Page 40 of The Auction

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And that’s when I see a silhouette, moving slowly up the center aisle. Hands in his pockets. Shoulders square. Casual. Purposeful.

At first, I think it’s just another bidder making his way toward the front for a better view.

But the closer he gets, the more the shape starts to crystallize.

The swagger. The build. The sleeves pushed to the elbows.

My stomach drops.

No.

No no no no no?—

Fuck.

He steps into the light, and my entire body goes still.

White button-down, open too far. Tattoos curling down his arms like smoke. The kind of fury in his eyes that turns blood cold.

Jaxon.

My worst-case scenario made flesh.

He’s not supposed to be here. Hewasn’t coming. I shut off my location. I turned off my phone. I did everything to keep him from knowing.

And yet—here he is.

Looking at me like I’ve betrayed him.

Looking at me like I’m not a girl on a stage anymore… but a woman heintendsto claim.

A man stands near the front and yells out, “Two hundred and fifty thousand!” like he’s announcing a Super Bowl touchdown.

Jaxon turns his head, slowly, toward the voice.

The guy’s grinning like he’s just started something. And maybe he has. Because there’s something loaded in the way he stares back at Jaxon—like they know each other. Like hewantsto be seen. Like this isn’t about me at all.

My chest tightens.

Jaxon says nothing. Doesn’t flinch. Hands still in his pockets, jaw tight, gaze unreadable.

Then he turns back to me.

I can see that calm, careful rage simmering just beneath his skin. The kind that doesn’t explode—iterupts.

“Five hundred thousand,” he says flatly.

And just like that, I know the gloves have come off.

The other man throws back seven-fifty. Then a million.

Every number he throws out, Jaxon doubles.

Two million.

Four.

Eight.

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