Regina kept her face perfectly still. Inside, her heart was trying to claw its way out of her ribs.
The right-hand man moved with military precision, stepping forward and handing placards to Daniel Warren first...then to Regina.
The weight of it shocked her.
It wasn’t heavy physically, but it meant something. It meant power. Permission. Participation. It meant that for the first time in her miserable f*****g life, she wasn’t sitting in the shadows watching rich people decide what mattered.
She was one of them.
Her fingers tightened around the smooth edge.
She swallowed.
This was her first auction house. First time in a hall where the air itself smelled like old money, arrogance, and bloodless wars fought with numbers instead of knives. Chandeliers glowed like trapped suns above them
