Chapter 3

The next evening, Seraphina found him in his room.

She was dressed in a slinky, crimson gown, her eyes alight with a strange, predatory gleam.

"Ethan, darling," she purred, a sound he hadn't heard directed at him in years.

She ran a hand down his arm, her touch sending a shiver of revulsion through him.

"I've been thinking. Perhaps I've been... too harsh."

He didn't believe her for a second.

Her eyes scanned him, assessing. "You look tired. Let me make you comfortable."

She tried to pull him towards her, her movements overtly seductive.

He stiffened, pulling away.

That's when he saw it.

Draped carelessly over her vanity chair, a silk scarf. Julian's favorite designer.

And the faint, cloying scent of Julian's expensive cologne hung in the air, a ghost of his presence.

She had been with him, just before this charade.

"No, Seraphina." His voice was quiet but firm.

Her eyes flashed. The mask slipped.

"Don't be difficult, Ethan."

She moved with surprising speed, her fingers digging into his shirt.

She ripped it open, buttons flying.

Then she was tearing at his trousers, her movements efficient, brutal.

He was too stunned, too worn down to fight effectively.

She stripped him bare, her expression cold and businesslike.

Then she shoved him towards the master suite, their bedroom, a place he hadn't slept in for years.

He stumbled inside.

The room was barren.

The heavy velvet curtains were gone, the windows stark and exposed.

The bed was stripped of all linen, the mattress bare.

His clothes, her clothes, everything was gone from the closets and dressers.

She slammed the door shut, the lock clicking with an awful finality.

He was naked, alone, in an empty room.

He walked to the window.

Across the street, in the high-rise opposite, he saw them.

Silhouettes in windows.

Women.

Some held binoculars.

They were watching him.

A pre-party, Seraphina's voice echoed in his mind from an earlier, careless comment about "previews."

They were previewing him for the auction.