Nearly twenty years had slipped away since Bella Morgan Evan was forced into exile from the city's relentless pulse to the quiet countryside. Now, beneath the towering skyline of glass and steel, she returned—not as a defeated shadow, but as a storm carved by years of silent fury and unwavering resolve.
The city's evening lights flickered like distant stars, reflecting on rain-slicked cobblestones. The distant hum of traffic mixed with the muffled chatter from upscale restaurants and the occasional flash of camera phones. But Bella moved through the streets like a queen reclaiming her birthright, her every step purposeful, her sharp silhouette cutting through the crowd like a blade through silk.
Her destination loomed ahead: the grand auction house, a neoclassical masterpiece nestled among cold modern towers. Its facade was illuminated by soft amber lights that bathed the limestone columns and intricately carved reliefs—the very stones whispering secrets of a legacy tangled in power and betrayal.
Inside, the atmosphere was electric. The scent of polished wood mingled with expensive perfume, and the faint metallic tang of anticipation filled the air. The grand hall was a temple of wealth and influence, its crimson velvet walls absorbing murmurs of scheming elites dressed in tuxedos and gowns that glittered like stars.
At the center, beneath a glass case lined in midnight velvet, rested the prize: a vintage pendant of exquisite craftsmanship. Intricate gold filigree embraced a deep sapphire, pulsing quietly with the legacy of the Morgan family.
This pendant was more than an heirloom—it was a symbol of what Bella had lost. The Florence Museum, built by her mother Marissa Morgan Evan and her maternal grandfather, stood as a testament to a family's vision. Now, those who had schemed in shadows sought to claim it all. The museum's ownership, her mother's shares in the family estate, everything was tangled in the hands of her stepmother Arina and the people who had driven Bella away.
Bella's jaw tightened. Tonight, she came to reclaim not only a pendant but the legacy stolen from her and avenge her mother's death..
Then, from the edge of the room, a familiar figure stepped forward—tall, confident, and dangerous.
Lewis De Salvo.
His black suit hugged his powerful frame like armor. In his arms, nestled against his chest, was a small child not older than two and a half years. The boy's soft hair tousled as he slept peacefully, clutching Lewis's shirt with a tiny hand.
Their eyes met—hers sharp and unyielding, his dark and challenging.
A flash of memory—Lewis calling her "little one" when she was ten, a nickname dripping with mockery and a strange tenderness.
The auctioneer's voice rang out, crisp and commanding:
"Lot 27: a vintage pendant from the private collection of Marissa Morgan Evan."
Bella didn't hesitate. Her paddle snapped up, sharp and deliberate—a clear challenge in the grand hall's tense silence.
Lewis's dark eyes sparkled with mischief as he smoothly raised his own paddle, his gaze locking with hers. The silent duel was on.
The bidding began.
"Two hundred thousand," Bella called, voice steady.
Lewis smiled—a slow, knowing grin that was part provocation, part pure enjoyment.
"Two fifty," he replied, eyes gleaming with the thrill of the game.
Bella's jaw clenched, but her paddle rose again.
"Three hundred."
Lewis chuckled softly, the sound low and teasing. "Three fifty."
He shifted the little boy in his arms slightly, careful not to wake him, then leaned in just enough so only Bella could hear.
"You know, little one, I always did like making you mad."
Bella's eyes flashed fire, but she held her ground, refusing to break.
The numbers climbed higher.
"Four hundred."
Lewis's grin grew wider, a spark of challenge bright in his eyes.
"Four fifty."
This never changes, Lewis thought, amusement bubbling beneath the surface. She's as stubborn as ever. And I love pushing her buttons.
Bella's glare sharpened, a silent promise in her unwavering stare.
The crowd watched, caught between awe and whispered bets.
Finally, Lewis raised the paddle once more.
"Five hundred thousand."
The gavel fell, sharp and final.
"Sold. To Mr. De Salvo."
Lewis tucked the pendant away with a victorious smirk and glanced at Bella.
"Better luck next time, little one."
Bella's lips twitched in a reluctant, fierce smile.
Not over. Not yet.