“Forty-five.”
I stare up at him, stunned—not just by the number, but by the certainty in his posture. The refusal to back down. This isn’t just a bid anymore. It’s a declaration.
The room goes quiet, tension coiling thick in the air as the auctioneer scans for the next challenger.
I lean closer to Liam, my voice barely a whisper. “Thank you.”
He doesn’t take his eyes off the stage. “If your sister left you a map,” he says evenly, “then we’re following it.”
The gavel lifts.
For a breathless second, the world holds still.
Ten minutes later, I stand near the side of the stage with the book in my hands.
It’s heavier than I expect.
Solid.
Real.
The worn leather presses into my palms, grounding me in a way nothing else has tonight. I run my thumb over the spine, feeling the faint crease I know by heart, the one Libby swore she didn’t make.
Don’t worry, Libby. I’ll finish what you started.
For a brief, fragile second, the world feels almost still.
Then it shatters.
“Someone want to explain to me why you broke our low profile to bid on a damn fucking book?”
Matthias’s roar slices through the noise of the ballroom as he stalks toward us, his presence drawing eyes even now. His steps are heavy, furious, controlled only by sheer force of will. The storm in him crackles, sharp and dangerous.
“We were supposed to be keeping a low profile,” he continues, gesturing sharply toward the stage behind me, “not flaunting our wealth like amateur assholes.”
“I wouldn’t have bid on it if it wasn’t necessary, Dashkov,” my father replies calmly, stepping slightly in front of me. “Itwasn’t planned. Ava found something, and we require the book to decode it.”
Matthias’s jaw tightens. “And you didn’t bother to inform us so we could be better prepared?”
“Last time I checked,” Liam says coolly, “I don’t answer to you.”
“No,” Matthias snaps, closing the distance between them, “but wearesupposed to be working together.”
“Didn’t look like you were working all that hard when you had Serena Belsky’s tongue shoved down your throat,” Seamus mutters.
The words hang there.
His eyes go wide a second too late, his hand clamping over his mouth.
Oh.
Matthias’s gaze snaps to me. Dark. Searching. “It’s not what it looked like,” he growls, but I keep my face carefully blank. At least, I hope I do. I’ve learned how to lock things down when the pain is sharp enough.
“You could have at least waited until the divorce papers were filed before you went sticking your tongue where it doesn’t belong,” I say evenly, lifting one shoulder in a careless shrug. “I’d say you should’ve been more discreet, but no one knows we’re married, so…”
“Ava.” His voice drops. Softens. Nearly pleads.
I hate that it still works on me.
