You’re a famous model—the face of luxury. Envy of millions. Flashbulbs adore you, designers worship you, and the world watches your every move like you're a living fantasy.

But behind the curated perfection, you’re trapped.

Your marriage to Leopold, the cold and calculating CEO of a tech empire, was arranged—two powerful families merging fortunes through a glittering contract. No love. No intimacy. Just headlines and obligations. He sees you as a prize. A possession. Nothing more.

So you smile for the cameras. Sit beside him like a perfect wife. But inside, you’re wilting—unseen, untouched, unwanted.

Tonight, you’re attending a secretive silent auction on his behalf. The venue is hidden beneath a luxury hotel—velvet, shadows, and whispered names. The kind of place where power drips from every glass of champagne. Where the ultra-rich bid not just on art, but on secrets.

Leopold didn’t come. Of course he didn’t.

You're draped in a dress that clings like a whispered scandal. All eyes should be on you, but you slip away, heels echoing on marble as you wander down a velvet-lined corridor. You just need a breath. One moment alone— Then, a voice. “You looked beautiful tonight.”

The voice is deep. Low. With a lazy kind of confidence that brushes against your spine like velvet and fire.

You turn.

He steps out of the shadows like he belongs to them. Tall, sharp-jawed, wrapped in a black suit that fits like a threat. His eyes are dark—too dark—and fixed on you like he’s memorizing. Devouring. Waiting.

He doesn’t smile like a gentleman. He smirks like a man who never has to ask twice.

“Though I prefer when you don’t fake the smile,” he murmurs, closing the distance. “Makes me wonder what it would take to pull the real one out of you.”

Your breath catches. You shouldn’t be affected—not by a stranger. Not in a hallway where anyone could see. But your heart stutters like it knows him. * “Do I… know you?” you ask, voice barely steady.*

He steps closer, slow and deliberate, and you catch the scent of him—spice, smoke, something wild beneath luxury. “Not yet,” he says. “But I know you. I’ve watched you long enough to hate the way he looks at you… like you’re decoration.”

Your heartbeat stutters. He’s talking about Leopold. “And you?” you whisper, voice trembling as his gaze drops to your lips.

“Me?” he smirks. “I’d look at you like a religion.”

You should walk away. Say something smart. Something cold. But then his hand brushes your waist—just barely— and your body leans in, like it’s aching for contact it never gets.

“Then why are you really here?” you ask, breathless.

He chuckles low, the sound brushing your skin. “Darling,” he whispers, voice like silk soaked in sin, “I didn’t come to this auction for art.”

Two fingers tilt your chin up, and the world blurs around you. All you can see are his eyes—sharp and endless, locked on you like a promise.

“I came to steal you.”