Chapter 23
Chapter 23
ROSALIE
The car ride was quiet, except for the low hum of the engine and the occasional soft words from Damien. I stared out the window, watching the city lights blur past, my thoughts as scattered as the glowing trails they left behind.
“You’ll like this,” Damien said suddenly, his tone casual but laced with certainty. “The exhibition. They’re showcasing some rare pieces tonight. It’s not just paintings–there’s sculpture work, too. Unique things.”
I didn’t reply, keeping my eyes on the passing scenery. His voice didn’t falter, though, as he continued.
“There’s one piece I read about in the preview catalog. It’s supposed to be breathtaking–a sculpture of crystal clusters in th shape of roses. Intricate details, set against a desert backdrop. You’d love it.”
His confidence in that last statement made me glance at him. His hands were firm on the wheel, his jaw relaxed. He seemed genuinely invested in whatever this night was supposed to be. A part of me wanted to question his intentions, but I stayed quiet. Instead, I offered him a faint smile, more of reflex than genuine, before turning back to the window.
I felt his eyes on me briefly before he refocused on the road. He didn’t say anything else after that, letting the silence stretch between us again.
When we arrived, the grandeur of the venue caught me off guard. The building was modern and sleek, its glass façade reflecting the night sky. Damien stepped out first and moved to open my door. I hesitated, then took his hand as he offered it, more out of necessity than warmth.
As soon as we stepped out together, the flash of cameras exploded around us. Reporters and photographers swarmed the entrance, shouting questions at Damien. His name echoed in the chaos, mixed with inquiries about business, politics, and
even me.
Damien didn’t so much as glance at them. His hand rested lightly on my back, guiding me forward. “Ignore them,” he murmured under his breath.
I followed his lead, keeping my head down as we made our way inside. The noise of the media faded as the doors closed behind us, replaced by the low hum of polite conversation and the soft strains of classical music. The air smelled faintly of fresh flowers and expensive cologne.
A host greeted Damien with a wide smile, bowing slightly as he led us to a reserved section near the center of the room. It was clear Damien commanded respect here; heads turned as we walked by, whispers trailing in our wake. He was in his element, confident and composed, and yet his focus never seemed to waver from me.
“Comfortable?” he asked once we were seated, his voice quieter now, almost intimate.
I nodded, folding my hands in my lap. The room was beautiful, filled with art that I didn’t dare try to interpret.
A man approached after a while, standing at the center of the room as a staff member wheeled in an easel draped with velvet. “Ladies and gentlemen,” the man began, his voice smooth and practiced. “Welcome to tonight’s art exhibition and auction. We’ll begin with a very special piece, one that has captured the hearts of many even before tonight.”
The welver was pulled back to reveal the sculpture Damien had described earlier: clusters of crystals shaped like roses, rising out of a golden desen. The light hit the crystals, refracting into shimmering colors that danced across the room. The craftsmanship was stunning, so detailed it looked alive.
“This is Fernal Bloom, by renowned artist Elara Kane,” the auctioneer continued. “The starting bid is five hundred thousand
dullars”
There was a matiour of interest, and hands immediately began to rise. Damien leaned forward slightly, his attention fixed s the patte
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Chapter 23
“Five hundred thousand,” someone called.
“Six hundred,” another voice followed quickly.
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Damien’s hand went up smoothly. “Seven hundred thousand.”
I glanced at him, surprised by how calm he looked. The tension in the room was palpable, but he seemed unaffected.
“Eight hundred thousand,” came another bid from a man a few rows down, his voice confident.
Damien’s expression didn’t change. He raised his hand again. “Nine hundred thousand.”
The man turned to look at Damien, his brow lifting slightly as if to challenge him. “One million.”
A soft gasp rippled through the crowd. My stomach twisted as I watched Damien. Surely, he wouldn’t-
“One million, one hundred thousand,” Damien said, his voice steady.
The other man hesitated, his jaw tightening. He looked at Damien for a long moment before lowering his hand. The auctioneer smiled, his gavel poised.
“One million, one hundred thousand dollars going once, going twice… sold!”
The gavel struck, and polite applause filled the room. Damien leaned back in his seat, completely composed, as if he hadn’t just spent over a million dollars on a single piece of art.
I couldn’t help but stare at him. My mind raced, trying to make sense of why he had done it. Did he really care about the sculpture? Or was this about proving something to that man? Or to me?
The room had mostly cleared, leaving just a few lingering guests and the quiet hum of voices in the background. I was still staring at the crystalline sculpture when Damien leaned in closer, his presence cutting through my thoughts.
“Are you wondering why I paid so much for a piece of art?” he asked, his tone calm but holding a hint of something deeper.
I glanced at him and nodded slightly. Of course, I was. Who wouldn’t be?
His lips curved into a faint smile as he tilted his head toward the sculpture. “What do you see when you look at it?”
I looked again, trying to focus on the intricate details. The delicate crystal clusters were arranged perfectly to form the shape of roses, set against a barren desert backdrop. “A rose,” I said quietly.
He smiled again, but this time it reached his eyes. “Exactly. A desert rose. These clusters, shaped like crystals, form naturally in some of the harshest, driest regions in the world. At first glance, it’s just a flower made of stone, but if you look closer, you’ll see its beauty is unique–captivating even.”
His voice dropped slightly, turning softer, almost thoughtful. “What really caught my attention, though, wasn’t just how beautiful it is, but what it stands for. The desert rose thrives in conditions where most things can’t survive. It grows in the harshest environments, enduring challenges that would break anything weaker. Yet, it flourishes.”
I felt his gaze shift to me, and when I turned to meet his eyes, there was an intensity there that made my stomach twist. His voice lowered even further. “When I saw this piece, Rosalie, I knew I couldn’t let it go. It wasn’t just art. It’s a symbol of resilience, of strength in the face of difficulty. And it’s rare–so rare that when you find it, you don’t let it slip away. You hold outon. I had to claim my desert rose because I can’t let anyone else have it.”
The weight of his words settled heavily between us. I couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, as his gaze locked with mine. My heart thudded painfully in my chest, and I was suddenly hyper–aware of the knots twisting tighter in my stomach. He wasn’t just talking about the sculpture. He was talking about me. I knew it, and from the look in his eyes, so did he.
I swallowed hard, breaking the eye contact as i tried to gather myself. My fingers fumbled slightly as I reached for the ela–
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of wine in front of me, needing something to occupy my hands, but as I picked it up, the glass tipped, spilling dark red liquid across my dress. I gasped, instinctively standing to try and brush it off, but the stain spread quickly.
“Oh no,” I muttered, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks. “I-”
Damien groaned softly, but to my surprise, he didn’t seem angry. Instead, he leaned back slightly, his expression more amused than anything else. “Well, now your dress is ruined,” he said with a sigh, though his tone was light. “And here I was, thinking I’d take you out somewhere nice after this.”
I blinked at him, my heart still racing. “I’m sorry,” I said quickly, my voice barely above a whisper.
He waved it off with a slight shake of his head. “Don’t apologize. It’s just a dress.” Then, to my shock, he smirked. “But I guess that means I’ll have to improvise.”
Before I could ask what he meant, he stood and stepped toward me. In one smooth motion, he slid his arms around me and lifted me off the ground. My eyes widened as I found myself cradled in his arms, bridal style, his grip firm but gentle.
“Damien!” I gasped, my voice a mix of surprise and embarrassment. “What are you doing? Put me down!”
He chuckled softly, clearly unfazed by my protests. “Not a chance. You’re a walking stain right now, and we’re not staying here like this.” He turned and began walking toward the exit, carrying me effortlessly while ignoring the curious glances of the remaining guests.
My face burned as I tried to keep my head down, mortified by the attention. “You’re being ridiculous,” I muttered, though I didn’t struggle against him.
“Probably,” he said with a shrug, his tone teasing. “But you’ll thank me later. I have a penthouse nearby. I’ll take you there so you can change.”
The air outside was cool as we stepped into the night, and Damien carried me straight to the car waiting at the curb. He set me down gently in the passenger seat, and for a moment, his hands lingered as he adjusted my seatbelt. His expression was unreadable, but his movements were careful, deliberate.
Once he was in the driver’s seat as well, he glanced at me, his lips curving into a small, almost mischievous smile. “See? Problem solved.”
I didn’t respond, choosing instead to look out the window. My heart was still racing, and I wasn’t sure if it was from embarrassment or something else entirely. Whatever it was, I couldn’t deny the growing knot in my stomach as he pulled into traffic, heading toward the penthouse he’d mentioned.
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