The moment we step back into the auction hall, the room seems brighter than before. Louder too, though that might only be because my body still hasn’t settled from what happened in the side room.
My lips feel swollen. My thighs feel weak. Every step reminds me of his fingers. I keep my face calm and pray no one looks too closely.
Of course, everyone looks. People turn when we re-enter. Some pretend they’re only glancing at the auction platform. Others don’t bother pretending at all. Their eyes move over Yaromir first, then me, then the space between us.
My cheeks heat.
God. How long were we gone?
Long enough for people to notice. Long enough for Dmitri to return. He stands near the right side of the hall, beside Katya again. His tuxedo jacket has been changed, or maybe cleaned. His hair is fixed. His mouth looks slightly swollen, and there’s a faint darkness near his jaw that makeup can’t fully hide.
Good.
His eyes lock on Yaromir first. Then on me. The look in them is ugly.
He looks at my flushed face. My messy hair pinned back badly after Yaromir’s hands ruined it. My mouth, which I know is still too red.
My stomach twists, but I don’t look away. Not this time.
Beside him, Katya watches me too. She’s pale, but composed. Her silver dress catches the lights when she shifts, one hand curled around a champagne flute she’s not drinking from. When her gaze drops to Yaromir’s hand at my back, her mouth tightens.
I feel a small, mean satisfaction.
Then the auctioneer’s voice cuts through the room. “Lot twenty-three: an antique emerald and diamond necklace, late imperial style, set in platinum and yellow gold, with Colombian emeralds and old mine-cut diamonds.”
Two attendants carry the piece out under careful lighting.
The room reacts at once. Even people pretending not to care turn to look.
The necklace is displayed on black velvet, and for a second, I understand why Katya wants it.
It’s beautiful.
It’s the kind of necklace made for a woman who expects people to lower their eyes. Deep green stones sit at the center, surrounded by diamonds that catch the light like ice. It looks old, heavy, and expensive enough to carry a history of women who got what they wanted by surviving men who underestimated them.
My fingers tighten slightly around Yaromir’s arm.
He feels it. Of course he does.
His head dips closer. “You want it.”
“No.”
“Then why are you looking at it like that?”
“I’m allowed to look.”
“Anya.”
I exhale through my nose. “Katya wants it.”
His face doesn’t change, but something in his eye changes. “How do you know?”
“I overheard my friends talking.”
“Your friends.” The way he says it makes it clear he doesn’t think much of them.
I don’t either anymore.
