Fated to be Together

Chapter 4: Man in a Mask

As the auction progresses, the bids climb steadily. Excitement crackles in the air, each sale pushing the numbers higher. By the time we reach the eighth piece, the winning bid lands at $3 million.

And now, it’s time for the grand finale.

I step forward, my voice unwavering as I announce, “Our final piece of the evening—Mio Kero.”

Elena glides onto the stage, preening under the golden lights. Around her neck sits the choker—gold filigree, diamonds, and pearls woven together in an intricate display of craftsmanship.

“Mio Kero,” I continue, “means empower in Elvish. This piece is a symbol of strength, power, and resilience. A bold design for those who command attention—not just with beauty, but with presence.”

The bidding starts at $2 million. Hands shoot up instantly.

“Three.”

“Four.”

“Five.”

The numbers climb, faster and higher, the tension thick in the room.

“Six.”

“Seven.”

Then—

“Eight million.”

I nearly drop the microphone.

Kyle.

I whip my head toward him, barely masking my shock. What the hell is he doing?

A hush falls over the room before the auctioneer calls it. Sold.

Kyle strides onto the stage with the arrogance of a man who knows all eyes are on him. He turns to the crowd, flashing his most charming smile. “This necklace is truly special,” he announces, “made even more so by the way it’s been carried and presented tonight.” He turns to Elena, eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

“It is my gift to the wonderful model, Elena, for showing us what beauty and elegance truly mean.”

Applause erupts. People murmur their approval, praising his “generosity.”

Meanwhile, I’m seething.

We had already made $10 million from the other pieces—enough to meet the contract’s minimum. But this? This was supposed to be extra income for the pack. Another layer of security. Not for Kyle to waste on some grand romantic gesture, feeding Elena’s ego and his own insatiable greed.

I clench my jaw, forcing my hands to stay steady.

Not here. Not now. I remind myself, swallowing my fury. Instead, I plaster on a smile, clapping my hands as I lift the microphone.

“How wonderfully generous of you, Alpha Kyle.” My voice is smooth, unwavering. “Now, if we can have the models return to the center stage along with their winning bidders, we will present the contracts and take official photos with each necklace. Once payment is received in full, you may collect your items.”

I turn slightly, my expression still poised. “This is also your opportunity to ask me, Ivy, any questions about the pieces.”

With that, I move to the front of the stage, standing alongside Kyle and Elena as the procession begins. One by one, the models step forward, the winning bidders signing their contracts, cameras flashing with each exchange.

Then, out of nowhere—

A shove.

It happens too fast. Elena stumbles, her arm slamming into me, and suddenly, I’m teetering off the edge of the stage. My ankle twists sharply, a jolt of pain shooting up my leg.

I brace for impact—wood, marble, something unforgiving—squeezing my eyes shut.

But it never comes.

Instead, I land against something firm, strong. A scent surrounds me, rich and intoxicating—woodsy with a hint of spice. My pulse stutters.

I open my eyes.

Grey.

Piercing grey eyes stare down at me, filled with something I don’t expect—concern.

“Are you okay?” His voice is deep, rich, laced with genuine worry.

For a second, I forget to breathe.

I quickly push against his chest, trying to steady myself, to regain control. “I’m fine,” I murmur, attempting to stand. But the moment I put weight on my foot, pain flares white-hot, and I falter.

He catches me again.

“You’ve twisted your ankle,” he murmurs, his tone assessing. “It’s already bruising.”

“I’m okay,” I insist, but before I can protest further, he shifts—effortlessly lifting me into his arms. As if I weigh nothing.

“What the hell—put me down!” My voice is sharp, but panic flares inside me. “Who are you?”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he carries me with an unsettling ease, his grip firm yet careful, weaving through the stunned onlookers before setting me down on a chair.

He crouches before me, gaze flickering to my ankle. “Let me take a look.”

“Hello? Are you deaf?” I snap, my frustration boiling over. “Why are you acting like you can’t hear me?”

Still, he says nothing.

But the way he looks at me, the way his fingers graze my ankle with such unexpected gentleness—

It rattles me more than I care to admit.

He lifts my leg gingerly, inspecting it as if it’s some fragile artifact. “You should probably get an X-ray,” he says, his tone casual. “I’d be worried if you were human, but you’ll be fine in a few hours once your wolf healing kicks in.” He chuckles, the sound low and a bit teasing. “So fragile for a wolf.”

I cross my arms, irritation rising. “Thank you for your unsolicited advice.” I grit my teeth, trying to keep my composure. “And for the record, I am not fragile.”

He laughs again, the sound warm but infuriating. “You’re stubborn and fragile. What a combination.”

I glare at him, my pulse quickening with a mixture of anger and something else I don’t really know.

This is the moment I finally take him in.

He’s tall—at least 6’2”, maybe 6’3”. Broad shoulders, strong arms that stretch the fabric of his black suit, and a confident posture that demands attention. Unlike the other men, he’s not wearing a tie. The first few buttons of his shirt are undone, giving a subtle glimpse of a gold chain nestled against his chest.

And in this crowd of lavishly dressed men, he looks… regal. Effortlessly so. His black hair is perfectly messy, as if every strand is deliberately placed to enhance his sharp features. He could be a supermodel, the kind that walks runways in Paris.

Before I can say another word, Kyle’s voice slices through the air, furious and possessive. “How dare you pick her up?”

He shoves the man, his force jarring, but the stranger doesn’t budge. Instead, his grey eyes flick to Kyle, his expression unreadable but calm.

But I can feel the tension between the two men, a quiet storm that threatens to erupt.

“Alpha Kyle, I was just helping a damsel in distress,” the man says with a smirk, his lips curling slightly at the edges. He called me what?

I glare at him, the audacity of it making my blood boil.

Kyle, realizing all eyes are now on him, quickly composes himself, his posture shifting to one of calm authority. “Thank you for that. I’ll take it from here.”

He turns to me, his gaze narrowing slightly. “You can walk, right, Ivy?” His words aren’t so much a question as a warning.

I look down at my throbbing ankle, biting back the frustration that rises. “Yeah. I should be okay.”

Kyle stands and addresses the crowd, his voice smooth, almost rehearsed. “Okay, folks, enjoy the drinks. Food will be served shortly, and we’ll be heading into the ballroom for the ball soon.”

He glances back at me, his tone shifting again, this time with possessiveness. “Please excuse my dear Ivy and myself as we finalize the details of tonight’s auction.”

He grabs my hand, his grip firm as he pulls me to my feet. The pain in my leg spikes sharply, but I swallow the urge to cry out, focusing all my energy on not showing any weakness.

As he drags me behind the curtain, I dare to glance back. The man in the black mask—Mr. Grey Eyes—frowns, his gaze locked onto me, full of silent intensity. Something in his expression unsettles me.

I quickly turn away, my pulse pounding in my ears, but the memory of his eyes lingers.