Chapter 25 #4
Natalie felt him go still beside her. His relaxed posture tightened just enough for her to notice; his jaw set, his gaze locked on the canvas with an intensity that made her forget to breathe.
Bidding opened briskly, hands shooting into the air. Rylan didn’t move at first. The restraint was deliberate—predatory—like a hunter letting others tire themselves out. When his paddle finally rose, the energy in the room spiked.
Numbers climbed quickly, each increase met with his steady, precise countermove. Then, without warning, another paddle joined in.
Max.
Natalie’s eyes widened. He was seated a few rows ahead, his expression calm but his bids sharp and confident. The crowd buzzed as the back-and-forth escalated, each man raising without hesitation.
The tension was electric. Rylan’s paddle lifted, measured and sure. Max answered.
Then Max turned, glancing back. For a long, loaded moment, the two men locked eyes.
Something unspoken passed between them. Max inclined his head slightly, lowering his paddle in a gesture that was both concession and acknowledgment. Rylan returned the faintest nod—a silent recognition of the favor, and of the cost that would come with it.
The gavel came down. “Sold!”
Natalie let out the breath she’d been holding, her heart still pounding.
“You two were bidding against each other?” she asked, still watching Max.
“For a moment,” Rylan replied quietly, leaning back in his seat with the ease of a man who had won exactly what he intended. “But Max knew how important this piece is.”
“And now you owe him?” she teased, though her voice carried a thread of curiosity.
Rylan’s mouth curved into a smirk. “Let’s just say I’ll be buying him dinner next time.”
Before Natalie could press for more information, the room seemed to shift as the painting everyone had been waiting for was unveiled.
Gasps rippled through the crowd as the auctioneer announced its title and provenance—a rare masterpiece from an artist whose works were the stuff of legend.
The gallery lights caught on the canvas, making the colors seem almost alive.
Natalie’s breath caught at its beauty, but her gaze slid to Rylan.
He appeared relaxed, posture loose—but she noticed the subtle signs of engagement: the faint narrowing of his eyes, the slight forward tilt of his head.
He was watching the room, not the painting, scanning faces, weighing each potential opponent.
This wasn’t the raw, visceral interest she’d seen earlier; this was cold calculation.
The bidding began at a figure that made Natalie’s heart skip. Hands rose instantly, paddles flashing in a precise, practiced rhythm.
“Five million,” the auctioneer called. “Do I hear six? Six! Seven million—thank you, madam. Seven-point-five. Eight—sir, eight million!”
The numbers climbed steadily, the auctioneer’s voice a hypnotic cadence. Natalie could feel the heat of competition building around them, like static before a storm.
“Nine million,” the auctioneer called, his tone tightening as momentum slowed.
A bidder in the middle of the room raised their paddle. “Nine-point-five.”
The air shifted. Natalie felt it before she saw it—Rylan’s attention locking into place. Finally, he lifted his paddle.
“Ten million,” he said, his voice low but cutting clean through the murmurs.
Heads turned toward the back of the room. His bid wasn’t a question—it was a line drawn.
The rival bidder answered immediately. “Eleven million,” the auctioneer acknowledged.
Without hesitation, Rylan’s hand stayed raised. “Twelve.” The auctioneer’s tone was steady as he acknowledged each person’s silent bid, almost conversational.
Natalie’s pulse quickened. The energy in the room sharpened, and she couldn’t tell if this was about the painting…or about refusing to lose.
“Thirteen million,” the other bidder nodded, though the confidence in their voice had dulled.
Rylan’s answer was an immediate nod as soon as the auctioneer called out, “Fourteen.”
The silence stretched, charged. The rival bidder shifted in their seat, scanning the room as if searching for backup.
“Do I hear fifteen?” the auctioneer called out. Silence, the whole room waited, the audience tense. Then the woman nodded.
“Fifteen,” the auctioneer called out, affirming the woman’s bid.
Rylan leaned back, his paddle still lifted, and a faint, knowing smile touched his lips. “Do I hear sixteen?” the man asked, staring right at Rylan. Immediately, Rylan nodded. “Sixteen million!”
A collective gasp rippled through the audience. The rival bidder hesitated, then slowly lowered her paddle.
“Sixteen million going once… twice… sold to the gentleman in the back!” The gavel came down with a sharp crack.
Polite applause followed, though it was tinged with surprise.
Natalie turned to him, her heart pounding, her voice soft. “You won.”
His eyes met hers, and for a fraction of a second, she thought she saw something there—something fierce and claiming—before his gaze cooled again.
Rylan turned to her, his expression carefully unreadable, but his eyes burned with a fierce satisfaction that left no room for doubt.
“That painting isn’t just art,” he said, his voice taut with conviction.
“The artist was one of us—an icon of my country’s identity.
He painted our struggles, our victories, our soul into every canvas.
That piece is a cornerstone of our heritage, stolen during a time of turmoil and taken across the world.
Bringing it back means restoring a fragment of who we are as a people. ”
The muscle in his jaw eased slightly, though the edge of determination remained in his tone.
“This wasn’t about winning,” he continued, his voice dropping to a low, deliberate murmur.
“It was about reclaiming what was stolen. Knowing when to act—to bring something home where it belongs. That’s what matters. ”
Natalie blinked, questions stacking one over the other, but before she could speak, he leaned closer. “Ready to go?”
The casual question was such a sharp contrast to the energy of the moment that it almost made her laugh. She nodded, still trying to process everything she’d just heard as he stood and extended a hand. She slipped her fingers into his, his grip firm but warm, and let him draw her to her feet.
His knowing smile sent a shiver down her spine, igniting that undercurrent between them that had been simmering all evening. Around them, the crowd had begun to disperse, their voices a muted hum against the pounding of her own heartbeat.
“Right,” she whispered, though her voice trembled despite her best effort to steady it.
As they moved toward the exit, his hand returned to her lower back, guiding her with unhurried authority.
The heat of his touch burned through the thin fabric of her dress, a quiet brand she couldn’t ignore.
She told herself this was just an auction, just another evening out—but every instinct whispered otherwise.
She glanced up at him, her pulse quickening. He met her gaze, and for a heartbeat, the world around them seemed to blur. There was a spark in his eyes—something unspoken, but undeniable.
Friendship, she reminded herself. This was about building a friendship.
“I just need to take care of business. It will only be a moment.”
He started to turn away and Natalie couldn’t shake the feeling that this was only the beginning of something far more dangerous—and far more irresistible.
He hesitated, a sharp flicker in his eyes, before turning away. A member of the business team was already waiting to escort him into a private room. No need for Rylan to stand in line to pay for his purchases, she thought with a wry chuckle.
Natalie stepped aside to clear the path for others leaving the auction room and pulled out her phone.
Clients could be demanding at all hours, and she prided herself on being responsive.
She was midway through answering a message about a delayed furniture shipment when movement caught the edge of her vision.
She looked up—and froze.
A tall, broad-shouldered blonde in thick sunglasses was bearing down on her, her presence as sharp and cutting as the stilettos she stalked in. Natalie instinctively shifted back, but she had cornered herself against the wall, no clear escape route.
“Why the hell are you here?” the woman snapped, her voice low but laced with venom. “You have no right to be here!”
“Um…” Natalie faltered, caught between confusion and a rising wariness.
There was something naggingly familiar about her, but she couldn’t place the person’s identity.
The woman’s golden hair was perfectly sleek, but almost too perfect—polished in a way that made Natalie wonder if it was real. Maybe a wig?
“Doesn’t matter,” the blonde hissed, slicing the air with a dramatic wave of her hand. Long, crimson-polished nails caught the light like fresh blood. “You’re a nobody. You’re nothing.”
Natalie blinked, the hostility hitting her like a slap. “I’m sorry, what—?”
The woman’s hand shot up, long nails glinting under the lights as they poised to strike. For a breathless moment, Natalie’s mind scrambled for an escape, but the press of bodies closed in around her. There was no room to move, no path to dodge the blow.
She shut her eyes and braced for the sting.
It never came.
A firm grip caught the woman’s wrist mid-swing. Natalie’s eyes flew open to see Max standing between them, his expression composed but edged with quiet steel.
“That’s enough,” he said, his deep voice cutting through the noise like a blade through silk.
The blonde’s furious gaze snapped to him, but he didn’t release her. “Let go of me!” she screeched, her free hand pushing at his chest.
Max didn’t even blink. “I don’t think so.” He shifted his stance just enough to shield Natalie while keeping his hold, his presence radiating unshakable authority. “You’re causing a scene.”
“Do you even know who I am?” she demanded, trying to wrench free.
“No,” Max said flatly, “and I don’t care.”
Natalie stumbled slightly, her pulse hammering. “Max…” Her voice was shaky, tangled somewhere between gratitude and disbelief.
He glanced at her briefly, the steel in his gaze softening. “You okay?”
She nodded, though her heart was still pounding hard enough to make her lightheaded.
The woman twisted sharply, finally tearing her wrist from his grasp, and bolted. Before either of them could react, she vanished into the crowd, weaving between guests with startling speed.
Max’s jaw tightened. “Damn.” His eyes tracked the last place she’d been, scanning for any sign she might double back.
“Who was that?” Natalie asked, still breathless.
“I don’t know,” he said, gaze sweeping the room. “But I don’t like her.”
“What happened?” Rylan’s voice cut in, sharp with urgency. He appeared at Natalie’s side, his eyes darting between her and Max, his expression a mix of concern and restrained anger.
“Your woman was about to get slapped,” Max said dryly, though his eyes remained deadly serious. “I intervened.”
Rylan’s expression hardened, his arm sliding protectively around Natalie’s waist. “Did she say anything?”
“Nothing useful,” Max replied. “Slipped away before I could press her.”
“Slipped away?” Rylan’s voice carried an edge, but when Max met his gaze with cool finality, he exhaled. “I owe you one,” he said quietly.
Max’s mouth curved in a faint smirk. “You owe me several for tonight.” The air between them held the weight of unspoken debts.
Rylan gave a tight nod. “Noted.”
Max’s focus returned to Natalie, his tone softening again. “You sure you’re all right?”
“Yes,” she said, though her voice still wavered. “Thank you.”
“Keep an eye on her,” he told Rylan, before walking away.
Rylan’s body shielded her, carefully guiding her away from the crowd. “Let’s get out of here.”
“But my car—”
“I’ll have someone bring it,” he said, opening the door to a waiting SUV. “Seatbelt, Natalie.”
As the vehicle pulled away, Natalie stared out at the passing lights, unease prickling along her skin. This wasn’t random. First, the break-in at her house. Then, the glitter bomb. Now, a stranger trying to slap her in the middle of a crowded auction.
Different incidents. Same thread of malice.