Chapter 2

A tall man in a silver suit stepped onto the stage, microphone in hand. The lights dimmed, and a spotlight pinned him in place like a moth.

Before the Vortigen contract was even whispered onto the stage, the room indulged in its appetite for excess. The auctioneer’s voice rang through the hall like an aria of power and privilege.

“Lot One—A château in the French Riviera. Starting bid: five hundred million.”

“Six hundred,” Morpheus said lazily, swirling his wine as if it were blood.

I leaned back in my chair. “One billion.”

Morpheus didn’t even flinch. “Two.”

A murmur rolled through the room.

He was doing it again—turning every bid into a spectacle. I wasn’t about to let him outshine me.

“Three,” I said, lips curled in amusement.

The château was a trophy, nothing more. But it was also a battlefield.

“Sold—to Ms. Casanove.”

The next items paraded through: a rare Fabergé egg, a stolen Banksy resurfaced through legal loopholes, an emerald necklace that once belonged to an exiled queen.

Each item became a skirmish.

“Eight hundred million,” I said for the necklace.

“Nine hundred,” he countered.

“1.2 billion.”

He hesitated.

I smiled. “Sentimental value?”

“Just hate losing,” he replied coolly.

“Sold.”

The crowd was no longer watching the items. They were watching us.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the most awaited event, The Vortigen bid. One of the most exclusive and game-changing contracts in global trade history. The starting bid—ten billion.”

Silence.

Then: “Fifteen billion,” I said, removing one earbud.

“Twenty,” Morpheus responded without missing a beat.

“Thirty.”

“Forty.”

It escalated quickly—billion by billion, voice by voice, until the other bidders were drowned out by the duel.

“Seventy-five billion,” I declared, my voice cutting clean across the room.

Morpheus’s jaw flexed. “Eighty.”

A flick of my wrist. “Eighty-five.”

His smirk twitched. “Ninety.”

I didn’t even blink. “One hundred.”

A gasp rippled across the hall.

The auctioneer raised an eyebrow. “Going once…”

Morpheus raised a hand. “One hundred and forty.”

Silence.

I stood. “One hundred and fifty.”

The hall stopped breathing.

The auctioneer turned. “One hundred and fifty billion, going once… going twice…”

I could feel him watching me—calculating, questioning, wanting to challenge. But this wasn’t about money anymore.

This was personal.

“Sold.”

I exhaled.

The Vortigen contract was mine.

And so was the first win of this war.

Morpheus stood beside me, smiling like he’d just lost a coin toss instead of a kingdom.

“Well played, Casanove,” he said softly. “But this is just the prologue.”

I didn’t look at him. “I hope you brought armor, Leuvremont. Because this is just the beginning.”

IHe smirked—but it was tight, edged with irritation. He leaned in, not close enough to touch, just close enough to let his words slide like silk over a blade.

“Why would I need armor,” he murmured, “when I already have a sword sharp enough to keep you up all night?”

Of course. He wouldn’t let the night end without slipping in one of his signature provocations with double meaning words.

I didn’t flinch. Just met his gaze, cold and steady.

“Winning against you,” I said, voice crisp as shattered glass, “is more than enough to keep me awake tonight.”

His smirk faltered for half a second.

And that was the second win of the night.

His smirk faltered for half a second.

And that was the second win of the night.

I rose slowly, gathering the folds of my gown with calculated grace.

“Excuse me for a bit,” I said, letting a smile ghost across my lips. “I have a contract to sign.”

I didn’t wait for his reply.

Let him stew in the aftermath.