90 | Her happiness is a light Iɽ kill to protect
The ballroom pulses with the heartbeat of the Costa Ball. Its ivy-draped arches and candlelit tables are a testament to Aurelia's thoughts, her Shakespearean vision brought to life in every shadow, every note of the violins weaving through the air.
I sit beside her at the head table, my dark red suit a vow against her crimson gown. Our masks rest beside us now.
Her golden eyes catch mine, sparking with a pride that makes my chest ache.
Tonight, her creation earned whispers of awe from the elite, all praising her, as they should.
I'm proud. So fucking proud.
But it's more than that. It's a love so deep, so dark, it's a blade I'd wield for her. A kingdom I'd burn to see her smile like she is now.
The auction's starting. The stage is draped in velvet, lit by a chandelier that casts starlight over the crowd.
The host, a wiry man named Vincent with a silver tongue and a flair for drama, steps up. His black suit is sharp. His voice booms like a bard commanding a play.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he begins, his tone rich, teasing. "Welcome to the ritual of the night, where treasures are won and legends are claimed. Bid boldly, for in this enchanted forest, every prize is a piece of eternity!"
The guests applaud, a ripple of delight, and I glance at Aurelia. Her lips curve. Her hand is warm in mine under the table.
Vincent holds up the first item, a leather-bound Shakespeare folio. Its pages are yellowed with age.
"Behold!" he declares, his voice dropping, conspiratorial. "The words of the Bard himself, whispered to lovers and kings. Who'll claim this relic? Start us at fifty thousand!"
Hands rise. Voices call. He weaves through bids like a storyteller.
"Sir, seventy-five? Your wife's glaring. Make it eighty!"
Then turning grave. "A hundred thousand. A steal for immortality."
The room's alive, caught in his spell.
Aurelia leans closer, her breath warm against my ear.
"He's good," she whispers, her voice soft, thrilled.
I nod, my thumb brushing her knuckles. My eyes are on her, not Vincent, because she's the real magic here.
Her happiness is a light I'd kill to protect.
"You picked well," I murmur, my voice low, just for her.
She blushes, her freckles faint, and squeezes my hand. Her pride mingles with a shy joy that undoes me. Makes me want to pull her to me. Kiss her until the world fades.
But Vincent's voice cuts through, shifting to the next item.
I force myself to focus and watch the stage.
"Now," Vincent says, lifting a golden necklace. Its heart-shaped pendant glints like a captured star.
"A treasure from a forgotten love. Gold forged for a heart that beat too fiercely. Look at this curve, does it not speak of passion, of loss? Shall we start at two hundred thousand?"
The crowd murmurs while heads turn.
But I see the wayAurelia's eyes lock on the pendant. Her breath catches. Her fingers tighten in mine.
It's hers.
That heart. That gold. A mirror of her eyes. Her soul.
"It's beautiful," she whispers, her voice soft, longing. Then she shakes her head, her smile wry. "Too expensive, though. I mean... it's crazy, right?"
I almost laugh. The sound catches in my throat because she's serious. Thinking anything's too much when I'm the richest man here.
I lean closer and my lips brush her ear. My voice is a low growl of love, of madness.
"Nothing's too expensive for you," I say as my eyes hold hers, promising more than gold. Promising everything."You want it, it's yours."
Her eyes widen and a protest forms.
But Vincent's voice rises, pulling us back.
"Two-fifty!" he calls, pointing to a senator in a brocade suit. "Do I hear three hundred? Come now, this is no mere necklace, it's Juliet's heart, Titania's dream!"
The crowd chuckles. His eyes scan, sharp, missing nothing. "Three hundred from the lady in emerald, bravo! Who'll make it three-fifty?"
I raise my hand. My voice is calm, commanding. "Five hundred thousand."
The room stills as heads turn in our direction.
Vincent's grin flashes, delighted.
"Five hundred from Mr. Costa himself!" he booms, his tone theatrical. "A man who knows a heart's true worth. Perhaps for his lady? Who dares challenge such devotion? Going once..."
Aurelia's grip tightens. Her voice is a hushed laugh, half-scolding.
"Luciano, you're insane," she says.
I smirk, but my heart pounds for her.
"Six hundred!" a voice calls, some oil tycoon testing me.
Vincent's brows lift. His voice is playful. "Oh, a challenger! Six hundred, do we see seven? The heart begs for its home!"
I don't hesitate. "One million."
Gasps ripple.
Vincent claps once, his eyes gleaming.
"One million from Mr. Costa!" he crows. "A king's ransom for a queen's heart! Going once, twice—sold to the man in crimson!"
The crowd applauds.
Aurelia's laugh, soft and bright, fills my world. Her hand squeezes mine. Her mask can't hide the love in her eyes.
"Luciano," she says, her voice warm, teasing. "You didn't have to—"
"I wanted to," I cut in.
I lean close until our foreheads touch as the ballroom fades. "It's yours, like I am. Always."