JAY'S POV —
The auction turns into a warzone dressed in velvet and gold, and I don't even realize when it stops being about art and starts being about him
Because every single time Chris lifts that damn paddle, another voice cuts through the room right after, colder, sharper, inevitable—Keifer—and it's like they're circling each other through numbers and silence, and I lean slightly toward Chris, whispering,
"Why are you even bidding,I know you hate antiques," and he grins without looking at me, reckless, wicked,
"Because my very own lover person every time you look at me after a bid, he looks like he wants to commit a felony which includes my murder and I'm way too handsome to die just yet so I'm investing in chaos, understand Jay Jay,"
And I choke out a laugh, shoving his shoulder lightly, but my eyes betray me—because they keep drifting back to Keifer, to the way he's not even pretending anymore, to the way his gaze burns straight through me like I'm the only thing in that entire damn room.
Then the final piece is revealed—and everything else disappears.
It's… unreal.
Diamonds so precise they almost don't look real, history dripping off every inch of it, something royal, something untouchable—and for the first time tonight, I forget the game, forget the people, forget him—and I just want.
"Jay," Chris murmurs beside me, quieter now, "don't tell me—"
"I'm bidding,it's perfect for her," I say simply, already lifting the paddle.
And it escalates—fast.
Fifty. Eighty. A hundred million.
The room is buzzing, numbers flying like nothing matters, and I don't stop—two hundred, three hundred—and Chris leans in, half laughing, half concerned,
"Control yourself, attorney, are you buying jewelery or a small country?" and I don't even look at him, voice steady, unwavering, "It's perfect for Mom it will be the first time I'll edge Percy out for always giving the best gifts to the family..."
Then he chuckles and says,"Okay little birdy make the last call if you want it that bad.."
I smirked and raised my paddle,"Five hundred million."
Silence drops like a blade.
Even Chris turns to me fully now. "Jay… that's insane?"
I nod once, eyes still locked on the piece. "Yes.I know."
The gavel is about to fall for the allotment.Come to mama baby I'll love and adore you
But then suddenly a voice came sharp and cold—
"1 billion dollars."
The voice slices through me before I even turn but I know.Of course I know.My head snaps back—and there he is.Paddle raised.
Eyes locked on me.Like this was never about the necklace.Like it was always about me.
"Asshole," I mutter under my breath, already lifting my paddle again, pulse spiking, something furious and reckless rising in my chest.
"1.5 billion dollars."
Gasps ripple across the room, Chris choking beside me, "Oh my God—Jay—" but I don't care, I'm staring straight at Keifer now, challenging, unyielding, because if he thinks he can just—and suddenly
The lantern goes up and everything stops because that's not a bid.That's a declaration.He's not competing anymore.He's claiming.
My hand tightens around the paddle for a second—I consider it.
Pushing further,breaking him and winning.
But then reality crashes in—this isn't a game I can outspend, not when he's already decided there's no limit—and slowly, deliberately, I lower my paddle.
Not because I lost but because I refuse to let him think he controls me again.The gavel falls.
He gets it.
And I hate how it feels like something else entirely just slipped through my fingers.
—
Dinner starts, laughter returns, conversations resume—but I'm not part of it for the first time tonight, I walk away.
To the bar,to something that doesn't feel like I'm suffocating.
The glass in my hand is colder than I expected, the champagne is sharper, and I don't even notice how long I've been sitting there until—
"Ma'am…"
I glance up, irritated, but the staff member is already placing a velvet box in front of me.
"This was sent for you."
Before I could ask anything she turned around and left.
My stomach drops.My fingers hesitate—just for a second—before I open it and there it is.
The necklace..
My breath catches and when I looked around it there's a note.
✉️This was my mother's. I promised her it would go to my wife and her future daughter in law. I couldn't let you buy it because it was always meant to be given to you because this carries my mother's royal legacy. It's always been yours, Jay Jay.
~M.K.W.
My vision blurs for a split second—and I hate that it does.
"Hate him," I whispered to myself.
Because what the hell is this?What is he trying to do?You don't get to ruin me and then hand me something like this like it fixes anything.You don't get to decide things for me again.
You don't get to—My head snaps up.
He's leaving.
I see him through the glass doors, already walking away with the others like none of this matters, like he didn't just drop a bomb in my lap and walk off like it's nothing—
Oh no.Absolutely not.
The chair scrapes harshly as I stand, heart pounding, anger overriding everything else as I grab the box and move—fast, heels striking against marble, pushing through people, ignoring the stares, the voices—
"Jay—?" Chris calls after me somewhere behind, but I don't stop.
I push through the doors, the night air hitting sharp and cold—
"DON'T YOU DARE WALK OUT THAT DOOR, MARK KEIFER WATSON!"
My voice echoes..They all stop.But I'm only looking at him.
Chest rising and falling too fast, grip tight around the box like it's the only thing holding me together—and when he turns, slow, composed, like he expected this—
It only makes it worse.
I walk straight up to him, shoving the box against his chest.
"What the hell is this?" I demand, voice shaking despite how hard I try to steady it.
He barely glances down. "You know what it is."
"Don't do that," I snap. "Don't act like this is normal—like you didn't just—"
"Buy something you wanted?" he cuts in, calm, infuriatingly calm.
"Take it back," I shoot back immediately. "I don't want it."
"That's a lie."
My breath catches.His eyes don't move from mine.
"Take. It. Back."
"No."
The word lands like a challenge like a wall.
"You don't get to decide things for me anymore," I say, quieter now but sharper, stepping closer. "You don't get to just give me things like I belong to you—"
"It was always yours," he cuts in, voice dropping.
And that—That shakes something.
"No," I shake my head, anger flaring again because I refuse to feel anything else. "You don't get to say things like that—"
"My mother wanted it to go to her daughter-in-law."
Silence.
Everything inside me stutters.
"And I don't break promises," he adds, softer now—but worse.
"Stop lying Keifer, don't you dare say you don't break promises and I'm most definitely not your wife." I whisper, because that's not fair, that's not—
"I couldn't let you buy it," he continues, stepping closer now, his voice lower, rougher. "Not something that was meant for you."
"I'm not—" I cut myself off, shaking my head harder. "You don't get to decide that!"
"I'm not deciding," he says, eyes burning into mine. "I'm reminding you."
"Of what?" I snap. "Of the past you already destroyed by lying to me?"
Something flickers in his expression—but it doesn't break him.
"Of something you're still running from," he says quietly.
My chest tightens.
"I told you," I force out, voice sharp again, "I love someone else."
A beat.Then—He smiles.
"Yeah," he murmurs, stepping closer, close enough that I can feel the heat of him, the tension, the history. "And I am telling you that —I don't believe you in this.I will never believe that you love someone else.Someone that is not me.."
My breath stumbles because the worst part?
He says it like he knows like he sees right through me.
And for a second—
I hate that he's right.
"Keep lying to me and yourself attorney Mariano," he adds softly, almost like a warning, almost like a promise. "But don't expect me to walk away again."
My fingers tighten around the box.Around everything I'm trying not to feel.Around him.
And when he steps back—turns—walks away like this isn't tearing something open inside me all over again—
I don't stop him.But I don't move either because if I do—I might follow and I don't trust myself not to.
KEIFER'S POV —
The auction starts like a performance, polished and pretentious, but I'm not watching the artifacts—I'm watching her, and every time that idiot beside her lifts his paddle, something feral in me wakes up, so I bid…
Again, and again, and again—driving the numbers higher just to drag his attention, just to see if she'll look at me—and she does, just once, and that's enough to keep me playing a game I don't even care about winning.
"Stop it," David mutters low, sharp, but I don't even blink, because this isn't about the items anymore—it's about control, about reminding her I'm still here, still capable of shaking her world—and when she laughs at something he says, laughs, I push the bid higher without thinking, jaw locked, voice cold.
Then the final piece comes out—and for the first time tonight, she reacts.
Not controlled, not distant—awed.
I looked closely at the piece and recognised it immediately.It was my mother's necklace set.She was given this by the Royal family of the UK as a souvenir passed down from generation as a reward for protecting the queen back then.
This was the necklace she treasured the most and wanted it to pass it down to her daughter in law but that asshole of my dad stole it from her then and now he dared to our it up for auction.
That Asshole.
But when I looked at Jay I see it instantly, the way her eyes soften, the way her fingers tighten slightly around the paddle, the way she leans forward like the rest of the room disappeared—and something in my chest twists, sharp and possessive, because I know that look… I remember it.
"She wants it," Rory murmurs.
"I know," I reply quietly.
And when she bids—I let her.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Until the numbers start climbing into insanity and she still doesn't stop.
"Jay…" I see him lean toward her, hear the faint edge of concern even from here—but she doesn't back down, and something dark, something almost proud, settles in my chest.
Because that's her.
Relentless. Unyielding.
Mine—
No.
I cut that thought off, jaw tightening.
Not mine.
Not anymore.
The number hits 500 million—and the room goes silent.
Even I paused because she's serious because she wants it that much and for a split second—I consider letting her have it buy herself.
Then the memory hits—her voice, cold, cutting through me like I was nothing.
I love him.
My grip tightens and then I hear my mom's words...
"1 billion dollars."
The words leave my mouth before anyone else can breathe.
The entire room erupts—gasps, whispers, shock—but I'm not looking at them.
I'm looking at her and she's frozen.
Good.
Because now she's looking at me the way I've been looking at her all night—like I matter.Like I still have the power to shake her.
Her paddle lifts again.
"1.5 billion."
A low whistle cuts through the table, but all I feel is that familiar pull—that challenge.That fire.
A slow, dangerous smirk tugs at my lips.
"Don't," Edrix mutters under his breath.
Too late.
I signal.
The lantern goes up and the room understands immediately—this isn't a bid anymore.
It's a claim.
"She's going to hate you," Felix mutters.
"She already does," I reply calmly.
Across the room—she lowers her paddle and something in my chest tightens.
Not victory.Not satisfaction.Something worse because she gave up.
Not fought.
Not pushed.
Just… let it go.
The gavel drops but it doesn't feel like winning.
Dinner starts, conversations resume, the illusion of normalcy returns—but I don't stay.
I don't look at her again ,because if I do—I won't be able to walk away.
Instead, I give the instructions quietly, precisely, sliding the velvet box across.
"Make sure she gets it."
The staff hesitates. "Sir—"
"Now."
No hesitation this time.
Because that piece?
It was never mine to keep.
—
Outside, the night air hits sharp, cold, grounding—but not enough.
Nothing is enough.
Not the distance.
Not the silence.
Not the fact that she stood there and chose someone else like I was nothing.
"She's going to come after you for that," Rory says quietly.
"I know."
"Then why do it?"
I don't answer immediately.
Because the truth?
The truth is ugly.
"I promised my mother," I say finally, voice low. "It was always meant for her because sooner or later she'll be mine."
But that's not all of it.
Not even close.
Because some part of me—dark, reckless, stupid—Still wants to give her everything she ever looked at like that.Even if she hates me for it.
Even if she never comes back.The doors behind us burst open.
Footsteps—fast, uneven, desperate.
And then—
"DON'T YOU DARE WALK OUT THAT DOOR, MARK KEIFER WATSON!"
My entire body stills.
Slowly—slowly—I turn and there she is.
Breathing hard.Eyes blazing.
The velvet box clutched in her hand like it weighs more than anything in this world.
For a second—no one moves.No one speaks.
Because this?This isn't control anymore.
This is war.
I tilt my head slightly, voice quiet—but cutting.
"You came running for me, Jay?"
Her laugh is sharp. "Don't flatter yourself."
But she did.
And we both know it.
She steps closer, holding the box up. "What is this?"
"You opened it," I reply coolly. "You can read."
Her jaw tightens. "Don't play games with me."
"Funny," I murmur, taking a step toward her. "That's exactly what you've been doing all night."
"Take it back," she snaps, pushing the box toward me.
I don't even look at it.
"No."
"Keifer—"
"I said no."
My voice drops—harder now, sharper, something darker bleeding through.
"It was always yours."
Her breath catches.
"Don't—" she starts, but I cut her off.
"My mother wanted it to go to her daughter-in-law," I say, each word deliberate, controlled, loaded. "And I don't break promises."
Silence.
Heavy.
Dangerous.
Her fingers tighten around the box.
"I'm not—" she stops herself, shakes her head. "You don't get to say things like that anymore."
"And you don't get to pretend it doesn't mean anything," I fire back instantly, stepping closer, close enough to see the way her composure is cracking at the edges.
Her voice drops. "You don't get to decide things for me again."
That lands.
Hard.
But this time—I don't step back.
"This isn't me deciding for you," I say, quieter now—but far more dangerous. "This is me giving you something that was always meant to be yours."
Her eyes search mine—and for a second—
Just a second—
The anger slips and something else takes its place.
"I told you I love someone else," she says, but it's weaker now.
Not convincing.
Not to me.
A slow, almost cruel smile touches my lips.
"Yeah," I murmur stepping closer, close enough that I can feel the heat of her, the tension, the history. "And I am telling you that —I don't believe you in this.I will never believe that you love someone else.Someone that is not me.."
Her breath stutters.
And that?
That's all I need because the truth isn't in her words.
It's in the way she ran after me.
The way she's still standing here.
The way she hasn't walked away.
Not yet.
I lean in slightly—not touching, not crossing the line—but close enough that she feels it.
"Keep lying to me and yourself attorney Mariano," I whisper, voice low, burning. "Keep pretending."
My gaze locks onto hers—unmoving, unrelenting.
"But don't expect me to walk away again."
A beat and then I step back.
Turn.
Walk toward the car.Because if I stay any longer—I won't stop at words and this?
This is just the beginning.