The building stood tall like royalty in moonlight, sleek obsidian glass panes rising into the air, glowing in smooth amber lines like veins of gold threading through a god's temple. It was called "Vintarion Hall", and it was whispered about like a secret among the elite. The home of private auctions... the kind where money wasn't just power. it was blood, dominance, legacy.
As we arrived, the tall bronze doors hissed open, revealing a chandelier that didn't sparkle. it glowed, humming low like it had a soul of its own. My heels tapped gently against the marble that was so polished, it looked like water frozen mid-ripple.
The scent hit me first 'luxury'. Thick, rich cologne, spiced wine, and roses pressed between satin pages. The air was heavy, expensive, almost edible. My breath caught in my throat.
Men in deep-colored tuxedos filled the hall, their suits tailored like skin. Most of them bore confident smirks, holding champagne flutes like weapons of war. The few women there sparkled like ornaments, draped in fabrics I couldn't name, hanging on arms or whispering into their ears, but none of them like me. I felt... watched.
Luthor's hand slipped from mine.
"Stay close," he whispered, but I don't think he meant it.
He drifted into the crowd, shaking hands with powerhouses in velvet and marble-like calm. The kind of men who bought countries without blinking. He was one of them, yet somehow, above them all. He smiled, nodded, accepted a glass of whiskey from a white-gloved waiter.
I stood back and watched him become a man I didn't recognize.
I found a secluded velvet chaise near the edge of the hall and sat. My fingers brushed the embroidery on the seat threads of gold. Even the furniture here breathed confidence.
From across the room, Luthor raised his glass slightly and said something I couldn't hear. A few heads turned toward me. He must've introduced me. As his wife.
A sharp sting touched my chest.
The host stepped onto a raised platform draped in black velvet, microphone in hand, his voice crisp like cracking glass.
"Welcome to tonight's collection, gentlemen... and few distinguished ladies. Tonight's auction is not just wealth.
it is history. Legacy. Power."
The first item was a necklace it was a diamond serpent curling into its own tail. Its shimmer was unnatural, like it had swallowed stars.
"Five million dollars to open," the host said.
Whispers followed. Hands raised. Numbers climbed.
Luthor didn't move.
He didn't even blink.
It felt like he was waiting.
Then came it.
The room dimmed.
A black case was brought forward by two armored guards. The auctioneer paused dramatically before unlatching it.
Inside lay a knife.
But not just any knife.
It gleamed like darkness itself. The blade was matte silver, but its edges were rough and ghostly, coated in something... darker. Grayish ash shimmered like ancient dust baked into the metal. A black leather handle with inscriptions no one could read. I felt it. That knife had taken lives.
"This," the auctioneer began, voice low now, "is known as 'The Veinpiercer'. It was used to kill the last Alpha—thrice stabbed into his heart under the Blood Moon War. The blade is believed to be cursed... or blessed, depending on who holds it."
Silence.
"Starting at $2.5 million."
A hand rose.
Another.
Then Luthor's.
My heart skipped.
"Five million," he said flatly.
Another man, masked in a white Venetian porcelain design, raised his hand slowly. "Six point five," he called out.
Luthor's gaze narrowed. "Eight million."
The man didn't blink. "Ten."
My breath caught.
The crowd turned their heads. No one else dared.
"Thirteen point five," Luthor said through clenched teeth.
"Fourteen," the masked man replied calmly, sipping champagne.
"Fifteen million."
A long pause. The man didn't move. But I saw it, the twitch in his hand. The hesitation.
"Sold," the host said finally.
Luthor didn't smile. He only exhaled. Barely.
The hall applauded lightly.
A break was called. Waiters flooded in with cocktails and tiny golden trays.
And that's when it happened.
I felt him before I saw him. Someone was watching me.
I turned slowly and there he stood.
He wore a mask. But it was his eyes that struck me.
They were identical.
Exactly like Luthor's.
He approached, smooth and unhurried.
"Mind if I sit?"
I didn't respond, still frozen, but he took the empty seat beside me anyway.
"I'm not here to cause trouble," he said gently, then glanced toward Luthor who was deep in conversation.
He removed his mask.
And my world tilted.
It was Luthor.
But not Luthor.
Softer. A strange warmth in his eyes. His cheekbone carried a scar Luthor didn't have. His lips curved in a sad smile.
"I'm Lucien. His brother. Twin, actually."
I stared.
"No…" I whispered. "You're lying."
"I wish I was," he murmured, and something in his voice told me it was true.
"I don't understand. Why didn't he ever mention—"
But then I saw Luthor.
He had turned. He saw us.
His eyes darkened.
He walked toward us like a storm rolling in.
Lucien leaned closer and, before I could pull back, slipped something into my palm.
A sealed envelope. Heavy with ink.
"Don't read it now," he whispered. "Wait till you're alone."
"Step away from her." Luthor's voice was ice.
Lucien stood, mask back on. "Just saying hello to your... wife."
"Leave," Luthor growled.
Lucien bowed lightly, retreating into the crowd, swallowed by shadows.
I clutched the letter to my chest, my pulse screaming.
Luthor didn't say a word as we walked back to our car. I kept the envelope a secret and was still curious to open.
What was it …
I wondered.