Chapter One: The Auction
The room buzzed with a mix of champagne-fueled laughter and high-stakes tension. Velvet drapes hung heavy from the high ceilings, casting shadows over the rows of elegantly dressed bidders. Spotlights illuminated the raised platform at the front, where men were being paraded like luxury prizes — all part of the annual Midnight Hearts Charity Auction, a playground for the rich and the ridiculous.
Sienna Blake stood near the back, half hidden by a marble pillar and fully intending to stay that way.
"This is insane," she murmured, adjusting the neckline of her borrowed cocktail dress for the tenth time. "Why did I let you talk me into this?"
Ava grinned, swirling her champagne. Her red lipstick matched the boldness in her eyes. "Because you've been holed up in your studio for three weeks straight, and I refuse to let you die covered in paint and granola bars."
"I like paint. And granola bars," Sienna replied dryly.
"Yeah, but you're twenty-seven, stunning, and single. You should be out there causing problems, not hiding behind canvases."
Sienna sighed, but a reluctant smile tugged at her lips. Ava was relentless and impossible to argue with for too long. Tonight had been Ava's idea — free food, fancier drinks, and the added bonus of mocking the absurdity of ultra-wealthy women bidding tens of thousands of dollars for a night with the most eligible bachelors in Manhattan.
It had been entertaining. Until it wasn't.
Because now the numbers were climbing. Fast.
"Forty-five thousand," a woman with flawless bone structure purred, her diamond-studded fingers twitching as she lifted her paddle.
"Forty-eight!" someone else countered.
"Fifty thousand!" another called, each voice dripping with confidence, entitlement, and the kind of money Sienna could barely wrap her head around.
She crossed her arms, watching with the detached curiosity of someone observing a lion feeding frenzy from a safe distance.
Until Ava leaned over and shoved something into her hand.
A bidding paddle.
Sienna blinked at it, then looked up at her friend like she'd lost her damn mind.
Ava's eyes sparkled with devilish glee. "Come on. Live a little."
"Not in this lifetime." Sienna tried to hand it back, but Ava refused to take it.
Before she could protest further, the auctioneer introduced the next "lot" — and the room shifted.
Adrian Blackwell stepped onto the platform like he owned it. Because he probably did.
The crowd stilled. Not a whisper, not a clink of glass. Just the sharp buzz of anticipation hanging thick in the air.
Sienna had heard his name before, of course. Everyone had. Adrian Blackwell was a storm dressed in a designer suit — billionaire CEO, ruthless investor, man of very few words, and even fewer public appearances. He wasn't the kind of man you accidentally ran into. He was the kind of man you read about in headlines… or whispered about at cocktail parties with fake concern and real fascination.
Tonight, he was here. In the flesh.
And God helped her. He was beautiful.
Tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in a tailored black suit that made the rest of the room look like amateurs. His face was cut from stone — sharp jawline, dark eyes, lips that didn't seem like they smiled often. He didn't wave or pose or charm the audience. He just stood there, still and silent, like he knew he didn't have to do a damn thing to win.
The bidding started at thirty thousand.
Within seconds, it escalated into the fifties.
Sienna watched, frozen, as Ava turned toward her with a wicked grin.
"You should bid," she whispered.
Sienna choked on air. "Are you out of your mind?"
Ava shrugged, entirely unbothered. "Just for fun."
"There is no version of this that ends in fun," she hissed. "That man looks like he eats people for breakfast."
"That's what makes it fun."
And then, against all logic, all reason — and probably some higher law of the universe — Sienna raised the paddle.
It wasn't high. It wasn't confident.
But it was just enough.
"Sixty thousand," she said and immediately regretted every decision she'd made leading up to this moment.
The room went silent.
Every head turned. Every stare found her.
Adrian Blackwell's gaze sliced through the air like a scalpel.
Sienna went still.
He saw her. No, he saw through her. Like she'd just placed herself on the slab, willingly.
His expression didn't change — not outwardly. But something in the air shifted. He was no longer just standing there. He was watching. Studying.
Curious.
And maybe just a little amused.
"Oh no," Sienna whispered, lowering the paddle with shaking fingers. "This isn't happening."
The auctioneer practically clapped his hands. "Sixty thousand! Going once!"
Sienna looked at Ava, who was now clutching her champagne flute like it was her lifeline, eyes wide with gleeful horror.
"Going twice…"
Sienna tried to speak, to take it back, to vanish through the floor.
Too late.
"SOLD! To the young lady in the back!"
Applause. Laughter. Scattered cheers.
Sienna's stomach dropped to her heels.
Ava lost it completely, laughing so hard she had to sit down.
"You bought Adrian Blackwell," she gasped between cackles. "You insane, beautiful idiot."
Sienna couldn't feel her legs.
"I was joking," she whispered. "I didn't mean it. That wasn't real."
"It was real enough for him," Ava said, nodding toward the stage.
Adrian hadn't moved. But he was still watching her. Like he was trying to decide what exactly she was.
A threat?
A challenge?
A joke?
Or something else entirely?
Sienna broke eye contact first. Not because she wanted to — but because she had to. Holding his gaze felt like walking a tightrope with no net. One slip, and you're done.
"Oh god," she muttered, grabbing Ava's arm. "We need to leave. I need to leave."
"You need to breathe," Ava corrected. "And maybe sit. And possibly fan yourself before you spontaneously combust."
Sienna didn't laugh. Couldn't. Her heart was pounding like she'd just run a marathon in stilettos. Her skin was flushed, her mouth dry.
She was not the kind of girl who bid sixty grand on mysterious billionaires.
She painted. She lived in a loft with bad insulation and no dishwasher. She bought her wine based on the prettiest label under $10. This was not her world.
And yet… she'd just cracked it open with one word.
Sixty.
What the hell happens now?
---
Backstage, things moved fast.
An assistant approached her before she could escape out the side door, her earpiece buzzing and her clipboard at the ready.
"Miss Blake? If you'll come with me, we'll get everything arranged."
Sienna blinked. "I—what?"
"Your date with Mr. Blackwell."
Oh. Right.
That.
Ava squeezed her hand. "Go. You bought him, babe. Might as well collect your prize."
Sienna wanted to die.
Instead, she followed the assistant down a hallway lined with velvet ropes and security guards.
Her palms were sweating. Her mind screamed. Her instincts said run.
But something else… something deeper, darker… whispered stay.
The assistant stopped in front of a set of doors and nodded. "He's waiting inside."
Then she was gone.
Leaving Sienna alone in front of a room that felt more like a trap than anything else.
She hesitated.
Then, I opened the door.
Adrian Blackwell stood near the window, back to her, looking out over the city like a man surveying his kingdom.
He turned at the sound of the door.
Up close, he was even more unreal.
And terrifying.
And captivating.
Neither of them spoke.
Not for a long moment.
Then—
"You don't belong here."
Sienna flinched but met his gaze.
"I know."
"Then why are you here?"
She swallowed. "My friend dared me. I thought… I didn't think I'd win.""
"You bid sixty thousand dollars on a dare."
"Technically, she dared me to raise the paddle. The number just kind of… happened."
His head tilted slightly. "And now you've won a date you don't want."
Sienna hesitated.
"I didn't say that."
His brow lifted — barely — but the shift was palpable.
"You're not what I expected," he said finally, stepping closer.
Neither are you, she thought.
Out loud, she said, "So… how does this work?"
He smiled. Not kindly. Not warmly.
But it was a smile.
Sharp and slow and deliberate.
"However I want it to."
Sienna's breath caught.
Suddenly, she realized—
This wasn't a joke.
This wasn't a game.
This was the beginning.
And Adrian Blackwell?
He played for keeps.