Chapter 3
1189 Words
The Maupin Art Auction was a place where power wasn’t flaunted—it was whispered through subtle nods, slight tilts of glasses, and silent, unseen deals made over six-figure masterpieces.
Aldric Voss had attended dozens of these events over the years. They were predictable. Controlled.
Tonight, however, control was an illusion.
He had come for one reason, and it wasn’t the art.
The room was an elegant expanse of wealth—polished mahogany floors, towering ceilings with soft golden lighting, and staff gliding between guests with crystal flutes of champagne. The attendees were a mix of aristocrats, collectors, and business moguls, each draped in tailored perfection, each concealing their true motives beneath polite conversation.
Aldric moved through the crowd with his usual air of detachment. He should have been thinking about the evening’s most expensive piece—a rare 18th-century oil painting by an obscure French artist. Instead, his eyes searched for someone else.
And then, he found her.
Lillith Moreau.
She stood near a grand marble column, her black gown an effortless contrast against the warm glow of the room. The fabric clung to her in a way that felt both elegant and calculated, the neckline plunging just enough to draw attention without demanding it. Dark waves of hair cascaded over one shoulder, framing golden-hazel eyes that were already watching him.
Aldric tensed. Had she been waiting for him? Or had he just stepped into her trap?
He should have turned away. Should have walked in the opposite direction, mingled, focused on his original reason for being here.
Instead, he moved toward her.
“Miss Moreau.” His voice was smooth, unreadable.
Lillith turned her head slightly, as though she hadn’t noticed him before. But the glint in her eyes told a different story. “Mr. Voss.”
There it was again—that quiet amusement, as if she had anticipated this moment long before he had.
“I didn’t realize you had an interest in art,” he remarked, keeping his tone casual.
“I don’t,” she admitted, swirling the champagne in her glass. “But I do enjoy auctions. The way people fight over things that should mean nothing to them.” She glanced toward the stage, where the bidding had begun for a lesser-known portrait. “It’s fascinating to watch.”
Aldric studied her. “And yet, you’re not bidding.”
Her lips curved. “I prefer to be the one people fight over.”
Something dangerous flickered between them. A silent acknowledgment of what this was turning into.
Before he could respond, the auctioneer’s voice filled the space.
“Our next piece—an original from the 18th-century French Romantic period…”
Aldric barely listened. He wasn’t here to buy. But then, he noticed Lillith’s gaze linger on the painting. Just for a second.
A simple flicker of interest. Faint. Almost imperceptible.
But it was enough.
Aldric raised a hand. “One hundred and fifty thousand.”
Lillith turned toward him fully now, eyebrows lifting slightly. “That’s bold.”
A rival bidder immediately countered. Aldric remained silent, letting the numbers climb higher, but he was no longer watching the auction.
He was watching her.
“Two hundred thousand,” he said finally, his voice firm.
The room stilled for a moment.
The auctioneer scanned the crowd. “Two hundred thousand going once… going twice…”
The gavel struck.
“Sold to Mr. Aldric Voss.”
Lillith tilted her head. “An expensive impulse.”
Aldric smirked slightly. “Some things are worth the risk.”
She studied him for a beat, then lifted her glass in silent acknowledgment. “Are they?”
The words hung between them, charged with unspoken meaning.
And then, as the next item was introduced, Lillith turned and walked away, disappearing into the crowd.
Aldric let out a slow breath, shaking his head slightly.
Then, as he adjusted his cuff, he felt something in his pocket.
A small, folded note.
Try again.
His pulse kicked up a notch.
This woman was playing a game.
And he had just taken his first step onto the board.
Aldric turned the small note over in his fingers, the elegant script still fresh against the crisp parchment.
Try again.
It was a challenge. A test. A door left deliberately ajar, waiting for him to step through.
He shouldn’t.
And yet, he did.
The private lounge at the Maupin Auction was hidden beyond a hallway lined with oil paintings, a place only a select few knew existed. It was where real negotiations took place—the kind that never made the papers. Deals brokered between men who didn’t ask questions, where loyalty was measured in leverage.
Aldric knew this world well.
What he didn’t know was why she had brought him here.
He entered the dimly lit room. The scent of aged whiskey and expensive cigars lingered in the air. A fire crackled low in the grand marble fireplace, its golden glow casting long shadows over the polished wood.
And there she was.
Lillith Moreau sat at a secluded table, one leg crossed over the other, her black gown pooling around her like ink. A crystal glass rested between her fingers, the deep red wine inside untouched.
She looked up as he approached, a slow smile tugging at her lips.
"You took your time."
Aldric pulled out the chair opposite hers, settling into it with deliberate ease. "You expected me to follow?"
"I expected you to be curious," she corrected. "And curiosity is dangerous, Mr. Voss."
Her voice was smooth, measured, but there was something beneath it—a game being played that he hadn’t yet deciphered.
A waiter appeared, pouring him a glass of something dark and strong. Aldric ignored it, his attention fixed solely on her. "Tell me, Lillith," he said, voice low. "What exactly am I supposed to be curious about?"
She took a sip of wine, her gaze never leaving his. "Maybe the fact that you knew you’d end up here tonight. That despite every reason not to, you still came looking for me."
A slow exhale. A charged silence.
She wasn’t wrong.
Aldric leaned back slightly, fingers grazing the rim of his glass. "You assume a lot."
Lillith tilted her head, studying him like one might observe a puzzle. "Do I?"
Another pause. A lingering moment of something too heavy, too deliberate.
Then, she leaned forward, closing the space between them, her voice dropping just above a whisper.
"You’re here because you don’t like unfinished games."
Aldric didn’t move. Didn’t blink.
Because she was right.
He knew what this was—a controlled descent into something inevitable.
But he wasn’t sure whether he was the one falling, or if she had been waiting at the bottom all along.
Lillith reached forward, her fingers barely grazing his wrist. A fleeting touch. A calculated slip of warmth against his skin.
"Tell me," she murmured, "what exactly do you think happens next?"
Aldric exhaled, slow, steady.
Then, finally, he answered.
"We find out."
Lillith’s smile deepened, something wicked dancing at the edges.
And just like that, the first mistake was made.
- Writer
