bChapter /bb187 /b

OLIVIA’S POV

The whispers grew louder and louder around us, like a restless sea of curiosity.

“Who is this woman?” I heard someone murmur to theirpanion, their gaze locked on me as if trying to read beneath the mask.

“That dress… that’s from Armani. It’s worth over a hundred thousand dors,” another voice whispered, awecing every syble.

“The dress fits her so well. Who could she possibly be?” came yet another voice, soft and breathless with intrigue.

Thatstment made the corners of my lips curl into the smallest, most satisfied smile. This was precisely why I had chosen this dress, why I had paid such an obscene amount for it–it wasn’t just to wear something expensive, but to make an impression no one here would forget. And by the eyes followed every step I took, I could already tell it was working

way their

As Damien and I walked deeper into the grand hall, I could feel the weight of countless eyes clinging to me. It wasn’t entirely new–I’d been in benough /bbusiness meetings and gs to recognize when I’d be the center of attention–but this was on a different level. There was an almost electric

curiosity in the air.

Damien Yeaned closer, lowering his voice so only I could hear him. “You’re doing it again,” he teased

My brows furrowed slightly, genuinely puzzled. “Doing what?” I asked, ncing sideways at him.

He let out a low chuckle, eyes glinting with mischief. “You’ve stolen everyone’s attention. All eyes are on you–and to be honest, I can’t me them.”

A softugh escaped me, the tension in my shoulders easing for just a moment. “Maybe that’s the point,” I murmured back, allowing myself ba /bmoment of

amusement.

The marble floors reflected the soft golden light from the chandeliers above, and every step of my heels echoed through the vastness of the space. Even surrounded by luxury, I knew I was still the most captivating thing in the hall–and I didn’t say that out of arrogance, but out of carefully calcted

intent.

We moved further inside, nked by two of my bodyguards, ra walking just a step behind, her eyes scanning the room for any sign of trouble. Ahead

of us, the police officer I’d hired for today’s protection walked briskly, clearing a path without ever needing to speak. It was an unusual sight, a billionaire walking into an auction with such visible security–but in my case, it was a necessary precaution, and perhaps it only added to the mystery for the

onlookers.

A man in a finely tailored suit approached, his steps brisk and polite. His face was unfamiliar, but there was something in his posture-a forced kind of confidence–that told me he was trying to guess who I was. He stopped before us and offered a respectful bow.

“A good day to you, ma’am,” he greeted, then inclined his head to Damien. “And to you, sir.”

So, he didn’t know exactly who I was, then. The polite charm was the same I’d seen countless times from event managers, eager to impress anyone who might have deep enough pockets to spend a fortune. Especially someone who drew as many eyes as I did.

“I’m the manager here,” he continued, gesturing elegantly to the walls adorned with paintings and delicate sculptures on raised pedestals. “Would byou /blike to see some of the finest paintings in the world, all up for auction today?”

I offered him a cool, practiced smile. “Not quite,” I said, voice steady and soft, yet carrying unmistakable authority.

“My eyes are already on the grandest prize,” I added, the words tasting like quiet determination.

Understanding flickered in his expression, and his posture seemed to straighten a little more. “Ah, then you must be referring to the Rolls–Royce bck /bHeart,” he said, the faintest hint of excitement creeping into his tone.

I simply nodded, the diamonds on my dress catching the light with even that small movement.

14.40 Monb, /b14

“Well then,” he said, leaning in slightly, lowering his voice, “you may have quite a handful ofpetition for it, ma’am. It’s been drawing attention since it was announced.”

I tilted my head, letting a confident smile curve my lips beneath the mask. “I wouldn’t worry about that,” I replied. My voice was calm, yet each bword /bdripped with certainty. If there was one thing I knew how to do, it was win.

His gaze lingered on me for a second longer before he nodded politely. “In that case, please follow me,” he said, turning to guide us toward ba /bbmarble /bregistration table at the edge of the hall.

We walked together, my dress trailing elegantly across the polished floor, drawing every gaze in the room like a moth ito /ime. Damien kept close bby /bbmy /bside, his expression a blend of quiet amusement and protective watchfulness.

At the table, the manager gestured to a thick, leather–bound ledger. “Please, write your name here to register for the auction, ma’am,” he instructed.

Just as I was about to type my name in, my hand froze over the tablet’s screen. My fingers hovered for a second, and my mind worked faster than my heartbeat. If Twrote my real name down now, what was the use of the mask? I’d basically be handing over my identity on a silver tter to every curious pair of eyes in this hall.

The manager, who had been watching me carefully, tilted his head. “Is there a problem, ma’am?” he asked, his tone polite but edged with confusion.

“Yes,” I said, lifting my gaze to meet his. “The whole process of wearing this mask is to keep my identity hidden. If I write down my name, I might as well take off the mask entirely, don’t you think?”

He cleared his throat awkwardly, his gaze shifting from the mask to the tablet in my hand. “I understand, but… it is mandatory, especially if you want to join the auction for this special car,” he said, his words trailing off bas /bhe seemed to realize who he was speaking to.

“But there can always be an exception,” I replied calmly, my voice carrying a quiet authority that came naturally after years of leading boardrooms full of stubborn executives. I let my words hang in the air, watching him carefully, knowing he’d catch my meaning sooner orter.

The manager hesitated only a moment before lowering his gaze. “If you insist, ma’am,” he said atst, his voice softening with reluctant agreement.

With a small smile, I turned around and gave ra, who had ibeen /istanding close behind us, a small nod. She stepped forward gracefully, already understanding what I wanted without me saying a word. That was the thing about having someone like ra by your side for years: words often became

unnecessary.

Together, we left the registration table and entered the main auction hall. The moment my heels crossed the threshold, I found myself silently admiring the interior. This hall was different–distinct from the other rooms we’d walked through earlier. The walls were painted a sleek, dark ck that shimmered subtly under the warm lighting, giving the space an air bof /bexclusivity and quiet power.

It almost felt like stepping into another world: refined, reserved, yet demanding of respect. Unlike the earlier halls that arranged rows of separate chairs like a high school assembly, this hall had a long, elegant circr couch that embraced the center of attention: the car.

My eyes followed the sweep of the couch until theynded on it. The spotlight in the room seemed to bow down before the Rolls–Royce, its polished ck surface catching the light in a way that made it look almost alive. The deep, midnight color reflected the subtle gold ents of the roomb, /bcreating an image so breathtaking it almost felt surreal.

I walked over slowly, savoring the moment, my gown trailing lightly behind me. The diamonds on my dress caught the soft light, and for a bmoment/bb, /bI felt like silent shadows. Damien stepped forward and every pair of eyes follow my movement. ra and the two bodyguards took their positions behind me, took a seat beside me on the couch, his posture rxed but alert.

I sat down gracefully, smoothing the folds of my gown over my knees. From this close, the car’s beauty felt even more overwhelming. bIt /bbwasn’t /bjust metal and leather; it was a statement of everything I’d built, everything I’d lost, and everything I was determined to reim.

But before I could lose myself in the shine of the Rolls–Royce, the doors

away.

isto /i

the hall opened with a quiet yetmanding sound that bpulled /bbmy /bbattention /b

bA /bfigure stepped in, tall andposed. My breath caught in my throat as recognition hit me like cold water.

bIt /bhad bbeen /bover five years, yet there he stood bas /bbif /btime had barely touched him. Adrian bWestwood/b.

b14:40 /bMon, 14 Jul

Memories rushed back, uninvited: his voice in the dark, the moments when trust felt easy, the chick and pain of betrayal that had nearly had no i felt a flicker of old anger stir in my chest, quickly reced by something calmly but colder

He walked with the same confident ease 1 remembered, dressed in an impable suit that looked tailored just for him e gazetaress the Hall, indifferent to the murmurs he left in his wake, until itnded on me- or rather, the masked woman sitting beside a billionaire, her pakstant avid guardent by uniformed officers.