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Everyone turned toward the sound. Luca and Anya’s heads snapped in the same direction.
Dante.
He sat relaxed in his seat, one arm draped over the back of the chair, but his eyes were locked on them—cold, challenging, and sharp as a blade. He didn’t even glance at the diamond. He only stared at Luca, as if daring him.
Anya’s breath caught.
Luca’s jaw flexed, his fingers curling around the paddle again.
“Eighty,” he bit out, raising the bid without looking away.
“A hundred,” Dante called out immediately.
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
Luca was already lifting his paddle again, jaw tight. “One hundred and twenty-fi—”
“Two hundred million,” Dante cut in, his tone sharp and careless—like he was simply stating the weather.
The crowd burst into a mixture of shocked gasps and murmurs. Even the auctioneer blinked twice, stunned.
Luca tightened his grip on the paddle, a vein ticking along his temple. He was just about to raise it again when Anya reached over and grabbed his hand.
“Don’t,” she whispered. “Let him have it if he wants it that badly.”
He looked down at her, disbelief and irritation flashing in his eyes. “He’s doing this on purpose. It doesn’t matter, Anya. We can afford it. Don’t worry.”
“That diamond isn’t worth more than a hundred and fifty million,” she said, eyes on his. “There’s no point paying double just to prove something to him. Let it go. I don’t even like it that much. I will just get another one.”
Luca hesitated—then finally exhaled and lowered his hand, frustrated but listening to her.
“Two hundred million going once… twice… sold!” the auctioneer finally declared, his voice ringing through the hall.
A murmur spread like wildfire among the guests as the auctioneer raised his hand toward Dante’s table and announced him the winner of the bid.
Luca shook his head slightly, clearly displeased, but Anya gave him a gentle pat on the arm and smiled.
“I’m fine. It doesn’t matter. It wasn’t even that pretty.”
A few rows away, Dante sat as if carved from stone. His jaw was clenched, his posture rigid. Every inch of him radiated tension as his gaze drilled into the two of them whispering together.
The auctioneer approached him with the diamond displayed on a velvet-lined gold platter, but Dante didn’t take it. Instead, he leaned forward and muttered something to the man.
The auctioneer blinked, nodded in absolute shock, and turned on his heel—making his way toward Anya and Luca, who had just stood from their seats, preparing to leave.
“Miss Anya,” the auctioneer said politely, stopping in front of her. “Mr. Kingsley would like to gift this to you.”
All eyes turned to Anya.
But she didn’t even glance at Dante, or the diamond. Her expression didn’t change.
“I don’t want it,” she waved her hand dismissively. “Take it back.”
The auctioneer hesitated, clearly at a loss, glancing over his shoulder toward Dante in growing discomfort.
But before anyone could process what was happening, the sound of firm, determined footsteps echoed through the hall.
Dante was already striding toward her.