~Earlier on~
Walking in, the auction hall glittered like a jeweled snare, all champagne smiles and careful conversations. Every inch of the place slled of old money and older secrets. I belonged here about as much as I belonged on the moon—but tonight, I wasn’t Mira Valente, the baker from Lisbon. I was the delectable Maya Avanti.
Tonight, I was soone untouchable.
Shopping for so fancy dresses when I arrived in LA kfew weeks ago gave so many dress options to pick from when the invite ca days ago.
After trying on a number of smoking hot attires, I settled a deep erald dress that dipped low in the back, the kind of color that made n stare and won wonder if they could pull it off. The slight show of my cleavage was the icing on top.
My brown bob hair rested beautifully on my shoulders, and my lips were painted the kind of red you only wore when you had sothing to prove.
Around my neck, I donned a nice diamond necklace, paired with matching earrings. I wore silver dorsays that shimred as I walked, with a purse that was the exact sa color.
On my wrist was a tennis bracelet I ordered the previous day. It’s safe to say that I looked the part.
Beside , Massimo played the role of escort perfectly half amused, half predatory. He ca in from Lisbon few days ago and tonight was the first ti I saw him since he arrived.
The man thrived in rooms like this, all charm and threat disguised as casual elegance. And I let him lead through the crowd because it served my purpose. A man like him on my arm was the best kind of shield: visible, undeniable and guaranteed to get under certain people’s skin.
I sipped my champagne, ignoring the stares. Two years had taught how to walk into a room like I owned it, even when my knees threatened to buckle underneath . I had mastered the art of pretending. My poker face was unmatched.
And if the right set of grey eyes happened to be here tonight, I wanted them to see like this. Unshaken. Unreachable.
Massimo left for a second to go and socialize. There was a painting he wanted and I saw that he was going to check it out so I stood on my own, not letting my expression give anything away.
Slowly, my eyes roved the room as I pretended to be uninterested with everything going around .
Then it happened like a hurricane passing through. One second, everything was steady, the next, my chest a ss of emotions.
I heard him first. That voice that was deep, asured, lethal in the way it could curl around your na like a promise or a threat. I heard it cut through the hum of the crowd. My heart stuttered.
No. It couldn’t be.
But then I saw him.
Jace Romano.
The man who changed .
Two years had sharpened him into sothing almost unrecognizable, and yet every part of him was the sa. The tailored black suit, the silver watch glinting at his wrist, the way he moved like he owned the floor and everyone on it. He looked... harder. Colder. But the danger in him? That was untouched.
And of course, he wasn’t alone.
A tall, willowy brunette clung to his arm, the kind of woman who looked like she belonged on the cover of a magazine. My stomach tightened—not from jealousy, I told myself, but from the reminder of exactly what I’d left behind. What he’d replaced with.
I felt a bitter taste in my mouth.
I let my gaze slide past him as if he were any other man in this room, but my pulse betrayed , thudding in my ears. I fought my eyes to not follow .
I could feel the weight of his attention before his eyes even found .
And when they did...
It was like being set on fire.
~
Massimo ca around an introduced to the host who was imdiately fascinated by and wanted to show around. Reginald led to the bar and there he was.
I didn’t expect that seeing him again would have such an effect on .
Our eyes stayed glued on each other for a long mont until Reginald cut in.
"Surely you’re mistaken Mr Romano, she is Maya Avanti." He insisted.
I smiled. If only he knew.
"It’s fine, Regi." I said, palming his cheek softly.
The old man practically blushing. I bit back a laugh.
"It’s nice to et you, Mr Romano." I said, stretching my hand out for a handshake.
Jace’s eyes ravaged . I saw how his pupils dilated as he studied every inch of his eyes could lay on.
I felt a strange sensation between my thighs.
Mira focus, I told myself.
He went the extra mile after taking my palm in his and kissed my knuckles. There was a familiar jolt of electricity that coursed through in that mont. I had not felt this way since the last ti I saw him.
"Nice to see you, Maya."
I bit on my tongue to stop it from letting out an embarrassing sound.
Reginald’s attention was soon called by soone else. The event was about to begin.
"I-" Jace was about to speak when Massimo ca up from behind.
"Maya, I’ve been looking all over for you."’
"Oh-"
"You’re with him?"
I don’t know why but there was a look of betrayal in Jace’s eyes as he asked that question. I tried to not let it bother . He ant nothing to .
"Yes I am," I said coolly, jutting my chin up, daring him to question .
"Don Romano, it’s nice to see you again." Massimo said with a sly grin, putting a possessive arm around .
I almost flinched as Jace’s glare hardened.
"I wish I could say the sa." He responded.
"Still sour I see."
The brunette supermodel Jace ca with showed up just then. I was sowhat relieved as I did not want the n to have a showdown in public. It was way too soon for that.
"It’s ti for us to find our seats." She said, barely acknowledging Massimo and I.
I swallowed. Whoever she was, she needed to go.
Jace walked away with her after casting a lingering glance at . I kept a neutral expression.
"Seems like our plan is in motion. He still has a soft spot for you."
I forced a smile. "He does,"
We went to find our seats after that and unfortunately, it wasn’t so far from where Jace was seated. I felt his gaze on the side of my face.
~
I should have seen it coming.
The painting - a dark, moody piece of a storm breaking over the Amalfi coast — wasn’t just beautiful. It was defiant, almost violent in its chaos. The kind of art that made people feel sothing whether they wanted to or not. It was, for a lack of better words - out of this world.
Of course, it caught Massimo’s attention.
And of course, it caught Jace’s.
The auctioneer’s voice rose above the murmured conversations.
"We’ll start the bidding at two hundred thousand."
Massimo lifted his paddle without hesitation. "Two hundred," he said, his voice smooth and unbothered.
From across the room, Jace didn’t even blink. "Three."
The number landed like a slap, drawing a bunch of glances from the crowd. My throat tightened. He had seen Massimo’s bid. He had seen too.
Massimo leaned back slightly in his chair, looking almost amused. "Four,"
The auctioneer’s gaze flicked between them. "Four hundred thousand. Do I hear...?"
"Six." Jace’s voice was quiet but carried like a blade sliding across glass. His eyes didn’t leave Massimo’s, and the air between them felt suddenly thinner.
Massimo’s smile was slow, deliberate. He raised his paddle again. "Eight."
The auctioneer’s eyebrows shot up. "Eight hundred thousand—"
"One point two."
Jace didn’t even raise the paddle this ti. He just said the number, low and lethal, and the auctioneer snapped to attention like the word was law. He always had that effect on people. Even .
Around us, whispers started. People craned their necks. This wasn’t about art anymore. It was war in silk suits.
Massimo studied Jace, and for a flicker of a mont, I saw it—the calculation. He could push higher. He could fight for it. But he wouldn’t win tonight, not on this battlefield.
The paddle in his hand lowered. "It’s all yours, Romano," he said, with the kind of smile that promised the fight wasn’t over.
It certainly wasn’t.
The auctioneer banged the gavel. "Sold. One point two million, Mr. Romano."
Jace leaned back in his chair, expression unreadable, but his gaze that was dark and cutting found mine across the room. And in that look, I knew exactly what the painting had been about.
It had never been the art.
It had been .
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