The Goldmaster

009. The Auction 2

The inner hall of the auction house shimmered with opulence, lit by chandeliers that spilled gold onto velvet carpets.

The room buzzed with excitement as guests took their seats in semicircular rows around the central stage.

Lucas and pamela had just entered the hall, and took their seats at the back row.

A hush swept through the grand hall as the first item was wheeled onto the stage under a velvet cover.

Pamela Bellingham adjusted her gloves with poise, then leaned slightly toward Lucas, who sat beside her with an air of casual detachment.

“Which one is it?” Her gloved hand gripped his sleeve as her eyes fixed on the row of upcoming auction items.

“Just tell me which herb we need, Lucas. I'll buy you anything you need.”

Lucas turned to her with a crooked smile. “Anything?”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, anything.”

He chuckled softly. “Even the grand prize of the night?”

He gestured toward the display pedestal where the shimmering gold envelope sat—Goldmaster’s invitation-only lunch, rumored to guarantee life-altering connections.

Pamela narrowed her eyes. “If you say the word, I'll do it.”

Lucas’s grin deepened, but behind his teasing expression was something unreadable.

“You're quite generous,” he murmured, his eyes flickering across the stage.

She didn't know this whole auction—the glittering setup, the elite guests—it had all been arranged with him in mind. If he whispered his desires to the right person backstage, they'd be delivered within the hour.

But for now, his identity stayed buried. He didn't mind playing the part of the outsider.

As he leaned back in his seat, the next lot was introduced—an exquisite diamond ring with historical significance, or so the auctioneer claimed.

Bruno Mason stood abruptly from the front row and raised his paddle.

“Three hundred thousand dollars!” he bellowed before anyone else could react.

A stunned silence followed, broken by a few scattered gasps.

The bid was ridiculous—obscene, even.

Pamela’s brows furrowed. “Why would he pay that much for a ring?”

Lucas didn't reply. He only watched Bruno with mild curiosity.

All around the room, murmurs broke out.

“Isn't that the guy from earlier?”

“Maybe we underestimated him.”

Bruno’s lips curled into a smug grin, he leaned back slightly, arms crossed, soaking in the shift of the room’s attention.

Rebecca, seated stiffly beside Bruno, flushed with pride—or perhaps relief. She straightened in her chair as Bruno turned, soaking in the sudden respect.

“Goldmaster,” he said loudly, smiling wide, “has been searching for this very ring. I have it on good authority. I intend to offer it to him personally.”

The room buzzed. Mentions of Goldmaster always drew attention.

Lucas’s lips curled, amused and unimpressed. That was a lie so laughable it practically begged for applause. Goldmaster? Interested in a jewel-studded relic? Please.

The man wouldn't bend down to pick up a crown if it wasn’t laced with power.

Trinkets meant nothing to him—unless they opened vaults, toppled reputations, or came with bloodstained histories.

Lucas scoffed inwardly. Whoever cooked up that excuse clearly didn’t know who they were dealing with.

Lucas knew precisely what the man was after, and it was definitely not that. It was a rare, irreplaceable plant: Nocturn Bloom.

The auctioneer flipped a page on his clipboard, his voice rising with renewed flair. “And now, ladies and gentlemen, we arrive at something truly exceptional. Lot 38!”

He gestured grandly as an assistant stepped forward, unveiling a glass container sealed tight with gilded clasps.

Inside, nestled on a velvet cushion, was a single dark-petaled flower—deep violet, almost black, with veins that shimmered faintly under the light.

“A rare medicinal herb from the Northern Alps—Nocturn Blossom!” the auctioneer declared.

“Said to bloom only under the light of a crescent moon, at altitudes above 3,000 meters.”

“Traditionally used in small quantities by alpine shamans to soothe nerve pain and combat nocturnal hallucinations.”

Murmurs ran through the room.

“Highly toxic in incorrect doses,” the auctioneer added, clearly relishing the drama.

“But when distilled properly—prized for its sedative effects and rumored aphrodisiac qualities.”

Pamela sat up straighter. “Could that be it?”

Lucas shook his head without hesitation. “No, it's not. But it has a similar name.”

“Name means nothing in this case,” he said quietly.

“Look at the stems—it’s the wrong color. And it's not vacuum-sealed. Nocturn Bloom would be decomposing by now.”

Pamela’s gaze darted between him and the herb. “Are you sure?”

“Completely.”

Bruno who had been quietly eavesdropping on their conversation turned, his lips curled in amusement.

“You? Denying the authenticity of this herb?” His voice rang loud, drawing attention.

“Careful. You’ll make people think you know what you’re talking about.”

With a lazy flick of his wrist, Bruno raised his paddle and bidded.

“Ten million.”

A murmur of awe swept through the hall.

“Ten million! From Young Master Bruno of the Mason family!” the auctioneer cried.

The crowd shifted their attention squarely on Lucas, who sat quietly.

“He’s just jealous.”

“Yeah, sour grapes. Can’t afford it, so he calls it fake.”

“Who even invited him?”

Bruno basked in the praise, then turned to Lucas with a smirk.

“You want to act like a connoisseur? Fine. Then watch and learn.”

Lucas stepped forward, voice low and cold.

“The real Nocturn Bloom withers the moment it’s exposed to air. That one’s been on display for ten minutes under standard lighting. You just paid ten million for dried lettuce.”

The crowd fell silent for a beat.

“What nonsense! Trying too hard. Man’s desperate to get attention.”

Bruno let out a bark of a laugh.

“So you're saying I just got scammed?”

“Yes,” lucas said simply.

Before the crowd could stir again, another voice cut through the tension.

“That’s absurd.”

A man stood from his seat in the front row.

“I am Gerald Thorn, President of Berkley’s Medical Association, and I've spent my life cataloging rare and extinct flora.”

His gaze was sharp, his tone imperious.

“I personally authenticated this herb. It came from the Northern Alps near Mount Helion. Its silver veins and bitter scent are proof of its potency. Only someone ignorant would say otherwise.”

The guests immediately rallied behind him.

“Doctor Gerald said it’s real—what more proof do you need?”

Pamela glanced nervously between Lucas and Gerald. Then she stepped forward and called out,

“I want it for thirty million!”

The auctioneer blinked in confusion.

“Thirty million?… but the item was already sold to—”

“I’m buying it from him,” she said, glancing toward Bruno.

The spotlight returned to Bruno. His smug grin widened.

“Oh? You want it now?” he said, voice oily. “Fine. I’m generous so I’ll sell. But…”

He dragged out the pause.

“My mood’s been ruined. Your little friend here slandered me in front of everyone and I’m not happy about it.”

FL’s eyes narrowed. “What are you saying?”

Bruno’s grin turned razor-sharp. “Unless he kneels and apologizes, I won’t sell it to you. Not for thirty million, not for three hundred.”

Pamela turned to Lucas, fury in her voice.

“Just do it! If my grandfather dies because of this—don’t even think about leaving Berkley in one piece”

Lucas watched them but didn’t say anything .

He simply stepped into the center of the hall and faced the jeering crowd. Then he smiled.

“If I kneel here today,” he said, voice calm as winter steel,

“none of you are walking out of this place alive.”

Silence dropped like a blade.

“You…” Bruno growled, stepping forward.

“Still talking big?”

With a vicious sneer, he turned back to the stage, kicked over the glass dome, and brought his heel down on the herb with a loud crunch.

“There,” he said coldly.

“It’s not that I don’t want to sell it to you. It’s just that your little dog doesn’t know how to behave. Since he forced my hand… don’t blame me.”

Pamela’s face twisted with rage. “You—!”

Before she could speak, Gerald Thorn rushed forward. “What have you done!?”

He knelt beside the crushed remains, carefully lifting a sliver of the Nocturn Bloom, tremble entered his fingers.

“No… this… this isn’t…” His voice cracked.

“This isn’t Nocturn Bloom! It’s just a regular ghostleaf sprout!”

“It’s a fake.”