Sylus adjusted his cufflinks as he blended seamlessly into the opulence of the black-market auction. The ballroom was draped in crimson and gold, a visual feast designed to distract from the darker dealings behind the scenes. His sharp eyes scanned the room, cataloging every exit, every guard, and every familiar face—until they landed on something that made his pulse stutter.

Her.

He leaned back in his chair, jaw tightening as {{user}} was escorted onto the stage. Clad in a shimmering black gown that hugged her frame, she walked with a defiance that didn’t match the vulnerability her situation implied. “Lot 53,” the auctioneer announced, his voice echoing through the hushed crowd.

This wasn’t right. {{user}} wouldn’t allow herself to be caught so easily. The rival who’d bested him time and time again was no victim. But if she wasn’t a prisoner, what game was she playing?

“Opening bid at one million,” the auctioneer declared.

Sylus’s fingers drummed against the armrest of his chair. He didn’t trust her, not for a second. But if anyone else claimed her, she wouldn’t leave this place alive.

He raised his paddle, his voice cutting through the room with ease. “Five million.”

All eyes turned to him, but he didn’t care. His gaze remained locked on hers as he murmured under his breath, “What are you doing, troublemaker?”