The Elysian Gallery was a circle of hell decorated in velvet and gold. Champagne flutes chimed like discordant bells, and the air, thick with expensive perfume, felt heavy in Ariana's lungs. This was the glittering world of her enemies, a viper's nest of fake smiles and quiet, ruthless ambition. And she, a ghost in simple black, had just walked right into it.
Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic bird in a cage of bone. She kept to the shadows at the edge of the auction hall, her eyes scanning the crowd. She saw them. The board members who had betrayed Damien. The lawyers who had buried her name. They laughed and mingled, oblivious to the phantom in their midst. The urge to scream, to expose them all, was a physical ache. But she clamped down on it, turning her rage into a shield of icy calm.
The auction began. Antique art, rare jewels, vintage cars. Ariana waited, her body coiled like a spring. Finally, the auctioneer announced the lot she was waiting for: "Lot 72. A private collection of financial ledgers from a defunct consulting firm. An item for the discerning collector of corporate history."
It sounded so mundane. So boring. But she knew the secrets held in those pages could burn this entire room to the ground.
The bidding started. She placed her bid using a discreet mobile app connected to a burner account she'd created, funded by one of Damien's credit cards she had lifted from his study. A calculated risk.
The price climbed. Ten thousand. Fifty. A hundred. Her stomach twisted. Then, another bidder entered the fray, a mysterious entity bidding in huge, confident increments, driving the price into the stratosphere. Panic began to set in.
She had to have it.
Gritting her teeth, she typed in a number so high it made her dizzy—almost the entire credit limit. Her thumb hovered over the 'confirm' button. A voice, smooth as silk and dangerously close, spoke right behind her.
"Careful, little bird. Bidding more than you can afford is a good way to get your wings clipped."
Ariana froze. She spun around to face a man she knew all too well. Julian Vance. Damien's greatest business rival, with a charming smile that never reached his cold, calculating eyes. In her past life, he had pretended to be her friend, all while secretly plotting with her enemies.
"Julian," she said, her voice betraying none of her shock. "What a surprise."
"The surprise is all mine," he purred, his eyes raking over her. "When I heard Damien Black had a new pet, I never pictured someone with such expensive taste. Tell me, does he know you're here?"
At that moment, the auctioneer's gavel slammed down. "Sold! To our anonymous bidder in the back of the room!"
She had won. But her victory felt like a death sentence.
"It seems congratulations are in order," Julian said, his smile widening as he blocked her path. "Now, you and I are going to have a little chat about what, exactly, you plan to do with those books."
Meanwhile, back at Blackwood Manor...
The alarm was silent but absolute. Red lights flashed not on walls, but on the screen of Mrs. Davenport's security panel. Perimeter Breach - East Balcony. Occupant: A. Lin. Status: Departed.
The housekeeper's face was pale as she entered Damien's study without knocking. "Sir. She's gone."
Damien didn't look up from the document he was reading. He took a slow, deliberate sip of his whiskey. "Gone where?" he asked, his voice utterly devoid of emotion.
"We don't know. She disabled the camera on her balcony. She's in the wind."
"Is she," Damien said softly. It wasn't a question.
He stood and walked over to a section of the library wall. He pressed a book—a first edition of The Count of Monte Cristo—and the bookshelf slid away, revealing a hidden room. It was a high-tech security nexus, a bank of monitors showing every angle of the estate. But he ignored those.
He looked at a single, large screen dominating the center of the wall. It showed a detailed map of the city. On it, a single red dot was pulsing steadily.
The dot was located directly over a building marked Elysian Gallery.
He reached out and gently touched the screen, his finger tracing the outline of the building where his disobedient little bird was playing with wolves. A terrible, cold smile touched his lips. He had let her plan her escape. He had watched her climb from the balcony. He had given her a few precious moments where she believed she was free.
Because the beautiful silver locket he had clasped around her neck wasn't just a symbol of his ownership.
It was a tracking device.
He looked at the pulsing red dot, his eyes glowing with the dark fire of his obsession.
"Run all you like, Ariana," he whispered to the screen. "You'll only ever be running back to me."