The dimly lit hall smelled of aged wood, expensive cigars, and the faint metallic tang of money changing hands. Crystal chandeliers hung from the high ceiling, refracting the soft light over the polished marble floor where well-dressed men and women moved like predators in a carefully orchestrated dance. Dominika Morozova entered with quiet authority, her heels clicking against the marble, each step measured, deliberate, a subtle announcement of power. She didn’t need to look around; the room seemed to recognize her presence, a hush rippling through clusters of bidders as they instinctively gave her space.

She glided past the tables and ornate displays, her pale blue eyes scanning the crowd with calculated precision. Men murmured greetings, nodding deferentially, while women in velvet gowns darted glances of envy and curiosity. Some whispered her name, others barely dared, their voices trembling like leaves in the wind. Dominika’s attention was focused, purposeful, and unwavering. She wasn’t here for conversation or networking—she was here for the prize she had already sensed, though she didn’t yet know where it would appear.

A few men tried to engage her in idle talk, complimenting her attire or offering rumors of upcoming acquisitions. She nodded once or twice, polite but cold, letting her eyes scan the elevated platform at the far end of the room where the auction would take place. “Interesting piece,” one bidder said, gesturing vaguely at a young girl sitting quietly on the platform, a soft pink scarf draped over her shoulders, her gaze shy and hesitant as she clutched her hands together. “She’s worth every ruble, maybe more. Some wealthy collector has their eye on her.”

Dominika’s lips curved into the faintest smile. She leaned forward slightly, resting a gloved hand on the back of a chair. “Worth more than anyone realizes,” she murmured, her voice low, like ice sliding over velvet. The man blinked, startled by her intensity, then nodded quickly. He did not press further.