CHAPTER 21: THE WEEKEND

Chapter 21

JULIAN POLE

By morning, the air had cleared a little. We went down to the hotel restaurant for breakfast — mostly because Luka was starving. Typical. That’s where it finally happened: Rico and Luka made up. It didn’t take long, of course. A pout, a half-smile, a muttered "sorry," and they were back to teasing each other like nothing happened.

When we got back to our room, all three of us were too full and too tired to move. The event wasn’t until five. So we decided to nap for a bit.

Fast forward to five. We’re getting ready, and of course, we’re already thirty minutes late. Typical us.

Then there’s a knock on the door.

"I’ll get it," I said, walking over and pulling it open.

A middle-aged man in a black sleek suit stood in the hallway, all polished and proper.

"Hello," I said cautiously. "How can I help you?"

"Are you Mr. Pole?" he asked.

I straightened up a little. "Yes...?"

"I’m your driver for today."

"Huh?"

"What’s taking so long?" Rico called out as he came toward the door. He stopped when he saw the man. "Oh, hello," he said, then turned to me for an explanation.

"He says he’s our driver," I told him, still confused.

Rico made a face. Same, honestly.

"I was appointed to drive you gentlemen to your destination and back," the man said evenly, like it was the most normal thing in the world.

"Did Enzo mention something like this?" Rico asked me.

"No," I said, shaking my head.

"By who exactly?" Rico pressed, stepping slightly in front of me — protector mode activated, of course.

"Let’s call and confirm," Luka said from behind us.

"Jesus Christ!" I jumped, clutching my chest. "Stop creeping up on people!"

"I’ve been standing here the whole time, stupid," Luka muttered, pulling his phone from his back pocket. He dialed Enzo and put it on speaker.

After two rings, Enzo picked up, sounding far too cheerful. "Oh, hi baby Luka."

Luka rolled his eyes so hard I thought they might fall out.

"Did you send someone to drive us?" Rico asked flatly.

"Yes, he’s the valet for today," Enzo said, smug. "Am I not a gentleman?"

"Thank you for letting us know in advance," Rico replied, voice dripping with sarcasm, and ended the call before Enzo could say anything else.

He turned back to the man. "We’ll be down in a few minutes, sir."

"No problem," the man said with a polite nod before walking away.

Rico locked the door and sighed. "Alright, let’s get moving. We don’t want to keep him waiting."

"Yes, daddy," Luka teased immediately.

Rico blinked. "We started ages ago," Luka added, grinning.

"He blushed," I said, laughing under my breath.

"I saw," Luka replied proudly.

"You’re a devil," I told him.

He just shrugged, still smiling, and walked back into the room.

We finished getting ready, grabbed our stuff, and left the hotel room. The valet was already waiting out front, standing beside the car like something out of a movie.

We got in, and he drove off smoothly.

But somewhere along the ride, my excitement started to twist into something heavier. My body felt tense, like it already knew something was off, like what I’d been so eager for wasn’t going to happen after all.

Okay, first of all, this place is insane.

On getting to the venue for tonight’s event, my friends are bubbling with excitement, grinning like we just won a lottery. But for me, the air feels thick, heavy in a way I can’t quite explain. Maybe it’s nerves, or maybe it’s because I can feel the money in this place.

We hand our passes to the security. My exhibitor card and my friends’ guest passes and steps through the double doors.

And then I freeze.

This doesn’t look like an art exhibition.

I expected to see paintings hanging on walls, people wandering around sipping wine while pretending to understand brushstrokes and symbolism. You know, the usual gallery stuff.

But no.

This looks like a gala.

The kind of event where powerful people shake hands over champagne and billion-dollar smiles.

When Enzo said "art exhibition," I was thinking of a calm gallery — white walls, quiet music, soft chatter. You know, normal art people things.

But no.

Huge crystal chandeliers hang from the ceiling like frozen fireworks, glittering so bright they hurt to look at. The walls shimmer gold under the light. Servers move gracefully between the tables, carrying trays of wine and hors d’oeuvres I can’t even pronounce. And everywhere I look, there are people in tuxedos and gowns that probably cost more than my rent for the year.

Oh I forgot I’m still living with my parents.

My friends and I stand near the back, all three of us pretending we belong here, though Luka’s already whispering about how the lights are too bright and Rico’s adjusting his tie every five seconds like it’s choking him.

"What the hell is this," I mutter under my breath.

"Are you sure we’re not at a wedding?" Luka asked earlier. Now I’m starting to think he might be right.

My friends are beside me, wide-eyed.

"What is going on right now?" Luka asks, his face all confused and clueless.

"I don’t know," I answer, scanning the crowd.

"Are you sure this is the right place?" Luka presses again.

Veridian Hall. The name is everywhere. On banners, in gold lettering on the podium at the far end of the room. It’s definitely the right place. It’s the same hall Enzo mentioned. But this... this isn’t how he described it.

Veridian Hall is supposed to be a gallery, right? A gallery. But this looks like a charity ball for royalty.

Rico lets out a low whistle. "Bro, this is not a regular art show. This is money with chandeliers."

"I feel so out of place," I whisper, tugging at my shirt collar. My hands are suddenly sweaty. "Why didn’t Enzo tell me it’s like this?"

"He probably thought you knew," Rico says, though he doesn’t sound convinced.

Luka crosses his arms. "Yea, or he didn’t want you to know."

That thought sends a weird chill down my spine. I brush it off. Maybe it’s just nerves. Maybe Enzo wanted it to be a surprise, a good one.

"Let’s take a seat," Rico says finally, pointing toward a few empty chairs at the back of the hall. "Before someone rich tells us we’re blocking their view of the chandeliers."

We make our way to the table, trying not to bump into anyone. The room smells like perfume and old money. I can feel eyes on us, probably wondering who let the underdressed kids in.

My stomach knots.

Something’s off.

This doesn’t feel like a display. It feels like an event.

Rico leans toward me. "You okay?"

"Yeah," I lie. "Just... trying to figure out what’s happening."

Luka hums softly. "You think they’re going to show your art one by one?"

"I guess," I say, though it comes out weak.

If Enzo’s plan was to surprise me, it’s working. I’m completely lost.

The lights dim slightly, and a man in a crisp black suit steps up to the podium, holding a clipboard.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen," he begins, voice smooth and deep. "Welcome to Veridian Hall’s Private Art Auction and Benefit Gala."

My heart stops.

Auction?

Wait, auction?

I blink. Rico turns to look at me, eyes wide. Luka’s mouth falls open.

I must’ve heard wrong. Enzo didn’t say anything about an auction. He said exhibition. Display. Not auction.

But the man keeps talking, introducing sponsors and names I don’t recognize.

Rico nudges me gently. "Julian...?"

I can’t even answer. I’m staring straight ahead, my hands frozen on my knees.

If this is an auction, then, my art isn’t just being shown. It’s being sold.

And I don’t even know who’s buying it.

A wave of unease rolls over me, thick and hot. I swallow hard, forcing a small laugh that sounds fake even to me.

"Maybe it’s just part of the program," I whisper, though I don’t believe it.

The man continues, and assistants begin pulling the velvet cloths off the displays one by one. The crowd murmurs in appreciation, snapping photos, raising their champagne glasses.

When they unveil mine, I freeze completely.

My painting looks different here. brighter, louder under all this light. For a second, pride flickers in my chest.

And then the auctioneer says, "Starting bid for ’Solitude in Color’ by Julian Pole — $100,000"

Luka chokes on his drink. Rico mutters, "Holy shit."

My entire world tilts.

"Hundred thousand what?!" I whisper-shout.

This can’t be happening.

That painting wasn’t supposed to be sold. It was personal. Too personal. Enzo promised it was just for display, just to make the collection look "rounded."

The spotlight hits it, and I almost forget to breathe.

It’s the one I painted on that night I couldn’t sleep. The night I missed Jace so bad it hurt to breathe. It’s abstract, sure, but if you stare at it long enough, you’d see him there — his posture, his warmth, the way he used to look at me like I was something worth holding.

As the bids start flying. Two hundred thousands,three hundred thousands,four hundred thousands. I feel detached from my own body, like I’m floating. My friends are whispering beside me, but I can barely hear them.

I look for Enzo, but he’s across the room talking to some tall man and pretending not to notice me silently dying.

And then, out of nowhere —

"Sold!"

Just like that. The gavel hits. The sound makes me jump.

"Sold for one point two million dollars to Mr. Jace Marino and his fiancée."

...

What?

It’s not the money, it’s the name.

The name hits me like a slap. I blink.

I must’ve heard wrong.

Two people can bear the same name at same time, right?

But the announcer repeats it. Clear. Smooth.Confident.

"Mr. Jace Marino and his fiancée."

"Who came in place of his father, Mr Marino"

If he’s a Marino then he’s not my Jace, because I know that last name from my father’s files.

Rico turns to me immediately. "Wait. Did he just say—"

"We don’t know that yet." My voice cracks.

Luka blinks. "Jace? As in your Jace?"

"We don’t know that yet" I snapped

The room suddenly feels too small. My ears are ringing.

Everyone’s clapping now — polite, fancy clapping, the kind rich people do when they’ve just witnessed a deal. I can’t move.

Then I see him.

Front row. Tuxedo. Perfect hair. The same man who kissed me like I was air, who called me little bear. Sitting like he belongs here — because, apparently, he does.

The crowd erupts in applause. The announcer smiles wide. "And the winning bid goes to Mr. Jace Marino and his fiancée."

My chest caves in.

Fiancée.

I blink once, twice, like maybe I heard wrong.

But then she stands beside him. Aiko. In that same cold, flawless beauty. Smiling at the crowd, her hand linked with his.

My brain freezes.

Aiko. The same woman I saw at the café, the same one with that quiet, dangerous kind of beauty. She’s wearing a pearl-white dress. She’s smiling politely, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.

That’s his fiancée.

It can’t be.

My throat goes dry. "Oh my God," I whisper.

"What the hell," Rico mutters under his breath. Luka just stares, wide-eyed, whispering something that sounds like no way, no way, no way.

My stomach flips. I feel sick.

The applause feels like static in my ears.

And then, like it was always going to happen, his eyes found mine.

Time stops.

I swear everything, the music, the chatter, even the clinking of glasses — just vanishes.

He freezes. The polite smile on his face falters, his chest visibly tightens. His eyes, those stupid eyes that I love too much. Go wide with something between shock and guilt. I see it all in one second. The realization. The regret. The panic.

My heart’s beating so loud I’m sure Luka and Rico can hear it.

Aiko turns her head, following his gaze, and that tiny smile curls at the corner of her mouth. Slow. Calculated.

She knows.

Of course she knows.

I feel my chest tighten so bad it hurts to breathe.

I can’t move. I can’t blink. I can’t think.

Because in that one moment, everything that was beautiful, every soft kiss, every secret text, every whispered name — just crashed.

He looks ready to move, one step and he’d cross the whole room just to explain everything. But Aiko’s hand finds his arm, and his gaze slides from mine to hers.

I feel sick," I whispered to my friends. I can’t feel my legs, and my head is spinning

"Let’s get you out of here," Rico says.

"Oh my god— he’s pale, Rico, he’s having a panic attack—"

"Luka, don’t. I can’t handle both of you if you crash now. Breathe in. Breathe out. He’s fine. He’s fine. Let’s just get him out."

Their voices blur, echoing through the static in my head.

I’ve just fallen in love with a man who belongs to someone else.

He’s not just my professor. Not just the man who calls me little bear.

He’s a Marino.

A mafia heir.

And engaged.

To someone else.