Chapter 31

The Grand Ballroom of the Hotel Aethelgard had been transformed. Rows of gilded chairs faced a raised velvet stage, where a podium stood under a single, blinding spotlight.

The air smelled of lilies, old money, and hushed judgment.

Vespera sat in the front row, directly to the left of the center aisle. She was a slash of violent crimson in a sea of black tuxedos and beige gowns. Cyprian sat beside her, his arm draped casually over the back of her chair, his presence a silent wall of defense.

To the right of the aisle, separated by five feet of carpet that felt like a minefield, sat Lysander Thorne.

He looked manic. His tuxedo was expensive, but he wore it like a costume. He was sweating, despite the cool air conditioning. Elara sat next to him, whispering in his ear, her eyes darting toward Vespera’s diamond bracelet with naked envy.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," the auctioneer announced, his British accent crisp and practiced. "We now come to the highlight of the evening. Lot 49."

A hush fell over the room. The lights dimmed.

Two assistants in white gloves carried a black velvet bust onto the stage. Around the neck of the bust hung the Star of Veridia.

The sapphire caught the spotlight and exploded with blue fire. It was massive, ancient, and breathtakingly sad.

Vespera felt a genuine pang in her chest. It was the last thing her mother had touched. It was beautiful.

And it was the bait.

"The Star of Veridia," the auctioneer intoned. "A flawless 12-carat Kashmiri sapphire, surrounded by three carats of diamonds. Provenance: The Thorne Estate. We will start the bidding at two hundred thousand dollars."

Vespera didn't wait.

Before the auctioneer could finish the sentence, she raised her paddle.

"Five hundred thousand," she said clearly.

The room gasped. A jump bid. An aggressive opening.

Heads turned. Whispers erupted. It’s the ex-fiancée. It’s the wife. Oh, this is going to be good.

On the other side of the aisle, Lysander’s head snapped toward her. He saw the red dress. He saw the way she was staring at the necklace—with a hunger that looked painfully real.

He grabbed his paddle.

"Six hundred thousand!" Lysander shouted.

Vespera didn't look at him. She kept her eyes on the necklace. She gripped her clutch tightly, her knuckles turning white—a calculated display of anxiety.

"Seven hundred thousand," Vespera bid.

"Eight hundred!" Lysander countered instantly.

"Nine hundred thousand."

"One million!"

The numbers flew back and forth like bullets. The auctioneer struggled to keep up, his head swiveling between the two combatants.

"One million dollars to Mr. Thorne," the auctioneer called out. "Do I hear one point one?"

Vespera hesitated. She let her hand tremble as she raised the paddle.

"One point two," she whispered, just loud enough to be heard.

She turned to Cyprian, grabbing his arm with both hands. She looked up at him with wide, pleading eyes. To the room, it looked like a woman begging her husband to buy her heart’s desire.

"Please," she mouthed, knowing Lysander was watching.

Cyprian played his part perfectly. He looked at her with concern, then nodded grimly.

Lysander saw it. He saw the desperation. He saw the weakness.

She wants it, Lysander thought, the adrenaline flooding his brain. She needs it. If I take this, I take her power.

"One point five million!" Lysander roared, standing up halfway.

The crowd murmured. This was already well above the market value for the stones.

Vespera bit her lip. She looked at the necklace, then at Lysander. She raised her paddle slowly, as if it weighed a thousand pounds.

"Two million," she said.

"Two point five!" Lysander shot back. He was grinning now. He could feel the victory. He was rich. He was powerful. He was beating her.

"Three million," Vespera said. Her voice cracked—a masterstroke of acting.

"Three point five!"

The room was electric. People were leaning forward in their seats. This wasn't an auction anymore; it was a blood sport.

The price was climbing into the stratosphere. Three point five million. That was the operational cost of the Thorne shipping fleet for a month.

Vespera turned to Cyprian again. She buried her face in his shoulder for a second, as if overwhelmed. Cyprian whispered something in her ear—probably 'Good job', but to the audience, it looked like 'That’s too much.'

Vespera pulled away. She looked at Lysander. She narrowed her eyes, channeling pure, childish spite.

"Four million dollars," she declared.

Lysander laughed. He actually laughed.

"She's breaking," Elara whispered to him, clutching his arm. "Look at her. She's going to cry. Finish her, Ly."

Lysander looked at his bank balance in his mind. Five point two million. That was everything. The proceeds from the cars, the watches, the secret crypto accounts. If he spent it all, he would have zero liquidity tomorrow. He wouldn't be able to make payroll.

But then he looked at Vespera’s red dress. He thought about the lawsuit. He thought about the live stream.

He needed to win. He needed to crush her.

If he bought the necklace, he could hold it ransom. She would drop the lawsuit to get it back. It was leverage. It was an investment.

The auctioneer raised his gavel. "I have four million to Mrs. Hale. Going once..."

Lysander stood up. He buttoned his jacket. He looked at Vespera with a sneer of absolute triumph.

"Five million dollars," Lysander announced.

The room exploded. Gasps, cheers, applause. Five million dollars for a necklace worth two. It was insanity. It was glorious.

"Five million to Mr. Thorne," the auctioneer choked out, sweating. "Five million dollars. Do I hear five point five?"

All eyes turned to Vespera.

The room waited for the counter. They waited for the billionaire husband to step in and save the day.

Vespera sat perfectly still.

Slowly, the look of desperation melted from her face. The trembling stopped. The pleading eyes vanished.

In their place, the cold, serene mask of the Architect returned.

She didn't look at the auctioneer. She looked directly at Lysander.

She smiled.

It wasn't a nice smile. It was the smile of a blackjack dealer revealing an ace.

She lowered her paddle. She placed it gently on the floor beneath her chair.

She leaned back, crossing her legs, and smoothed the silk of her red dress.

"It’s all yours, Lysander," she said clearly, her voice carrying through the silent hall.

Lysander blinked.

He waited for her to bid again. She had to bid again. She wanted it. She had begged for it.

"Going once," the auctioneer called.

Lysander felt a sudden, cold drop in his stomach. Why wasn't she bidding?

"Going twice..."

Vespera picked up her champagne glass from the floor. She raised it to Lysander in a silent toast. Checkmate.

"Sold!"

BANG.

The gavel struck the podium with the finality of a gunshot.

"Sold to Mr. Lysander Thorne for five million dollars!"

Applause erupted. Flashbulbs popped.

Lysander stood there, frozen. The adrenaline crashed, leaving him cold.

He had won.

He had the necklace.

And he had just wired the last five million dollars of his liquid capital to an escrow account.

He looked at Vespera. She wasn't crying. She wasn't devastated.

She was whispering something to Cyprian, and the dangerous billionaire was laughing.

"He bought it," Vespera whispered to her husband, watching the blood drain from Lysander’s face. "He actually bought it."

"He just spent his legal defense fund on a shiny rock," Cyprian noted. "Silas is going to have a field day."

"I hope he enjoys it," Vespera said, standing up. "Because tomorrow morning, when the payroll checks bounce, that necklace is going to feel very heavy around his neck."

She turned to leave, not even sparing the necklace a glance. She had let go of the symbol to secure the victory.

Lysander watched her walk away. He looked at the stage where the assistant was boxing up the sapphire.

For the first time, he realized that the necklace wasn't a trophy.

It was an anchor. And he had just tied it to his own feet.