Taming Maximilian Cross

Chapter 3: Auction

Luka said nothing after that. He knew when to hold his tongue. Evelyn’s words simply hung in the air as she crossed her legs.

The low murmur of voices dimmed the moment the lights softened. The sound of a single microphone crackling to life filled the vast hall.

A man stepped onto the raised platform at the front, with his face hidden behind a black mask trimmed with gold. His suit gleamed under the stage lights, and his smile, though unseen, was somehow audible in his voice.

“Good evening, esteemed guests of The Viper’s Den,” he began. “Tonight, we offer not just objects of value, but history, artistry, and power. As always, discretion is not only advised, it is guaranteed.”

Applause rippled lightly through the crowd. A few men raised glasses while others leaned forward with predatory anticipation glinting in their eyes. Evelyn didn’t move. She watched in silence, her gaze cool, her mind miles ahead of the room.

The first item was unveiled with theatrical flair as an antique dagger was displayed. It was said to have belonged to a nineteenth-century assassin, its hilt encrusted with rubies. Bidding began immediately. Voices rose and fell like a melody of greed.

“Five hundred thousand.”

“Six.”

“Seven hundred.”

The emcee’s voice carried easily over the hum. “Sold to the gentleman in the silver mask!”

Evelyn didn’t so much as blink. Her fingers tapped once on the armrest impatiently. That wasn’t her father’s missing cargo.

The second item that followed was a set of rare narcotics disguised in perfume vials, smuggled from Eastern Europe. The bidders chuckled, exchanged coded jokes, and raised their placards.

Evelyn leaned slightly toward Luka. “Track the bidders. I want names if you can get them.”

“Yes, miss,” he murmured, discreetly noting details.

The third item was a stolen painting, the fourth, a shipment of unregistered weapons. Each time, her expression hardened, her patience thinning.

By the fifth item, she was leaning back in her seat, one finger tracing the rim of her untouched champagne glass. The sparkle in her eyes had shifted from curiosity to irritation.

Still nothing.

The emcee laughed lightly, his voice carrying across the room. “Ah, but ladies and gentlemen, patience is its own reward, is it not? For our final offering of the night...something truly exquisite. A rare masterpiece, unmatched in rarity and allure.”

Evelyn straightened slightly and Luka caught the subtle movement.

The lights dimmed further, the crowd leaned forward, and with a flourish, attendants pulled back the velvet cover from the stage.

A collective murmur rippled through the audience.

Inside the glass case was a single, intricately carved box of mahogany and iron, and the seal was unmistakable. It bore the Liroux insignia.

Luka froze. “Miss…”

Evelyn’s lips curved, slow and dangerous. “Finally.”

The emcee’s tone turned reverent. “This, dear guests, comes from a very particular source. Its origins… are said to be from one of the oldest families in our world. A family whose name alone commands respect and fear.”

The crowd stirred as whispers began weaving through the air.

“Shall we begin the bidding?” the emcee announced with a flourish. “Starting at one million.”

Bidding erupted instantly. Numbers climbed, hands shot up, but Evelyn remained still.

“Two million.”

“Three.”

“Three and a half!”

Then, silence. The emcee’s gaze swept the crowd.

That was when Evelyn finally raised her placard, her voice cutting through the air like a blade. “Ten million.”

The room instantly froze. Every head turned, including the man on the stage.

Even behind his mask, she could feel his grin falter.

“Ah… ten million?” he repeated, half in disbelief, half in awe.

Evelyn tilted her head, her tone languid and amused. “Was I unclear?”

The hall was silent and no one dared to bid against her. After all, they all think ten is too much for such an antique.

She leaned back, satisfied. Victory was hers, clean, simple, and expected.

Until a voice cut through the silence like a blade.

“Double.”

The single word echoed from the upper mezzanine.

Evelyn’s gaze snapped upward. The crowd followed, murmurs rippling like wildfire. High above, half-shrouded in the dim light, sat a man she hadn’t noticed before. His mask gleamed faintly, gold traced over white, and the tailored vest he wore caught the chandeliers’ light with an effortless opulence.

He sat like a king who didn’t need a throne, with his one leg crossed lazily over the other, gloved hand resting against his knee. And though the distance kept his features in shadow, the curve of his lips was visible.

A smirk.

Evelyn’s jaw tightened. “What the hell—” she muttered under her breath, fury sparking in her eyes.

Luka leaned in, voice low. “Miss, please. Don’t—”

But she was already glaring at the emcee, who looked far too delighted by this sudden turn of events.

“Sold!” the man declared with theatrical flourish. “To the handsome gentleman wearing an elegant white-gold vest corset!”

The crowd erupted with laughter and disbelief. The tension that had held them frozen shattered into chaos. Evelyn’s knuckles went white against her armrest, the only sign of the storm brewing inside her.

The emcee, practically glowing with glee, continued, “And since this is one of tonight’s most exceptional purchases, we’d be honored to hear from the gentleman himself. Sir, would you care to share what drew your interest in such a fine piece?”

Every head turned upward.

The stranger rose slowly from his seat. The movement was deliberate, precise... like a man who was being worshiped.

As he descended the marble staircase, conversation faded to a hush. The only sound was the measured echo of his footsteps. Evelyn watched him approach while her instincts screamed caution.

There was power in his composure.

When he reached the center of the room, he took the offered microphone from the emcee. His voice, when he spoke, carried easily, smooth as aged whiskey and twice as dangerous.

“Why this item?” he repeated, his gaze sweeping over the crowd before settling deliberately and knowingly on Evelyn. “Because I want the one who wants it.”

The words hit her like a shockwave. Evelyn blinked, momentarily dumbfounded. Every calculation she’d made, every assumption about control and power in the room, dissolved in an instant. She was… caught off guard. By him.

Her mind raced. The entire auction hall seemed to narrow, the murmurs of masked guests fading into background noise. He knew. He knew she was the only one who wanted it this badly.

And yet, he didn’t smile, didn’t mock. His presence alone was enough to make her pulse quicken not with fear, but with an irritation she couldn’t quite hide.

Then he spoke again.

“So, to my lady in her..." he paused then continued. "...provocative red dress,” he said, his words carrying through the room like a soft challenge, “if you still want this item… come and see me.”

And just like that, he turned. With the elegance of a predator who knew the rules but never intended to follow them, he stepped through the heavy velvet curtains of the stage and disappeared.

The crowd erupted into whispers, speculation buzzing like electricity, but Evelyn barely noticed. She remained seated, lips pressing into a thin line, trying to steady the sudden storm of emotion...of anger and intrigue.

Luka leaned close as he spoke cautiously. “Miss… what now?”

Evelyn’s eyes didn’t leave the stage curtain. She tilted her head as the faintest smirk tugged at her lips. “Now,” she said,

“I'm gonna go see him.”