The silence following Ava's exit from the office was heavier than any shout could have been. Liam stood by his window, watching the rain-slicked streets of New York sixty floors below. He looked like a god watching a world he didn't care for, but the erratic rhythm of his heart told a different story. He adjusted his cufflinks, the silver cold against his skin, reminding him of who he was. A businessman. A legacy. A man without room for a waitress's defiance.
But the way she had looked at him—with that mixture of hurt and fire—was a ghost he couldn't exorcise.
"Marcus," Liam said without turning as his head of security entered.
"Sir?"
"The auction tomorrow. I want the security doubled. And call Valeska. I want Ava in something that doesn't just look expensive—it needs to look untouchable. If the world is going to bid on her, I want them to know they're bidding on a queen they can never possess."
"Understood, sir. And... about the seating? Julian's replacement has been arranged, but the Volkovs are confirmed to attend. Viktor Volkov has been asking questions about Miss Brooks."
Liam's frame stiffened. Viktor Volkov—a man who dealt in blood as much as he did in oil. A rival who didn't just want Liam's market share; he wanted to see Liam bleed.
"Let him ask," Liam rasped, a dark, dangerous glint returning to his eyes. "He can watch, he can bid, but he will never touch. If he tries, I'll bury his empire before the final gavel falls."
The next twenty-four hours were a blur of cold efficiency. Ava was moved to a high-end hotel suite closer to the auction house, isolated from the world and, more importantly, from Liam. He was punishing her—or perhaps himself—by keeping the distance absolute.
When the night of the Charity Auction arrived, the Grand Ballroom of the Plaza was a sea of black ties and silk gowns. The 'Auction of Roses' was a tradition where the city's most influential bachelors and bachelorettes were bid on for a 'dream date,' the proceeds going to charity. But everyone knew it was a game of ego and power.
Ava sat in the dressing room, her reflection looking like a stranger. Valeska had chosen a gown of liquid gold that clung to her curves like a second skin, dripping with thousands of micro-crystals. Her hair was swept up in an elegant, intricate bun, exposing the graceful line of her neck—the same neck Liam had nearly claimed in the car.
"You look like a goddess, darling," Valeska murmured, adjusting a diamond necklace that cost more than Ava's entire neighborhood. "But remember, in this room, goddesses are traded like stocks. Keep your head high. Don't let them see the waitress."
"I'm not a waitress tonight, Valeska," Ava said, her voice hollow. "I'm a ghost in a gold dress."
When the doors opened and Ava was led to the stage, the room went silent. Then, a low hum of whispers erupted. She was the mystery bride, the woman who had captured the heart of the Ice King.
Liam was seated in the front row, his legs crossed, a glass of amber liquid in his hand.
He didn't look at her with warmth. He looked at her like a collector looking at his most prized, most dangerous acquisition. His eyes traced the gold fabric, the shimmer of her skin, and for a fleeting second, Ava saw a flash of possessiveness so raw it made her breath catch.
The auctioneer began the bidding at five hundred thousand dollars. The numbers climbed rapidly—one million, two, three. The elite of New York were throwing money like confetti just for a chance to spend an evening with the woman Liam Moretti had claimed.
"Five million!" a voice boomed from the back.
The room turned. It was Viktor Volkov. He stood there, a predator in a charcoal suit, his gaze fixed on Ava with a hunger that made her skin crawl. He smiled at Liam, a challenge etched into every line of his face.
"Seven million," Liam said calmly, not even turning his head.
"Ten million," Viktor countered instantly.
The crowd gasped. Ten million for a single date. It was unheard of. Liam slowly stood up, his presence commanding the entire room. He finally looked at Ava, his eyes burning with a dark, territorial fire.
"Twenty million," Liam's voice rang out, cold and final.
The room went deathly silent. Viktor narrowed his eyes, his hands clenching into fists. No one outbid Liam Moretti. Not when it came to his empire. And certainly not when it came to his woman.
"Sold!" the auctioneer cried, the gavel slamming down like a thunderclap.
Liam walked toward the stage, his steps slow and deliberate. He reached out his hand to Ava. As she took it, her fingers trembling against his palm, he leaned in, his breath hot against her ear.
"You are mine, Ava," he whispered, his voice a low growl that sent shivers down her spine. "I bought you for ten million the first time. I just paid twenty more to keep you. Don't ever forget who owns this stage."
Ava felt as if the air had been sucked out of the room. The word mine echoed in her head, vibrating with a primal intensity that made her skin burn beneath the liquid gold of her gown. Liam didn't wait for her to respond. He tightened his grip on her hand—not enough to hurt, but enough to signal that there was no escape—and led her down the stairs of the stage.
The crowd parted for them like the Red Sea. Every pair of eyes in the ballroom was fixed on them, a mixture of envy, shock, and calculated respect. By spending twenty million dollars, Liam hadn't just secured a date; he had marked his territory in the most expensive way possible.
As they walked past Viktor Volkov, the Russian stood his ground, his eyes narrowed into slits. The air between the two men was thick with the scent of a coming war.
"Twenty million, Moretti?" Viktor sneered, his voice low enough to be private but loud enough to be a threat. "That's a lot of capital for a waitress you found in the dirt. I hope she's worth the investment."
Liam stopped dead in his tracks. He didn't let go of Ava's hand, but he turned slightly to face Viktor. The coldness that radiated from Liam in that moment was so absolute that the guests nearby instinctively took a step back.
"She isn't an investment, Viktor," Liam said, his voice dropping to a dangerous, silky whisper. "She's a Moretti. And in this city, anything that belongs to me is off-limits. If you ever mention her origins again, I won't just take your market share. I'll take everything you've ever built and burn it while you watch."
Liam didn't wait for a reply. He pulled Ava toward the exit, his strides long and purposeful. They bypassed the after-party, ignoring the photographers who were desperately trying to capture the 'couple of the century.'
The cool night air of the city hit them as they stepped onto the sidewalk where the black Rolls-Royce was already waiting, its engine purring like a caged beast. Marcus opened the door, but he didn't dare make eye contact with Liam. The boss was in a mood that usually left people jobless or broken.
Once inside the car, the silence returned, but it was different this time. It wasn't the silence of the office or the awkwardness of the first night. It was the silence of a predator who had caught his prey and was now deciding what to do with it.
Liam sat back, his silhouette illuminated by the passing city lights. He reached out, his fingers tracing the cold diamonds around Ava's neck before sliding up to her jaw. He forced her to look at him, his gaze heavy with a possessiveness that made her heart hammer against her ribs.
"You like the attention, don't you, Ava?" he rasped, his eyes searching hers for any sign of rebellion. "Seeing two men go to war for you?"
"I'm not a prize in a trophy case, Liam," she whispered, her voice trembling but defiant. "You didn't buy me. You bought a date. There's a difference."
"Not in my world," Liam leaned closer, his shadow completely enveloping her. "In my world, money buys reality. And the reality is, tonight, twenty million people saw you as mine. And by the time this night is over, you'll believe it too."