“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.”
