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The lighting in the room dimmed, signalling the start of the auction. Most of the items were mindless possessions. However, it was for a good cause and people in this society were known to spend money like water.
A live painting session with a renowned artist in the city was up for grabs.
Zeno lazily roamed his hand up my thigh. “Get it for me.” He nuzzled the shell of my ear and his low purr caused my thong to dampen. “I want a nude painting of you to hang on our bedroom wall so I can stare at it while I fuck you like a dirty whore.”
I really did love this man.
“Done,” I said mischievously and raised my bidding paddle for ten k. A war ensued between me and an old woman for a minute. I finally won the service.
“Sold for one hundred thousand dollars!” the auctioneer said. “To Mrs. De la Croix.”
“Seeing you fight for me was incredibly hot,” Zeno murmured against my jaw, kissing it. “Maybe we can have you tied up in the painting—”
The lights in the room flickered.
Quiet gasps rang like a chorus in the room. I exchanged a look with my husband. We both glanced around to gauge everyone else’s reactions. Plain confusion swirled in the air.
The lights shut off completely.
Two French doors flew open.
The crystal chandeliers swayed with the strong gust of wind like a bad omen.
The auctioneer wheezed and it crackled into the microphone. Everyone winced at the ear-splitting noise.
Then the screen at the front of the room lit up with a new kind of presentation.
White slide.
Black writing.
And profoundly jarring content stared back at us in mockery.
WHAT DO YOUCALL A WOMAN WHO FELL IN LOVE WITH HER BROTHER-IN-LAW?
“What is going on?” I frowned at Zeno, just as the presentation flipped to a new slide.
DIANE HILL.
Breath suspended, I jolted in my seat as shock ran through my system like an electric current.
A group of people in the back hollered. Others cursed in surprise. Some even tutted condescendingly. The staff leading the auction attempted to shut down the presentation to no avail.
The screen lit with the next slide.
WHAT DOYOU CALL THE CHILD OF DIANE HILL’S DEAD SISTER?
I didn’t move, completely cemented in my seat.
DARLA IVY HILL.
Chaos unleashed around us.
The crowd’s reactions were white noise in my mind as I reeled from what I just read.
The auction paddle tumbled to the ground and my gaze met Zeno’s just when the lights turned back on.
My husband was already out of his seat, barking orders at security. Our bodyguards closed around us like a shield.
