bADRIAN’S /bPOV

“I’m not sure that applies every time,” I said, my tone skeptical but amused. “But go on.”

James smirked. b“/bWhy don’t we talk about this over bread and toast?”

1 blinked. “This is well past noon. Haven’t you had breakfast yet?”

He shrugged casually, already making his way toward the door. “The office was packed. I barely had time to take a proper shower.”

That sounded like James. Always in a rush, always juggling three things at once, yet somehow still managing to show up at my ce to fix bme/b. It had been a while since I cleaned my own room. At first, it felt like punishment–something beneath me. But I had slowly gotten used to it, to the simplicity bof /btaking care of my own space.

Stillb, /bcleaning the entire mansion? That was another story. No matter how much pride I had left, this ce was far too massive to maintain alone. I’d need to bring some of the staff back–eventually. Once I was sure I could trust myself not to spiral again.

“I’ve got the perfect way to get your mind back in the game,” James said as we descended the staircase, his itone /ifull of mischief. “Something to keep you focused.., distracted.”

I raised a brow, intrigued despite myself. “And what’s that?”

He didn’t answer right away. Typical. James loved suspense like a kid loved candy. We entered the kitchen together–one of the few ces in the mansion that still felt lived in. James knew his way around the space as if it were his own. He moved with ease, scanning the shelves, opening drawers, and checking cupboards.

I leaned against the counter, watching him. “You nning on cooking or stealing my food?”

“Noment,” he said, finally triumphing with a small carton of eggsb. /bHe ced them on the counter and reached for a loaf of sliced bread. Then bhe /bpulled out ba /bfrying pan and set it on the stove.

He nced at me while cracking an egg into a bowl. “Ever heard of the Rolls–Royce ck Heart?”

My eyes narrowed slightly. “Of course. But they don’t make those anymore. Production stopped what–fifty years ago?”

James grinned. “Exactly. That’s why this caught my

“What didb?/bb” /b

attentionb./bb” /b

“There’s an auction in a few days,” he said while whisking the eggsb, /bthe sound rhythmic and soothing. “And guess what’s going on sale?”

I stood straighter. “No way.”

He nodded. “The Rolls–Royce ck Heart. One of the few remaining models. Fully restored.”

That caught my attention like a me to dry wood. Not many people own that car anymore. It was ba /bsymbol, a legacy. Back in the ‘70s, it was Rolls- Royce’s crown jewel–the best–selling, most iconic luxury model of its timeb. /bCollectors kept it locked away like a priceless treasure. No one sold them. Not unless they were desperate… or crazy.

“And someone wants to auction it?” I asked, the dea already stirring something inside me that I hadn’t felt in a long time.

“But,” James‘ voice cut through my thoughts, grounding me back in the moment, “if you’re going, you need to be prepared.”

He cracked another egg against the rim of the pan and dropped it in with practiced ease. The sizzle of hot oil weed bthe /begg, and in bseconds /bbthe /bbri /bbaroma /bbof /bbreakfast began to fill the kitchen. Something about that scent–it was nostalgic, familiar, almost blike /bwarmth slowly pushing the cold bout /bbof /bbmy /bchest.

b1/2 /b

bChapter /bb169 /b

bJames /bbnced /bbover /bat me and bcontinued/b, b“/bbThe /bpeople at this auction aren’t just byour /baverage sry earners. Fin taking about billionaire bPeople /bbwho /be bfrom /bbevery /bbcorner /bbof /bthe bworld/bb. /bSome of them bhave /bmore money than bthey /bknow what to do bwith/bb, /bband /bthey bwant /bthat car. They bat /bbnothing /bbto /bbget /bitb. /b

bA /bslow smile crept onto my bface /ban expression I hadn’t worn in what felt like years. It came naturally, as though it had simply been hiding under at the grief and solitude.

It had been over eight years since Ist stepped into an auction hall. Eight years since I sat beneath the gleam of crystal chandeliersb, /bbmy /bbnumber /bbcard /breadyb, /bmy eyes locked in silent battle with other titans of industry. But I remembered it all like yesterday. The tension. The thrill. The subtle war bof /bbpride /band power.

And most of all, I remembered one thing: I never lost.

Not once.

Every time I wanted a price I always got it

“I like the sound of that,” I said atst, pulling out a stool and sitting across from James. “Prepared? James, I’m always prepared. This….” I gestured around the kitchen, the mansion, the gloom that had weighed me down for years, “This was a detour. Not defeat.”

I grabbed a slice of bread from the te he’d set near me and took a deliberate bite. “And besidesb, /bI wee the challenge. I want to see how this ys

out.”

James watched me as I spoke, and there was something in his eyes–relief, maybe, or pride. Probably bothb. /bHe smiled, nodding slightly, like a soldier watching his general step back into formation.

“That’s what I like to hear,” he said. “You’re not sad Adrian anymore. You’re back.”

I didn’t reply. I didn’t have to. The shift in energy between us said enough.

James nced up at me again and this time pointed directly at my face. “Though you’re gonna have to lose that beard.”

I instinctively lifted my hand to my jaw, running my fingers through the thick beard I’d grown over the past few months. It had be part of my identity during my lowest phase, a physical manifestation of everything I’d been through–the pain, the istion, the years wasted swimming in regret.

I looked at James, then back at my reflection in the dark oven ss nearby. I tilted my head slightly and studied myself.

“No,” I said slowly. “I’m keeping it.”

James raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Yeah.” I gave a small shrug. “It’s a reminder.”

“A reminder?”

I nodded. “Of what I passed through. Of the man I became when I thought I had nothing left. And besides, I think it’s time for a new look. Something

different.”

James stared at me for a moment, then gave a smallugh and went back to flipping the eggs.

“You say it like you’re reinventing yourself.”

I leaned back slightly, folding my arms. “Maybe Vam.”

There was a beat of silence before James spoke again, more serious this time. “You knowb, /bit’s weird. A few days ago, I wasn’t sure if you bwere /bbever /bbgoing /bto get out of that room again. But now? Look at you. Talking about auctions and challenges… and smiling. You were a ghost before. bThis/b…this bfee/bb*/bb~ /bblike /bthe real you.”

His words sank into me, not heavily, but like warmth settling in after a cold rain. He was right. I had been ba /bghost. I haunted bmy /bbown /bblife/bb, /bbwalked /bthrough

bChapter /bb169 /b

bmy /bbown /bhome like a stranger.

bBut /bbnow/bb, /bbI /bwas sitting here, eating toast, making ns, entertaining the idea of stepping back into the world fit abandoned, it bwasn’t /bjust the cake thepetition. The Hunger to win. The reminder that I was still capable of being me.

“Well,” I said, “let’s just say the world’s going to see a different version of Adrian. The quiet one’s gone. The fighter’s back

James grinned, handing me a te with toast and eggs. “Good. Now eat like someone who’s about to outbid billionaires.”

I chuckled, a low, real sound from deep in my chest. It had been a long time since I felt this… alive.

And as I looked out the kitchen window, sunlight streaming in, I knew this wasn’t just about a car.

It was about reiming something I thought I’d lost forever.