Chapter 3 THE AUCTION

The engine purred to life, and I watched her drive away, with her skin radiating under the morning

sun.

My fingers still tingled from the kiss we shared, soft and hungry. I was filled with desperation, I

wanted something more than just a kiss.

She looked back once, her eyes meeting with mine before she vanished into the streets.

I saw the flash of shame in her eyes and the way her lips trembled when she broke free from my

intense grip. She looked like a shaken young teenage girl, almost guilty, like someone who had

touched fire for the first time and liked it.

I stood barefoot on the porch as what happened between us earlier came dancing behind my

eyelids. The way her body trembled from my touch; she didn't resist me as I kissed her instead,

she yielded fully, achingly to my burning, selfish hunger. It felt less like permission and more like

surrender, her lips parting to meet mine, tongues intertwining in a slow, electric rhythm that sent

waves crashing through our bodies. .

She tasted like fear wrapped in silence, confusion edged with something unspoken. Yet somehow,

in that single breathless kiss, she let it all away and leaned into something like hope.

The bark from my neighbor's dog pulled me back to the present.

I stepped inside, the door clicking shut behind me. The house was still, with my paintings hung

beautifully on the walls of my sitting room. I reached out for my smelling faintly scented old

coffee.

I poured the last of the coffee into a chipped mug and took a sip of hot water, hot, bitter and

perfect. A good way to start a day.

The last sip of the coffee warms my throat as I set the mug down on the kitchen counter, the faint

clink echoing in the still morning. My fingers linger on the ceramic, still a little warm, before I pull

away and stretch. I headed to the bathroom for a bath.

The bathroom door is slightly opened, steam from the previous last shower long gone. I nudge it

open with my shoulder. My hand reaches for the faucet before I even think about it, the water

sputtering to life with a rush, I tested it and waited for that perfect warmth, then I started to peel

away the layers of morning. This was my small ritual, coffee first, then bath. Like a nudge into the

day. No noise, no rush, just warmth, water and quiet start.

I got dressed slowly. I don't dress to impress anyone; I dress to feel like me. Work expects business

casual, but I've found ways to blend in my style. First, the button-up, slate gray, sharp collar, clean

lines. I run my hands over the fabric. Crisp, but not stiff. It makes me feel put together without

trying too hard.

Then, the black pants tailored enough to hide my hips without me feel self-conscious. I hate when

clothes feel like costumes. These clothes make me feel grounded, confident like I own my space.

I glance in the mirror, my curly messy hair doing its own thing, but with a little hair conditional to

smooth it down and loosen the strands.

I like the andrology it brings out, just enough edge to feel like myself.

I toss on my blazer, dark navy with a subtle curve at the waist giving the outfit a feminine touch,

though it still gave me that structured, semi-masculine feel I like. I wore my black pointy heels,

then a sunglass to complement the look, I smirked at the final look.

A soft knock came on the door, it was Catherine.

"Come in," I called.

Catherine my secretary stepped in with her usual brisk efficiency, tablet in hand. Blonde bob as

sharp as her heels, eyes already scanning the day's madness. "Your schedule," she said, handing it

over. "The auction will commence by 11, meet with my potential buyers (Investors) at the auction,

then deliver my speech. You've also got a press interview after the auction at four.

I nodded, pretending I was fully listening. My mind was already elsewhere.

"Catherine," I said looking up, "I need an information on someone, can you do that for me?"

She raised an eyebrow curious but not surprised.

"Name?"

"Ella Martyr. That's all I have now. I want to get them before noon tomorrow."

Her nod was professional, but there was flicker of intrigue. She liked a good mystery.

We left together, my heels tapping against the glass floor. Outside, the morning was still warm, my

driver was already out waiting for me.

Catherine rushed to get the door of the car, I got in and exhaled, I still felt her breath on me.

I wasn't nervous. Not today, the low hum of the city buzzed around me as my car cruised through

the narrow streets towards the studio, the tinted windows keeping out the world my dad ruled

from the shadows. This wasn't my first auction. It wouldn't be my last. I'd killed for less than what

some of these paintings were about to go for.

The studio came into view, sleek, modern, with too much glass for comfort. I leaned back in my

seat, exhaling slowly as we pulled up to the entrance. The black car came to a smooth stop. In the

reflection of the window. I saw my own eyes, sharp, unreadable.

The door swung open, and I stepped out into the chaos. Flashed exploded from cameras. The

press swarmed, microphones extended like weapons, their voices a blur of names, questions,

scandal.

"Miss Rodrigo over here!"

"Is it true you're backing out of the Venice deal?"

"Rumor has it that you are running an arms operation behind the façade of a legitimate art

studio."

I tried to ignore these questions as I pushed my way through the crowd. Ever since the found out

that Max Rodrigo was my dad, there has been false rumors of the organization and I flying.

Behind me, Catherine stepped out, tablet in hand, heels clicking against the pavement. Always on

time, always five steps ahead. The hired bodyguards moved quickly, parting the press like a blade

through water, shoving back with a grunt and a warning look that only needed to be given once.

I walked through the crowd with the quiet aura that made men twice my age sweat. My guests

were already gathering outside the entrance, art lovers, collectors, and a few who just came to see

my face. Most of them were noble. I smiled at them, small and practiced, and offered a graceful

wave before I stepped through the doors of the studio.

Inside, everything was ready, soft lighting warmed space, casting golden shadows across my work.

My paintings dozens of the them, stood mounted and waiting. Emotions trapped in color. Chaos

made beautiful. Some were brutal, some haunting, some soft like the parts of me I never showed.

The air buzzed with excitement, waiters floated by with glasses of wine, champagne, little plates of

nothing. I scanned the room, familiar faces, fake smile. Then I saw them. The potential buyers. The

ones I wanted today.

I moved across the room with calculated ease, lifting a glass of red wine from a tray and letting it

touch my lips. The wine was smooth, a perfect lie. I approached them, tall men in sharper suits,

women with guarded eyes and expensive taste. I knew the hard work Catherine put in to convince

them to be here today and am not letting this flop. I can't lose them.

"Good day, ladies and gentlemen." I said with a voice silk with steel underneath. I sipped

again and passed the glass to a waiting server, never breaking eye contact. "Shall we proceed to

the interest of the day." I said with a smirk.

I walked them through the studio, piece by piece, each one a part of me I no longer wanted but

couldn't destroy. I spoke of strokes, inspiration, mood with my fingers brushing the frames like a

lover's skin.

They listened. They nodded. Some were already hooked.

Then the lights dimmed slightly, the subtle cue that it was time. The host stepped up, called for

silence. I was introduced and called to the stage.

I stood tall, the spotlight catching on me.

Catherine gave me a brief nod. I handed over my blazer to her and took the mic.

"I don't paint to be understood," I began. "I paint to survive and escape some realities of life."

An applause followed then a few murmurs. I was used to both.

I was about to continue when I saw her or thought I did.

In the far corner, near the archway, half in shadow, a woman, in a beautiful fitted red dress, her

dark hair gathered together in a ponytail, her red dress brought out the richness of her skin,

making her look almost luminous, just like Ella.

"Could this be...."

My pulse skipped. I froze just for a second, then caught myself, smiled and handed the mic back.

The auction began. Paintings flew off the walls for absurd amounts. Every bid was a small victory,

but I barely noticed. My gaze never left the girl in the corner.

She was slipping towards the exist.

I moved before I could stop myself.

I cut through the crowd, not running, but swift. She was at the door, hand brushing it open, and I

reached out, my fingers closing gently around her arm.

She turned.

Not her, not even close. I blinked, caught between disappointment and embarrassment.

"I'm sorry," I said quickly. "I thought you were someone else."

The lady gave me a small, confused smile. "No problem."

I stepped back, letting her go. My chest was tight but I kept my face calm. Just another misfire, just

another ghost.

And then, as the door swung closed behind the stranger, I saw him.

My father.

Standing at the edge of the crowd. Dressed in black, like always. Watching me with

disappointment and guilt in his eyes.

He smiled faintly.

Today is definitely going to be a long day!