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"Lot seventeen," the auctioneer announces, "a charming landscape by Hudson River School artist Thomas Cole. We'll start the bidding at five thousand dollars."

I straighten with carefully calibrated interest, letting my breath catch just slightly. "Oh, Marcus," I whisper, loud enough for nearby tables to hear. "I've loved his work since college. Do you think...?"

Marcus puffs up with masculine pride, exactly as I knew he would. "Of course, darling. Consider it an early Christmas present."

"Six thousand," he calls out, raising his paddle with the casual confidence of someone who's never had to worry about money.

I lean closer to him, my lips brushing his ear as I whisper my thanks. From the corner of my eye, I notice Graham Ellsworth still watching, his attention split between the auction proceedings and our little tableau. The intensity of his focus sends an unexpected thrill down my spine.

When the bidding reaches seven thousand, I raise my own paddle, playing up the excitement of a novice who's gotten caught up in the moment. "Sorry," I stage-whisper to Marcus. "I got carried away."

He laughs indulgently, and we continue the charade as the price climbs. Other bidders drop out as we push past ten thousand, then twelve, then fifteen. By the time the gavel falls, declaring me the winner at fifteen thousand dollars, I'm practically vibrating with manufactured enthusiasm.

"Sold to the lady in red for fifteen thousand dollars!"

I clap my hands together in delight—not entirely manufactured, since this represents a tidy profit on our initial investment—and throw my arms around Marcus in celebration. He looks slightly stunned by the final price, but recovers quickly, basking in the attention from nearby tables.

"Congratulations, darling," he says, though I can practically see him calculating the dent in his evening's entertainment budget.

"I can't believe we got it," I gush, maintaining the performance even though the hard part is over. "Thank you so much. This is the most incredible night."

As we settle back into our seats and the auction moves on to the next lot, I'm acutely aware that Graham Ellsworth's attention hasn't wavered. If anything, his interest seems to have intensified after watching our little performance.

Part of me knows I should be concerned. Men like Graham Ellsworth don't get where they are by being easy to fool. If he's suspicious of me, it could complicate everything I've worked toward.

But another part of me—the part that's been playing it safe for too long, taking smaller scores, staying in the shadows—is intrigued by the challenge he represents. Graham Ellsworth isn't just wealthy; he's dangerous. The kind of man who could either destroy me completely or elevate me to levels I've never imagined.

The auction continues around us, but I find my attention split between maintaining my cover with Marcus and stealing glances at the man who's managed to completely captivate my interest in the span of a single evening.

When the final lot is sold and the crowd begins to disperse, I'm not entirely surprised to see Graham Ellsworth making his way through the crowd in our direction. Every step is measured, purposeful, like a predator who's identified his target and is moving in for the kill.

Marcus notices him approaching and straightens defensively, clearly recognizing the threat even if he doesn't understand its nature.

But I'm not afraid. If anything, I'm exhilarated. Finally, a worthy opponent.

The game is about to get interesting.