.Iris blinked slowly, her heart skipping. The phone was still pressed to her ear as she turned.Adrian stood a few feet away at the end of the hallway.For a moment, everything else disappeared.He looked impossibly sharp in his tailored black suit, the cut emphasizing his broad shoulders and effortless co

The morning sun had barely pierced through the sheer curtains when Vanessa’s phone pinged with an email notification. She was still in her silk robe, hair messy from sleep, and already, before her first sip of coffee, her heart rate quickened. She slid her phone open, and her eyes scanned the message. Her brows furrowed almost immediately. There it was: the subject line screamed in sterile, corporate fashion, “Formal Notice: Liability for Auction Incident.” She didn’t even need to open it to feel the tension coil in her stomach, but she did anyway.Charles noticed her stiffening posture. “What is it?” he asked without looking up.Vanessa held up her phone like a weapon. “It’s from the auction house,” she said flatly. “Apparently, they’ve decided we’re fully liable for the… for the mess we made yesterday.”Charles’s eyes flicked to her phone, and his jaw tightened. He set his own device down, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “I expected something like this,” he said carefully, already

Adrian entered the auction house boardroom without a sound, his shoes making only the faintest tap against the floor. He wore a navy suit that hugged his frame perfectly, white shirt underneath, and his tie knotted with absolute precision. The board looked up as he settled into his chair at the head of the table. Nervous glances darted between each other, and hands fidgeted with pens and documents. Adrian didn’t look at them. He didn’t need to. Their uncertainty radiated, filling the room like a scent.The discussion began quickly. The incident involving Vanessa and Charles—the destruction of the jewelry at last week’s auction—was the first item on the agenda. Various board members debated in low tones, weighing reputational risk against potential legal action. One argued for pursuing full restitution, emphasizing the importance of showing zero tolerance for such mishaps. Another hesitated, noting that Vanessa was a known figure, and the public fallout might generate more attention

The city sprawled beneath Adrian, a chaotic tangle of streets and life that he had long since stopped caring to navigate outside of his own terms. He leaned against the edge of his desk, hands clasped behind him.Victor Rand’s voice broke through the silence, calm but insistent. “Adrian, this is the moment. It’s time.”Adrian didn’t turn, didn’t need to. He already knew what Victor meant. The man stepped into the office with measured steps, a subtle blend of deference and urgency, carrying the energy of someone used to negotiating outcomes before problems had even fully formed.“Time for what?” Adrian finally asked, not looking away from the view. His tone wasn’t dismissive. It wasn’t skeptical. It was precise, controlled—the kind of tone that made people pause and consider the weight behind his words before daring to continue.Victor smiled faintly, taking a seat in the chair opposite Adrian’s desk. “To go public,” he said simply. “To grant an interview. To let people see you. Adrian