The room bled with velvet and wealth.
Scarlet curtains framed the private chamber like an altar. Candles flickered in low crystal bowls. Shadows danced between the guests—men in tailored suits, women in silk so delicate it whispered as they moved.
Power wasn't spoken here.
It was draped.
And at the heart of it all?
Yirenda.
Her entrance wasn't loud—yet every head turned.
A black backless gown hugged her hips like sin, high slit exposing her sculpted thigh chained with diamonds. Her neckline dipped dangerously low, but her posture was high, regal. Intoxicating.
Some mistook her for a guest.
The smart ones knew: she was the game.
[Cipher Activated.]
Welcome to the Scarlet Auction.
Hidden item detected: Lot 19. Cryo-Code Necklace. Status: Belonged to Subject's mother.
Recommendation: Retrieve. Memory Vault match confirmed.
Her heart didn't race.
Her lips only twitched.
"Lot 19," she whispered, eyes scanning the dark corners.
Then she saw Delva.
Red gown. Blood-red lips. Matching venom in her eyes. Heiress of the Red Vulture Conglomerate. And obsessed—painfully obsessed—with the sniper who had just tasted Yirenda's lips hours before.
Their eyes met.
Delva smiled sweetly. "Yirenda. I didn't think you were invited."
Yirenda tilted her head. "Darling, I don't get invited. I arrive."
Delva's smile tightened. "Well, don't stay too long. Some of us have legacies to preserve."
Yirenda walked past her without a blink.
"Don't worry," she said, voice like silk on blades.
"I'm here to take mine back."
The Auction Begins
The items were distractions:
A dagger carved from moonstone.
A caged siren heart.
A contract to a royal's silence.
Then—
Lot 19.
The crowd hushed.
A glass case opened. Inside: the Cryo-Code Necklace. A slim, silver weave of metal and glass, pulsing faintly blue. Encoded with the last memory left by her mother. Stolen. Lost. Now… here.
"Opening bid, five hundred million credits," the announcer said.
A hand rose. "Seven hundred."
"One billion," Delva said without hesitation, smirking at Yirenda.
Yirenda swirled the wine in her glass. Lifted her eyes.
Then—she slid a diamond-black chip across the velvet table.
"Ten billion," she said simply.
silence that followed felt like prayer.
No one countered.
The gavel dropped.
Item secured.
Risk Level: Elevated. Surveillance tagged.
In the lounge after, champagne flowed. Secret deals bloomed in corners. But Yirenda didn't linger.
She strode to the Red Room.
And as the doors closed, a voice behind her murmured:
"You shouldn't have done that."
The sniper.
In shadow again, but closer now.
His tie undone. Shirt collar open. A bruise from her lips on his neck.
"You followed me," she said without turning.
"You called me," he replied. "You just don't remember how."
She turned then.
Their eyes locked.
The tension was a string—taut, silent, one pull from snapping.
"Was it the necklace?" he asked.
"It was my mother's," she said softly. "Her last memory… the last moment of her death. It's in there. Locked in code."
"And Delva wanted to bury it?"
Yirenda stepped into him. Slowly. Her voice dropped.
"She wanted to erase it."
He reached out, brushed a loose strand of hair from her cheek.
"I could still be your enemy," he whispered.
She smirked.
"You already were. That didn't stop me from owning you."
Just as their lips almost met—
[Cipher Alert: Surveillance breach. Hidden lens detected.]
Footage transmitting: Yirenda + Subject — intimate scene logged.
Her face darkened.
"Delva," she said coldly.
Without a word, she turned and left.
She wasn't going to complain about the footage.
She was going to burn the one who released it.