Lagos at night smelled of money and desperation.
The penthouse auction hall on Victoria Island glittered like a fever dream—black marble floors reflecting crystal chandeliers, velvet-draped pedestals, and the low murmur of people who measured worth in millions. Zara Kane stood near the back wall in a charcoal blazer sharp enough to cut glass, arms crossed, watching the room the way she watched blueprints: searching for structural weaknesses.
She hadn't come for art.
She'd come for a locket.
Her grandmother's journal—yellowed pages Zara had read until the ink blurred—described it in obsessive detail: 18th-century silver, ruby heart the color of fresh blood, vines etched so deeply they looked alive. The last entry, written two days before the old woman died:
"Find it. Melt it. End this."
Zara had no intention of keeping it. She would extract the ruby, sell the metal for scrap, and finally close the chapter her grandmother never could. Sentiment was a luxury she couldn't afford—not with the museum redesign bid due in forty-eight hours, not with her firm teetering on the edge of collapse.
The auctioneer's voice sliced through the chatter.
"Lot 47. The Voss Locket. Provenance: Calabar, 1897. Opening bid: 12 million."
A ripple of interest. Paddles rose lazily.
Zara lifted hers.
"₦15 million."
Heads turned. She felt the weight of eyes—curious, dismissive, predatory.
Then a new voice, low and amused, cut from the front row.
"18 million."
She knew who it was before she looked.
Elias Voss rose slowly, black suit tailored to violence, shoulders broad enough to block light. He didn't hold up a paddle; he simply spoke, and the room obeyed. Dark skin, sharper cheekbones, eyes the color of storm clouds before lightning. A man who collected things the way other men collected enemies: ruthlessly, permanently.
Their gazes locked across twenty feet of opulent air.
Zara felt it in her sternum—like the first crack in concrete under too much load.
She raised her paddle again.
"20 million."
A soft laugh from him. Not loud. Just enough to reach her.
"30 million."
The room went still.
Zara's jaw tightened. She could feel her pulse in her fingertips. Thirty million naira for a trinket she planned to destroy. It was obscene. It was personal.
She opened her mouth.
The auctioneer slammed the gavel before the words left her lips.
"Sold. To Mr. Voss."
Applause—polite, envious.
Elias didn't smile. He simply inclined his head toward the pedestal, then toward her. An invitation. A dare.
Security parted as he approached the display case. Zara moved before she could think better of it, heels clicking like gunfire on marble.
He lifted the locket from its velvet bed with gloved fingers. Tarnished silver caught the light. The ruby pulsed once—impossibly—like a heartbeat.
Zara stopped two paces away.
"You don't even know what it is," she said.
His eyes flicked to her.
"I know exactly what it is."
He thumbed the clasp.
The room dimmed.
Not metaphorically. The chandeliers flickered. Air turned thick with ozone and old roses.
Inside the locket: a tiny portrait of a woman whose eyes followed movement. Her lips curved in something too knowing.
Elias's thumb brushed the ruby.
A pulse of heat shot through Zara's chest.
The locket jerked from his hand like it had been yanked by wire.
Instinct made her catch it.
Fingertips met knuckles.
Blue-white arcs snapped between their skin—sharp, electric, hungry.
Zara gasped.
Elias hissed.
They both let go at once. The locket clattered to the marble.
Pain lingered in her palm like a brand, but beneath it—deeper, worse—something warm uncoiled low in her belly. Want. Violent. Unasked for.
Security rushed forward.
Elias raised one hand. They froze.
"Out," he said quietly.
They left.
Silence pressed in.
Zara rubbed her wrist. The skin was unmarked, yet she could still feel the echo of his touch crawling under her veins.
"What the hell was that?" she demanded.
He flexed his own hand, staring at the faint red imprint.
"You tell me, architect. You're the one who grabbed it like it belonged to you."
"I didn't—" She stopped. Her breath came shallow. The air between them felt charged, like the moment before lightning.
He stepped closer. Not touching. Close enough she could smell cedar, expensive wool, and something darker underneath.
"You felt it," he said. Not a question.
She lifted her chin.
"I felt you being careless with something that isn't yours."
A slow smile. Dangerous.
"Everything is mine if I want it badly enough."
The ruby in the locket—still on the floor between them—flared once, soft crimson.
A voice—not sound, but pressure inside her skull—whispered:
Zara Kane… Elias Voss… two hearts bound by spite…
They both froze.
The portrait woman blinked.
Zara's heart slammed against her ribs.
Elias crouched slowly, eyes never leaving hers, and picked up the locket.
He held it out—chain dangling, ruby pulsing like a second heartbeat.
"Open it again," she said, voice barely above a whisper.
He did.
The vines etched on the silver began to move—curling, reaching toward their hands.
The whisper returned, louder, layered, intimate:
"Touch in anger, spark in pain.
Touch in want… and never be the same."
The ruby flared bright enough to burn retinas.
Elias slammed the clasp shut.
Too late.
The lights in the penthouse died completely.
Darkness swallowed them.
And in that perfect black, Zara felt it: the curse already sinking hooks into her bloodstream.
She couldn't see him.
But she could feel him—warmth radiating, breath close enough to graze her cheek.
His voice came low, wrecked.
"We're not leaving this room until we understand what just happened."
A beat.
Then, softer, almost reverent:
"And neither are you."
Zara's pulse roared in her ears.
She should have run.
Instead she reached out in the dark—fingers searching for the lapel of his suit, for something solid in the chaos.
Her hand met his chest.
No sparks this time.
Just heat.
And the unmistakable thud of his heart racing as fast as hers.
The lights flickered back on—dim, unsteady.
They stood inches apart.
Neither moved away.
The locket hung between them like a guillotine.
And somewhere deep inside Zara's mind, the whisper laughed.