bChapter /bb190 /b

ADRIAN’S POV

“Just like I said, this ce isn’t that bad,” James said as we walked in, his eyes darting around the hall with mild curiosity.

But truthfully, I barely heard him. My attention had locked entirely onto the grand prize sitting in the center of it all–the Rolls–Royce ck Heartb. /bIt wasn’t just the car’s elegance that drew me in, but what it symbolized. A statement that even after everything that had happened in the past five years, Adrian Westwood hadn’t lost his touch.

I kept walking, but my gaze hardly shifted from the obsidian body of the car reflecting the subtle glow of the overhead spotlights. I could almost imagine my hands gripping the steering wheel, the low hum of the engine, the attention it would draw as it rolled through New York.

Or I could also keep it as a nice piece of furniture in my mansion, just for my eyes only.

A staff member wearing a sharp ck suit finally guided James and me to our seats, positioned perfectly close to the car. From here, I could admire every curve, every polished detail. It was as if the entire hall had been designed solely to showcase this single masterpiece.

Arge digital timer next to it blinked steadily, counting down the minutes until the auction would begin. My chest tightened a little watching it, the anticipation settling deep in my stomach.

“There sure are a lot ofpetitors here,” James remarked beside me, his voice low enough for only me to hear.

“What do you mean?” I asked, tearing my gaze from the car to look at him.

“We’re not many in number here,” he said, ncing around at the exclusive seating area reserved for those bidding on the car. “And that’s obviously because not everyone can afford to even think about starting at the bidding price. But look around, everyone here has that same fire in their eyes–the fire to win, to take that car home.”

I followed his gaze subtly, scanning the room. Men and women, dressed in the finest designer suits and gowns, all exuding an air of wealth and quiet confidence. But James’s attention seemed to linger on one figure in particr.

“For example, do you see that young man sitting over there in the ck suit?” he asked, gesturing slightly with a nod of his head rather than pointing outright.

My eyes shifted in that direction,nding on a man who couldn’t have been more than mid–thirties. His hair was neatly styled, his posture rxed yet unmistakably alert, like someone used to observing and calcting everything happening around him.

“What about him?” I said, studying the stranger carefully.

“I’m surprised you haven’t heard of him before,” James said, almost teasingly. “That’s Damien Cole”

The name didn’t strike any immediate chord, and I raised an eyebrow at James, silently asking why it should matter to me. It’s not as if this Damien was about to invest in my business or threaten it.

“He’s one of the bestwyers, continentally,” Jame

mean exactly that.”

scontinued, his tone taking on a note of respect that was rare for him. “And when I say the bestb, /b

“Awyer?” I said, the disbelief clear in my voice, “What would awyer be doing here, sitting among billionaires, CEOS, and investorsb? /bbEven /bbif /bhe bcame /bbto /bbid, how could he possibly afford something like that based on awyer’s sry?”

James chuckled quietly, clearly amused by my skepticism. “It might sound odd, but I genuinely believe he can afford bthe /bbcar/b.”

“And how do iyou /iknow that?” I asked, my curiosity piqued despite myself.

bJames /bleaned in slightly, lowering his voice further. “That man has bnever lost /bba /bbcase /bin his entire career. And I’m bnot /btalking babout /bbsome /bbpetty /bneighborhood disputes, Adrian. Early in his career back in Mexico, his client was used bof /bmurdering a woman. All bthe /bbevidence /bbpointed /bbto /bbthe /bbclient /bbbeing /bguilty every single piece. And yet Damien won the case, turning bthe /bbcourtroom /bbon /bbits /bhead. bAfter /bthat, bhe /bbbecame /bbthe /bbgo/bb–/bbto /bbwyer /bbwhenever /bba /bbpowerful /bbbusinessman /bor politician was bin trouble/b.”

i1/3 /i

My brow furrowed, processing this.

bJames /bwent on, “What he charges for a single case isn’t small change, Adrian. His clients pay millions just to have him in their corner. And they do it happily because the man has never failed. He doesn’t just defend; he dismantles the other sidepletely.”

the

“Right now, I think he’s going to be your biggest challenge in this just to get this prize, it means he really wants it.”

I nced back at Damien, this time seeing him differently. His rxed posture made more sense now; defeat.

was

ihall/i,i” /i

His words echoed in my head as my gaze drifted back

to

the

man he‘

calm of someone who bhad /bnever btasted /b

mes said, his voice low and thoughtful. “For him to fly all the way from Mexico

But to be honest, what truly caught my attention wasn’t Damien

e’d pointed out earlier–Damien Cole huh?

it was the woman seated beside him.

She wore a striking red gown, the fabric hugging her shape so wlessly it was almost sculptural. Even under the soft lights of the auction hall, the gown shimmered, and my eyes narrowed slightly as I studied the details. Were those… real diamonds sewn into the dress? The stones caught the light and scattered it in tiny shes across the walls and polished floor.

to

I’d spent years collecting and dealing in gems; my eyes were trained spot the difference between crystal, rhinestones, and the real thing. And those diamonds looked real–painfully real. Not the sort of disy you see every day, even among the powerful and wealthy gathered here.

Yet there was something beyond the material extravagance that intrigued me: her presence. She carried herself differently from the others in the hall. There was a quiet assurance in the way she sat, a stillness that came only from someone ustomed to power–and winning. She didn’t fidget or nce around nervously like some of the others. Instead, she kept her focus forward, her chin slightly raised, almost regal.

And then there was the mask.

A deep red, matching the color of her gown perfectly, it covered the upper part of her face and lent her an air of mystery. No one else in the hall wore anything like it. I wondered what she was hiding–and more importantly, why she felt the need to hide it.

“Adrian.” James’s voice cut through my thoughts, pulling me back to the present.

I turned to look at him. “Hm?”

“iAre /iyou alright?” he asked, tilting his head slightly. “You seemed lost there for a second.”

“Yeah, it’s just…” My voice trailed off, eyes still on the woman in red Her posture, her aura, even the lines of her jaw felt oddly familiar–like a half- remembered dream tugging at the back of my mind.

“Never mind,” I finally muttered, shaking my head slightly.

I forced myself to focus. Maybe I was overthinking it. I didn’t know this womanb, /band there was no logical who she was based on a gown and a mask. Besides, there was a far clearer threat here: Damien Cole

reason for me to waste time trying to figure out

James was right. For Damien to travel this far just for a single auction, it spoke volumes about his determination–and likely his resources. bA /bman bwith /bthat reputation wouldn’t bid unless he intended to win, But unfortunately for him, he didn’te prepared the way I had. I wasn’t leaving bthis /bhall empty–handed. That Rolls–Royce was going to be mine.

Still, despite my best efforts, my gaze drifted back to her. Her expression was unreadable behind the mask, but there was something babout /bbher /bjawlineb… /bsharp, elegant, unmistakably familiar, It bothered me. Where had I seen it before?

Who was this mystery woman in Red?