The room was loud with conversation and laughter that came a second too late, assisted with compliments that were too polished to be real, and voices that carried just enough arrogance to remind everyone in the room that money wasn’t just power but also identity. Ryan let his eyes wander, scanning the room for something interesting; he glanced at the A man in a red mask entertained a group of listeners who laughed too loudly at every sentence. He moved his gaze from the attention seeker to another man who argued quietly about a piece of land in Monaco, like the entire country was something he could purchase if he just signed the right paperwork. The woman beside him sighs, checking her reflection on the back of a spoon. She muttered something before fixing her lipstick without even removing her mask. ‘Everyone here was either the hunter or the hunted,' Ryan thought. Then he heard it, not just a laugh but an obnoxious one. Ryan could tell it didn't belong to a man who needed ap

The room filled slowly with more people spilling in from the grand hall, their footsteps muffled by thick carpet, their masked faces turning like curious birds as they searched for the best vantage point.The auction hall itself felt like a theater built for secrets. Rows of chairs stretched toward the stage, each seat marked with a small golden plaque and a number engraved in clean lettering. The lighting was dim enough to keep identities hidden, but bright enough to display wealth. The air smelled of perfume, aged cigars, and champagne. Every breath Ryan took felt like he was inhaling someone else’s power. He remained at the back, choosing a seat where he could see everyone. It wasn’t the best view of the stage, but it was the best view of the room.From here, he could see the subtle movements. The way a man adjusted his cufflinks whenever someone important walked past. The way a woman touched the pearls on her neck like she was reassuring herself that she still mattered. Ryan di

She paused, letting the silence stretch until it felt suffocating. “This item was formerly owned by the late Mr. Thomas Wright.”Ryan’s breath caught in his throat; his father had died, leaving behind a company, a legacy, and a storm of enemies Ryan hadn’t even known existed.Celeste turned toward the velvet-covered pedestal in the center of the stage. “A watch,” she said. “From the Lost Watchman series. One of only three ever made.”The attendants rolled in the pedestal forward.The room leaned in as if pulled by gravity.Celeste reached for the velvet slowly, making it a ritual, and then she pulled it away.The watch sat on a black cushion, all in gold and heavy with craftsmanship.Its face gleamed under the spotlight, engraved with tiny markings so precise they looked like art rather than time.Celeste’s voice was almost reverent as she explained. “The Lost Watchman series was crafted by a Swiss master watchmaker who died before completing the fourth piece. Only three exist. One is

That wasn’t a rented guard. He moved like a trained killer and who would kill without hesitation. Zoula swallowed hard. “That is Ryan,” she whispered to herself. “I know it.” She turned back toward Christopher, and something dark flickered in her eyes. “Don’t ever interrupt me when I talk." Her voice dropped into a warning. Christopher blinked, surprised by her sudden tone, but before he could reach her Zoula stood up with her chair scraping against the floor. Without waiting for his reply, she walked away, her dress swaying like a storm. Christopher quickly rose after her, embarrassed. “I’m sorry, baby,” he called softly. “Come back. You’re overthinking.” But Zoula didn’t stop or look back. She disappeared into the crowd, leaving Christopher standing there. Meanwhile, Ryan and Marcus reached the hallway leading to the verification rooms. The corridor was quieter, lined with marble walls and gold-framed paintings. The noise of the auction hall faded behind them, and at the

With the transfer done, the documentation process moved faster than Ryan expected. Celeste worked efficiently, almost ruthlessly, urging her colleagues forward with short instructions and quick gestures. She didn’t treat the paperwork like a formality but rather like a ritual, and every signature, every fingerprint, and every verification was carried out with precision, as if even the smallest mistake could cost someone their life.And in a room filled with masked winners and million-dollar items, Ryan understood why any mistakes here could lead lawsuits, or even something more dangerous.Ryan watched the gloved staff move their hands with their eyes alert. The man in the grey suit confirmed the transfer twice, checking the financial record on his tablet and cross-referencing it with the printed documents.Celeste leaned toward him, her voice low. “Funds confirmed?”The grey-suited man nodded. “The transaction has been verified.”The words felt heavier than they should not because it