Chapter 2

The auction hall buzzed, a sea of tuxedos and glittering gowns.

I felt out of place in my borrowed suit, the air thick with expensive perfume and the low hum of conversations I couldn' t care less about.

My eyes scanned the room, found Cassie.

She was radiant, a queen in her element, Marcus Vance at her elbow, whispering, making her laugh.

My stomach churned.

I needed to talk to her, alone.

But Marcus was always there.

When Lot 37 was announced, my breath caught.

The knife lay on a velvet cushion under a spotlight, its polished steel gleaming, the intricate engravings sharp and clear.

The auctioneer began the bidding.

I raised my paddle.

A few nods, a few counter-bids.

Then Cassie' s paddle went up, smooth and decisive.

The price jumped.

I bid again, my savings, everything I had.

Cassie looked over, a flicker of surprise, then annoyance in her eyes.

Marcus leaned in, whispered something to her.

She laughed, a cold, dismissive sound.

Her paddle went up again. Higher.

Much higher.

I looked at her, tried to catch her eye, to plead with her silently.

This wasn' t a game. This was my mother' s life.

The auctioneer called for final bids.

I was out. I couldn' t match her.

"Sold! To the lovely Cassandra Thorne!"

Applause.

I pushed through the crowd, reached her side as Marcus was handing her a champagne flute.

"Cassie, please," I said, my voice hoarse. "That knife. I need it. It' s evidence."

She sipped her champagne, her eyes cool.

"Ethan, don' t be ridiculous. What are you even doing here?"

"It' s the knife that killed my mother, Cassie. I know it is."

Marcus stepped forward, a concerned frown on his handsome face.

"Ethan, are you alright? That knife is a Vance family heirloom. It was stolen years ago. I was shocked to see it surface here. Cassie was kind enough to secure it for me."

He put a possessive hand on Cassie' s arm.

"Your family heirloom?" I stared at him, the lie so blatant, so cruel. "My mother was investigating you, Marcus."

Cassie' s expression hardened. "That' s enough, Ethan. You' re making a scene. Marcus has been nothing but a comfort to me. You' re just jealous."

"Jealous?" The word was a slap. "My mother is dead!"

"And you think this is how you honor her memory? By making wild accusations at my event?" She gestured dismissively. "Go home, Ethan. Sober up."

Marcus smirked, a fleeting, predatory glint in his eyes.

He picked up the knife from the display table where an attendant had placed it.

He held it out, letting the light catch its edge.

"It is a beautiful piece, isn't it?" he said, his voice soft, almost a caress. "Such fine craftsmanship."

He looked directly at me, his eyes cold.

"A family treasure, indeed."

Cassie turned her back on me, laughing at something Marcus said.

They walked away, leaving me standing there, the weight of their dismissal crushing me.

My mother' s killer, holding the weapon, and my wife, his protector.