The Auction Floor

Chapter 2 The 24-Week Evidence

Alexander drove in silence. City lights moved across the windshield. At the first red light, he reached into the built-in warmer and handed me the carton of milk he kept there every night.

He asked no questions. He never made me explain before I was ready.

The carton shook in my hand. The leather seat vanished, and I smelled blood on linoleum again. Polished black shoes had stopped beside my face that day.

“My name is Alexander Thorne. I'm here for a site inspection. What in God's name happened to this woman?”

Alexander had arrived as a stranger. He got me out, stayed through my recovery, and waited until I could hold a pencil without snapping the lead.

He never asked me to become the woman I had been before Blackwood. He stayed patient and passed no judgment while I relearned how to work and how to sit through the memories.

I closed both hands around the warm carton. The car came back into focus.

The next morning, sunlight filled my new studio, all glass, white oak, and charcoal dust. The windows overlooked the city.

My latest designs covered one wall, and open gemstone trays occupied the central worktable.

The door flew open without a knock.

Julian stood there with two executives behind him. He looked over my studio as though he had come to inspect property he owned.

“Pack this place up.” He glanced at the designs pinned to my wall. “You've made your point. The game is over. Come back to Sterling House tonight.”

I stared at him. He had walked in here expecting obedience.

He walked farther into the room. “Your old studio in the east wing is still there. I never touched it. I knew you'd come back once you were done with this tantrum.”

He gestured at my gemstone trays. “I'll speak to my suppliers. This little side project is about to run out of materials. You design for me, Chloe, or you don't design at all.”

My security team stepped forward. I raised a hand, and they stopped.

Julian spotted the folder for my latest collection, *Dawn*, and reached for it.

“Take your hand off my work, Mr. Sterling.”

His hand stopped over the folder. Confusion crossed his face before he covered it with a scowl.

My security team watched from behind him. At one word from me, they would remove him and both executives.

I took a folded report from my desk and pressed it flat against his chest.

He looked down, then unfolded it.

Two small forms showed in the black-and-white ultrasound image.

“As you can see, I'm busy building a real family. Take your threats and your stones and get out of my studio.”

The anger drained from Julian's face. His gaze moved from the images to the text at the top.

*Gestation: 24 weeks. Type: Twins.*

He looked at me, then at my stomach. His grip tightened until the paper crumpled.

“No.” The paper shook in his hand. “That's impossible. When I sent you away, the doctor told me you would never be able to.” His voice failed on the final word.

He could not finish. For three years, he had accepted whatever the doctor told him about my ruined body. Now the proof trembled in his hand.