Page 108 of The Auction
And now I’m terrified it still is—just for all the wrong reasons.
The studio is dark except for the silver wash of moonlight spilling through the windows. It paints the floor in long, cold streaks, glinting off the jars of brushes and the edges of my easel.
Some of the canvases are gone.
The big one—the one I’d shoved behind other pieces so no one,especially him, would see it—it’s gone. And not just gone but on display. Hanging on a wall for anyone to look at.
The others too. The pieces I paint when I can’t breathe. When the air feels thick and heavy, and I need somewhere to put the memories before they eat me alive. The ones that bleed my pain in color and shadow. My prison, my invisible scars.
My brother never left a mark that would last on the outside. He was too smart for that. A bruise here and there, gone in days. But inside… inside they never faded.
These paintings—they’re my only way to bleed without breaking skin. And Jaxon just… took them. Put them up like they were trophies.
Tears sting my eyes and slide down my cheeks before I can stop them.
Tonight was so perfect.Hewas so perfect. The way he looked at me at dinner, the way his touch lingered like it meant something more.
It feels like it’s more than the contract. And it can’t be.
I want it to be. God, Iwantit. But there’s something he doesn’t know. The reason I keep refusing him, no matter how badly I want to give in. The reason I started this whole thing in the first place.
And then there were his words, out on the street.
“It was about showing you what I see when I look at you.”
He didn’t see the jagged, ugly pain in those strokes. He didn’t see the bruises that never made it to skin. He sawme. And maybe—just maybe—he was trying to show me that it isn’t ugly. That it’s worth something. Worth showing. Worth being proud of. Even if he doesn’t know the truth of it all.
And now I feel… stupid. Like I was so wrapped up in my fear that I couldn’t see his intention until it was too late.
Like a jerk, because he did all of this for me. Every bit of tonight. Not as part of some deal to get me into his bed, not as leverage, not for the contract.
Just because he cares about me.
And I didn’t let myself realize it until now.
It just feels like this is all too much. My mom’s treatment. The possibility of what may be out there… I don’t know if I can risk it.
But what if he can fix this. What I need fixed. What if he can do it?
If I only told him.
“Jaxon?”
My voice echoes into the stillness, but the penthouse stays quiet—too quiet. The city hums faintly beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, but in here, it feels like everything’s holding its breath.
I’m still in the dress. My heels are abandoned at the elevator door where I bolted away from him, like a coward. Barefoot, I pad over the polished floors, each step a soft whisper in the dark.
The kitchen counter catches my eye—a single sheet of paper sitting in the middle like it’s been waiting for me.
I’ll be back later. I’m sorry.
That last line makes my chest tighten. I trace the words with my fingertips, slow, like maybe I can feel what he was feeling when he wrote them. My throat burns. One tear escapes and slides down my cheek before I can stop it.
I don’t even know how to tell him everything I’m holding inside. But I need to.
I almost want to.
The thought of it knots my stomach. Not yet… but soon. I have to find him first. I have to tell him I’m sorry.
