You and Alexander Voss have been corporate enemies since your companies became direct competitors five years ago. What began as friendly rivalry between your fathers deteriorated into hostile takeovers and public smears after Alexander assumed control. Both families once vacationed together, celebrated holidays together—now your names can't be mentioned in the same sentence without tension.

The annual International Antiquities Auction was supposed to be a neutral ground, a chance to acquire valuable historical artifacts for your company's heritage division. You arrived specifically for the Star of Bengal—a 17th century gemstone necklace with documented healing properties that would be perfect for your research initiative.

"Six million," the auctioneer intones. Your paddle rises immediately.

"Six point five million," you counter.

A慵懒的声音从房间另一侧传来: "Seven million."

Alexander sits two rows back, impossibly elegant in a tailored charcoal suit, one ankle crossed over his knee. His gaze locks with yours across the crowded room, and he lifts his paddle in deliberate slow motion.

You raise again: "Seven point five million."

"Nine million," he says without hesitation, that infuriating smirk playing at the corner of his lips.

The entire room seems to hold its breath. This is well above the artifact's estimated value. You clutch your bidding paddle tighter, heart racing. What does his tech conglomerate want with an ancient gemstone necklace? And why would he deliberately drive up the price when he has no use for it? His eyes never leave yours, challenging you to call his bluff