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She’s frozen. Her eyes meet mine for the briefest second, and the look on her face is pure terror and something else—something that feels like a dare.

I gulp, the microphone shaking slightly in my hand. “Let’s start the bidding at one hundred dollars, shall we?”

For a half-beat, there’s silence. Then, from the VIP section, a paddle shoots up. “Five hundred,” someone calls.

My jaw clenches. I can already tell who it is. The voice is smug, practiced, and familiar—Terrence fucking James, wearing his signature smirk and Armani blazer. I watch as he leans back, cocky as hell, and mouths something obscene in Roni’s direction.

Roni’s cheeks flush, but she doesn’t move. She just stares straight ahead, eyes fixed on a point over my shoulder. I want to punch a hole in the wall.

“Do I hear six?” I grit out, the words nearly catching on my tongue.

Two more paddles pop up, but TJ just raises his again. “Seven hundred.”

God, I hate this guy.

“Eight hundred,” a woman shouts from the middle tables, and I recognize Dee’s voice. Fucking hell. I should’ve known she was involved in this shit. TJ doesn’t even blink.

“Five thousand,” he calls, louder now, making a show of it.

The entire room turns to look at me. They can all see how rattled I am. Eamon’s headset is crackling with something urgent, but I ignore him. I’m too busy watching the way TJ’s eyes travel up and down Roni’s body, like she’s a fucking ribeye and he’s starving.

I’m supposed to be impartial. I’m supposed to finish the auction and keep the night moving. But there is no fucking way I’m letting this end with her going on a date with TJ.

I grip the podium so hard my knuckles go white. “Five thousand, going once⁠—”

“Six thousand!” Some other asshole waves his paddle while flashing a shark’s grin. I actually see red. The crowd is loving this. Some are egging him on; others are shouting for Roni to give them a smile, or to turn around.

She’s trembling. It’s small, but I see it. Her hands are shaking. She’s about three seconds from bolting. I can’t stand it.

“Going twice—” I say, voice barely a growl.

“Seven thousand!” TJ roars. The crowd erupts, but I’m done. Done with the show. Done pretending I’m okay with this.

“Ten Thousand and sold,” I growl as the microphone drops from my hand and bounces off the stage. I stride out, straight toward her. Roni looks like a deer caught in the headlights as I grab her by the waist and lift her up, like I’ve done a thousand times before, but this time I don’t stop. I haul her over my shoulder and turn back to the crowd.

“She’s mine,” I snarl, loud enough that it echoes to the back of the club. “Auction’s over.”

Gasps. A ripple of laughter. Someone whistles. But all I hear is the pounding of my own pulse and the little squeak of surprise as Roni grabs at my back for balance.

I carry her offstage, past a grinning motherfucking Eamon, and through the door marked “Private.” Behind me, I can already hear Eamon’s voice over the PA, giving instructions for the end of the auction. The crowd is going wild, but I don’t give a shit.

Roni’s curvy body melts against my shoulder, driving me wild as I head straight to my private sanctuary. Once we’re safe behind my heavy office door, I set her gently on her feet, but I don’t let go of her waist.

She’s breathless, cheeks flaming, hair a mess from the ride as she stares at me wordlessly.

My brain is pure static. For a second, I can’t remember how to talk.

“Why would you do that?” I say, voice hoarse.

She looks down, fidgeting with her clutch, and for the first time tonight, she seems vulnerable. “Because,” she says, voice so soft I almost miss it, “I thought it might finally get your attention.”

My chest implodes. “You have my fucking attention,” I say, every word a promise. “You’ve been the center of my universe for six goddamn years.” I finally admit the words that’ve been stuck on the edge of my tongue for far too long.

She goes still, lashes fluttering. “What?” Her eyes meet mine, wide and glassy, and I see everything she’s been hiding for years. We’ve both been idiots.

I slide a hand up to her face, cradling her cheek. Her skin is soft and fever-warm, and she leans into it like she’s been waiting for this forever.

I press my forehead to hers, closing my eyes. “I can’t do this anymore,” I whisper. “I can’t pretend I don’t want you.”