The Auction
“Good evening, my fellow connoisseurs.”
The auctioneer’s voice resonated through the grand hall, drawing the gaze of the elite crowd scattered across the lavish room.
“Tonight’s bidding will begin shortly, so please take your seats.”
Beneath massive crystal chandeliers, waiters glided between the tables with champagne and delicate hors d’oeuvres while guests spoke in hushed, practiced voices.
Behind the podium, the auctioneer gestured toward the covered displays behind him.
“Tonight, we have three extraordinary items for you. First, a Savic-style ruby-plated watch from a private Swedish collection. Second, a limited-edition Swedish dress embellished with hand-cut diamonds. And finally, our centerpiece—an exotic, handcrafted handbag stitched with genuine gold threads.”
He smiled warmly at the crowd.
“We are only waiting on our final two VIP guests before we officially begin. Until then, please enjoy the evening.”
Outside, a sleek black sedan glided through the city streets.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Mr. Belmont muttered, glaring at the man sitting beside him. “I can handle a charity auction on my own.”
Adrian remained completely unfazed, his eyes scanning the traffic through the tinted glass. “I’m sure you can, sir. But as your head of security, I’m required to make sure you survive it.”
Belmont sighed, adjusting his tailored lapels. “I’m wearing the vest.”
Adrian offered a slight, dubious glance. “Good.”
“Sir,” the driver called from the front, “we’ll be arriving shortly.”
Belmont leaned back, a small smile playing on his lips. “Excellent. I intend to walk away with that Norwegian handbag tonight.”
“For your collection?” Adrian asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Obviously.”
Moments later, the car pulled up to the venue. Flashbulbs detonated against the dark windows the instant the doors opened.
“Ladies and gentlemen, one of our final VIPs has arrived!” the auctioneer’s voice boomed over the venue’s external speakers. “Mr. Belmont!”
Applause swept through the entrance. Belmont offered a smooth, practiced wave as he stepped onto the red carpet.
Adrian stayed half a step behind him, his gaze sharp and methodical. Entrances. Exits. Security personnel. Blind spots.
He touched the hidden earpiece beneath his collar. “Team, check your positions. Stay alert.”
“Relax, Adrian,” Belmont whispered, grabbing a flute of champagne from a passing tray. “It’s a room full of billionaires, not a war zone. Have some champagne.”
“Security comes first, sir.”
Belmont took a sip, chuckling softly. “Right. Always the motto.”
Inside, the lights lowered slightly as the auctioneer returned to the podium.
“My fellow connoisseurs, our final VIP has arrived.”
The ambient chatter dwindled to a murmur.
“Please welcome Ms. Vivienne Ashford of the Ashford Group.”
Heads turned toward the main entrance. Vivienne Ashford glided into the ballroom with an effortless, chilling composure. Tailored perfectly in dark couture, she wore her signature sleek black glasses—a statement piece that complete her mysterious, unreachable attire. She didn’t pause to scan the crowd; she simply walked as if the entire room belonged to her.
Across the hall, Belmont narrowed his eyes. “Arrogant as ever. Wearing sunglasses indoors like she’s above the rest of us.”
“Tell me about it,” an executive beside him muttered. “Because of her refusal to sell that parcel of land, our resort project is completely stalled.”
“She turns down every offer,” another guest added. “When you’re the sole heiress to Ashford Group, I suppose you can afford to hold a grudge.”
“Let the bidding begin,” the auctioneer announced, striking his gavel.
The first two items—a ruby-plated watch and a diamond-embellished dress—went quickly, selling for three hundred thousand and five hundred and fifty thousand dollars respectively.
Then, the final display was unveiled.
“Our centerpiece for the evening,” the auctioneer declared. “Bidding for the handcrafted gold-stitched handbag starts at seven hundred thousand dollars.”
Paddles rose instantly.
“Eight hundred thousand!”
“Nine hundred thousand!”
The crowd buzzed with energy.
Vivienne raised her hand, her voice smooth and unbothered behind her dark lenses. “Three million.”
A collective gasp swept through the ballroom.
Belmont raised his paddle without hesitation. “Six million.”
Murmurs erupted. The auctioneer laughed in disbelief. “Six million from Mr. Belmont!”
Vivienne didn’t shift in her seat. She didn’t even turn her head toward Belmont. She simply spoke again. “Eight million.”
Belmont’s smile widened. “Twelve million.”
Silence fell over the room. Vivienne remained entirely motionless behind her black glasses, offering no counter.
“Going once… going twice…” The auctioneer’s gavel came down with a heavy thud. “Sold to Mr. Belmont!”
Belmont leaned back in his chair, thoroughly pleased. “Money well spent.”
An hour later, the formal bidding had concluded, and soft jazz filled the hall as guests mingled.
“Adrian!” Belmont called out, gesturing to the secured display case. “I bought it. Guard that bag like it’s my second child.”
“I’d rather guard you, sir,” Adrian replied dryly.
Before Belmont could retort—
Click.
Every light in the building went out simultaneously. Darkness swallowed the hall, and immediate chaos erupted as screams echoed off the high ceilings.
“Sir! Stay down!” Adrian moved instantly, pulling Belmont behind a pillar and clicking on his tactical flashlight. “Team two, secure the perimeter! Get Mr. Belmont to the armored vehicle now!”
“Adrian, what about—”
“No arguments, sir. Car. Now.”
Adrian escorted Belmont through the side exit, handing him off to three heavily armed guards who rushed Belmont straight into the waiting vehicle. Once the car door slammed shut and locked, Adrian turned back toward the dark facility.
That was when he heard it—a faint sound echoing down the main stairwell above the panic.
“Help… please!”
Adrian drew his beam up the central staircase. “Who’s up there?”
“I can’t… I don’t know where the exit is!”
“Stay where you are!” Adrian took the stairs two at a time, keeping his flashlight pointed low to navigate the steps. “I’m coming to you!”
He reached the second-floor corridor. The air up here was dead silent compared to the chaos below.
“Ma’am?”
Hurried, light footsteps echoed down the hall. Someone was moving fast in the pitch dark.
Adrian turned a corner—and collided straight into a figure moving through the shadows.
“Whoa!” Adrian reacted on instinct, dropping his weight and catching her firmly by the waist before she could fall.
He brought his flashlight up slightly, casting a dim pool of light between them. The sharp cut of her dark glasses reflected the beam back at him. Even in pitch-black conditions, she hadn’t removed them—yet she moved with total confidence, her posture remaining strikingly composed.
“Are you alright?” Adrian asked, his pulse steadying.
“I’m fine,” she said softly, her head tilting just a fraction toward the sound of his voice rather than the flashlight beam.
Adrian studied her profile in the dim light. “What’s your name?”
A brief pause stretched between them in the dark.
“Vivienne,” she replied smoothly behind the black lenses.
Adrian’s grip tightened just a fraction. Vivienne Ashford. The woman who had thrown down eight million dollars without blinking—standing with him in total darkness, still wearing her dark glasses, and completely untroubled by the blackout.
