HIS SALVATION

Chapter 23 - Auction

Valer Casino

​The glittering facade of the Valer Casino on Harbor Street rose against the night sky, its neon lights reflecting off the dark, churning waters of the bay. Inside, the noise of rolling dice and clinking champagne flutes dissolved into a muted hum as Zavian walked past the main floor. The casino manager, practically glowing with eager anxiety, bowed slightly and led the way toward the subterranean level where the exclusive, invitation-only auction was being held.

​As they reached the heavy double doors of the underground venue, hasty footfalls echoed down the corridor. Lucian caught up with them, breathing slightly fast, his tie a fraction of an inch off-center and his hair marginally ruffled—an unusual sight for a man who prided himself on absolute composure.

​Zavian paused, casting a cold, unreadable glance over his shoulder. He didn’t say a word, but the silent temperature drop in the hallway was enough to make Lucian instantly straighten his lapels. Without waiting, Zavian turned and continued inside.

​The manager guided them up a private staircase to the VIP section overlooking the primary hall. The venue was a statement of sheer, unadulterated wealth. Down below, the main seating area was already packed with high-ranking diplomats, corporate moguls, and prominent figures from across various industries. Yet, Zavian’s private booth—secluded, bulletproof-glassed, and positioned at the apex of the room—was reserved exclusively for him.

​Zavian took his seat in the plush leather armchair, resting his chin on a gloved hand as he stared indifferently at the stage below.

​Lucian stepped up behind him, slipping seamlessly back into his professional role. “The preliminary verification is complete, sir,” Lucian reported in a low, even tone. “The catalog features twelve primary lots tonight. The main target—Formula 5—is officially listed as Item #10.”

​Zavian nodded once, his gaze fixed on the empty podium.

​Down on the stage, the auctioneer stepped up to the microphone. With a polished, concise opening speech that spared no unnecessary pleasantries, the bidding officially commenced.

​The first six items passed in a blur of escalating numbers. Rare antiques, canvas paintings from long-dead masters, and vintage timepieces were paraded across the stage, fetching astronomical prices as the wealthy crowd competed for status. Zavian remained entirely motionless, not paying the slightest bit of attention to the lower-tier items.

​Then, the host signaled for Item #7.

​A velvet-lined display case was carried out by two guards. Resting inside was a delicate, intricate necklace. Crafted from an uncommon pale gold and embedded with radiant, fiery gemstones, it seemed to catch the stage lights and give off a warm, impossibly bright glow.

​Up in the VIP booth, Zavian’s eyes drifted casually toward the stage—and froze.

​For a split second, the heavy, calculated fog in his mind cleared. A vision flashed sharp and vivid across his memory: a warm, soft face, eyes bright with an unsettling kind of gentleness. The suddenness of the recollection struck him like an unexpected physical impact. His pulse spiked, and his fingers tightened imperceptibly against the armrest.

​For the first time in as long as he could remember, Zavian Veyra was genuinely stunned by his own thoughts.

​Where did that come from?

​He forced his expression to remain an unreadable mask, but his mind refused to let go of the warmth the imagery brought.

​Down on the floor, the auctioneer called out, “We begin bidding for this unique 19th-century handcrafted piece at five hundred thousand dollars...”

​“Five million,” Zavian spoke, his voice quiet, calm, and utterly final.

​Lucian, who was standing ready with the bidding console, paused for a fraction of a second before inputting the figure. Down below, the auctioneer blinked, startled by the ten-fold leap from the private VIP box.

​“Five million dollars... going once, twice... Sold to the VIP Suite.”

​Behind Zavian, Lucian kept his face entirely neutral, but inwardly, his mind was racing through a series of wild, bewildered conjectures. Five million? On a decorative piece of jewelry? First, he risks everything to personally pull Ms. Ashford out of a wrecked vehicle, and now he’s impulsively buying delicate trinkets at ten times their valuation? Is the boss actually turning human? Should I be worried, or should I order a medical scan?

​The temporary distraction vanished as quickly as it had arrived. Two items later, the stage lights dimmed slightly, and a heavy metallic container was brought to the podium.

​“Item #10,” the auctioneer announced, his tone sharpening. “The sole synthesized strain of Formula 5. Opening bid starts at two million dollars.”

​The room erupted immediately.

​“Three million!”

“Five million!”

“Eight!”

“Ten million!”

​In less than sixty seconds, the price doubled and redoubled. But as the figure crossed the ten-million mark, the frantic calls from the main floor began to taper off, leaving only one other bidder actively competing—a private box located directly across the auditorium from Zavian’s.

​Every time Zavian’s console incremented the bid, the opposing booth countered instantly.

​15 million.

20 million.

25 million.

​The rest of the hall went completely silent, realizing a war of titans was happening above their heads.

​Zavian didn’t even look up from the glass. He gave a microscopic tilt of his head toward Lucian.

​Lucian instantly understood. “I’ll identify them, sir.”

​He slipped out of the private suite, returning in under three minutes while the bid was rapidly climbing past thirty million dollars.

​“It’s the White family,” Lucian murmured, leaning down slightly. “Their medical research wing is attempting to secure the patent rights for their regional institutes. They’re prepared to push heavily for it.”

​Zavian’s expression didn’t shift. Without a word, he reached over to the control panel on his armrest and pressed a small, red toggle switch: Indefinite Automatic Raise.

​The system immediately locked into an automated algorithm. Whatever number the White family entered, Zavian’s account would automatically counter with a higher bid within a millisecond.

​The digital board above the stage began ticking rapidly.

​35,000,000...

42,000,000...

48,000,000...

50,000,000...

​A collective, audible gasp echoed from the crowd below. Fifty million dollars for a chemical formula was unheard of, even in the grey-market circles of the Valer Casino.

​Across the hall, the indicator light on the White family’s booth flickered once, twice... and went dark.

​“Fifty million dollars... set at fifty-point-five million,” the auctioneer breathed, wiping sweat from his brow. “Going once... twice... Sold!”

​“We’re done here,” Zavian said, standing up the instant the gavel struck the sound block.

​He adjusted his dark coat and walked toward the exit of the VIP corridor, Lucian following a pace behind. As they stepped out into the carpeted hallway, the heavy double doors of the innermost private room swung open directly opposite them.

​A tall, impeccably dressed man with a bright, easygoing smile stepped out, flanked by two assistants.

​“Zavian?” Daren White stopped in his tracks, blinking in genuine astonishment before a wide grin broke across his face. “Are you kidding me? Tell me you weren’t the maniac sitting in Suite A!”

​Zavian stopped, his gaze cool as he looked at his longtime friend.

​Daren strode forward, completely ignoring the icy atmosphere Zavian naturally radiated. “Man, if I knew it was you sitting over there throwing around fifty million bucks like pocket change, I wouldn’t have wasted my time pushing the button! You nearly gave my head of research a heart attack!”

​“You should train your research department to know when they’re outmatched,” Zavian said smoothly, his voice lacking any real malice, though his tone remained deadpan.

​Daren laughed, clapping Zavian on the shoulder—a gesture that made Lucian silently wince in the background. “Always a pleasure, Zavian. Always so warm and welcoming. You haven’t changed a bit.” Daren shook his head as they began walking toward the private elevator together. “Seriously though, it’s been months since you dropped by the club. You’ve been acting like a ghost lately.”

​“I’ve been busy,” Zavian replied plainly.

​“Right, busy acquiring half the city,” Daren teased. Then, his tone shifted slightly, adopting a lighter, gossipy edge. “Oh, by the way—Jared is finally back from his trip abroad. Landed yesterday. We’re getting the group together this weekend, and you don’t get to skip out this time.”

​They stepped into the spacious VIP elevator, descending toward the secure exit. Daren continued chatting effortlessly, his cheerful, energetic banter bouncing off Zavian’s quiet, indifferent composure all the way to the private valet bay.

​Behind them, Lucian adjusted his cuffs, silently reviewing the evening’s events. Between the sudden five-million-dollar necklace, the cold-blooded fifty-million-dollar bidding war, and Daren White’s relentless enthusiasm, it had certainly been an eventful night.