Page 7 of Twisted Knight

It’s just like the people here to put a ridiculous value on something that doesn’t matter. On something that elevates their social status but does nothing for their moral compass.

Then again, who am I to talk, especially with the events I’m here to set into motion? The events I’ve been planning for years.

“Two,” a man calls out from across the room.

I know who he is. I know what he is. He’s arrogant, immature, and I know the money he just bid isn’t exactly his.

He’s already in my sights. Unfortunately for him, he doesn’t even know it yet.

But why should he? He’s a Rothschild. An untouchable figure in this town.

If anyone knows that, it’s me.

Well … that’s all about to change.

The auctioneer scans the room to see if there are any more bidders for the painting. His gavel lifts. He glances around again, giving one final chance. He begins to lower it as all gazes shift to Rhett Rothschild and his apparent winning bid.

Smug fucker.

“Three million.” My voice is clear. Commanding. Unwavering. And offering a million more than the last bid. Rhett’s bid.

Gasps replace the murmured whispers that have been following me all night.

The glances that were sly for the better part of the evening now become unapologetically blatant.

Rhett glares at me. That’s right. I’m stealing your thunder.

“Three million?” the auctioneer asks, astonishment painting the edges of his tone.

“Three.”

He starts to talk but then looks my way again as if to make sure I didn’t misspeak. I nod to let him know I didn’t. “Do I hear three million one thousand?” he asks, his gavel already raised as silence permeates the room. “Sold, to one Mr.…?”

“Holden. Holden Knight.”

It’s my turn to look now. To ignore the auctioneer’s stare and scan the room that is completely focused on me, the new man in town who’s made sure his name is already known. The one who’s paid top dollar to rent out the penthouse at Indigo Towers, the most exclusive building in town due to its steep price tag, endless views, and prime location. The newest member of the Westmore Country Club. The one who has made a point to be seen dining with every important politician in town.

I meet the eyes of those who I know want to meet mine, waiting for a flicker of recognition on their faces or a pause of hesitancy. Neither comes.

Why would they remember someone like me?

Their lax lips morph into warm smiles. Women’s cleavages are adjusted. Men’s chests are puffed out. The need to suddenly cozy up to the wealthy outsider paramount.

As I expected.

It’s amazing what money can do. How it changes perceptions. How it can open doors. How it can ruin your life.

I return the smiles now given openly with nods as I make my way through the crowd that parts for me.

That revenge I’ve been waiting years to exact?

That starts now.

And the man they’re all suddenly wanting to know?

They forget that they already do.

THREE