Page 20 of Inheritance
Cold horror passed through me as my painting was carried into the spotlight. My eyes locked onto the flaw, barely visible beneath the glare of the glass, but I knew exactly where it was. It was only a matter of time before everyone else saw it too.
The auctioneer didn’t blink. He regarded it with something close to reverence, and, surprisingly, the man a few seats over from me, who had given me a particularly critical stare, did too. His chin lifted, eyes narrowing with the vague performance of appraisal. He nodded once, low and slow, a soft grunt of approval escaping him like he fancied himself an expert discovering something rare.
I sat perfectly still, but my heart was pounding.
The auctioneer gave his rehearsed introduction, speaking of it as though it were something truly unique, something worth spending a fortune on.
A hand lifted from the middle of the room.
Nikolai.
"Ten million," he said with his thick accent.
The auctioneer blinked, visibly annoyed at being interrupted, but with a gracious nod and a smooth pivot, he turned back to the crowd, calling for a higher bid with the same polished enthusiasm as before.
It was subtle, but I felt the shift. The room stilled in a way that didn’t show on the surface but could be sensed all the same. There would be no competition. Not when Nikolai placed a bid.
I exhaled slowly as the auctioneer called the sale, watching with relief as the painting was removed from the stage. That was it. A ten-million-dollar transaction, clean and effortless.Compared to my old life, trying to sell a single piece for a few hundred dollars had felt infinitely more difficult. Here, an imperfection wouldn’t have changed anything. The details were meaningless.
Murmurs rose again as another piece was carried out.
Through the murmurs, a voice behind me stood out. Louder, like he wanted to be heard.
“She’s a real catch,” he said, voice smooth and amused. “Tamed her right. Thought she’d fight more, but it’s amazing what a little pressure can do.”
The words made my skin prickle. Still, I kept my posture easy, eyes on the stage.
There was something too familiar in his tone, entitled, practiced. He was the kind of man that didn’t expect to be questioned.
“She acted like she’d never seen a cock before, but now? I can’t tell the difference between her and a high-end escort.” A pause, muffled words I couldn’t catch from whoever he was talking to. Then: “Her father would be proud.”
“If he even remembered her.”
“Please. He can’t even recognize himself in a mirror.”
Their laughter was low but authentic. They weren’t worried about being overheard. That was what unsettled me the most.
Their conversation died after that, so did the murmuring as the auctioneer began his next performance.
I should have ignored them.
But I didn’t. I couldn’t.
I shifted slightly, letting my gaze drift over my shoulder.
At first glance, they didn’t look like much. The one on the left was narrow-shouldered, with brown hair, green eyes maybe, and a suit tailored just a bit too perfectly. He carried himself like he wanted it to look effortless, but couldn’t figure out how.
The other man was different.
Lean, broad-shouldered, dark-haired, slicked back, neat and deliberate. Striking, not in a way that demanded attention, but in a way that refused to be overlooked. You couldn’t look just once. His features were cut too clean, his jaw sharp, his brow strong, high cheekbones. The dim lighting cast a shadow over his eyes, like a statue sculpted for intimidation as much as beauty. He didn’t posture like the other man. He didn’t need to. He owned the space around him.
He watched the stage with complete ease. Then, as if pulled by a thread, his gaze slid to mine, calm, slow, assessing.
I shifted my eyes past him, leaning slightly as if I’d been looking behind him all along, but the awkward twinge of knowing neither of us was buying it was almost physically painful. I couldn’t help but look again to see if I was imagining it. The amusement on his face as he watched the stage told me I wasn’t, and I faced forward, wishing I could leave. It dawned on me then. Icouldleave.
I stood, adjusted my dress, and turned toward the exit, making myself politely small.
The auctioneer continued his ramblings about a piece, the blank canvas with a line on it, and I passed the row where those two men sat.
