Sold

You are unstoppable tonight.

“Item number 27,” the auctioneer announces, her crisp voice amplified by the headset microphone fitted around her cheek. “A rare Victorian-era gemstone hairpin, platinum setting with Burmese rubies. Starting bid at thirty thousand.”

You raise your hand into a vertical fist, pumping up as if you're giving an uppercut punch.

“It’s another 50 times multiplier by Mr. 24!” the auctioneer announces boisterously for the umpteenth time. “At 1.5 million, the next increment has to be increased by a minimum of 5%, which is 75 thousand. Any challengers?”

A collective grunt ripples through the room. It’s something you’ve heard for the 27th time tonight, but it’s a wonderful soundtrack of peasantry that you revel in. Your eyes dart around the seats, quietly scoffing at the others in your heart. Everyone here is a millionaire with deep pockets, but none with a pocket as deep as yours.

None except for her.

“1.5 million… going once… going twice… Sold to Mr. 24 in the third row.” The gavel strikes with finality.

You lean back in your seat with a satisfied smirk, eyes flicking toward the elegant woman sitting a few rows ahead. Ms. 924. She had been about to bid — you are almost certain of it. Instead, her hand lowers gracefully, her expression remaining perfectly composed, almost amused.

It feels good. Really good.

From behind, Ms. 924 sits with effortless poise, the sleek black halter dress clinging to the graceful curve of her spine and shoulders while her long, lustrous dark hair cascades down her back like liquid midnight. Gorgeous. Many times throughout the night she had been your sole challenger, but you are you — the one and only, the star of the stars. And the next bids will not go any different.

The auction runner pushes the hairpin away and brings out the next item.

“Item 28. An exquisite antique silk-and-gold elastic band with embedded sapphires, described as a rare ceremonial restraint. Starting bid at twenty-five thousand. Any—”

You don’t even wait for the full announcement. You raise your fist again.

The auctioneer just sighs with a smile and cuts straight to the bid. “1.25 million. Increments at 62.5 thousand. Any challengers?”

Ms. 924 moves. In her usual fashion, she points her index finger up into the sky, palm facing her.

“Ms. 924 has increased the bid by 62.5 thousand. Any challengers?”

You scoff at the minuscule increase and raise your fist again.

“Mr. 24 has multiplied it by another 50 times. It is now at 65.625 million. Any challengers?”

Murmurs erupt throughout the room — some exclaiming at the absurdity, some mocking your recklessness, others complaining about their suddenly empty wallets. But Ms. 924 simply raises her hand again, this time pointing upward with her middle and index finger, palm facing her.

“Ms. 924 has increased the bid by another 10%. The bid now stands at 72 million. Any challengers?”

“Heh, what a modest increase,” you chuckle and raise the same gesture again, fist pumping into the air.

“A-another 50 times increase by Mr. 24!” the auctioneer becomes flustered by the absurdity. “3.6 billion, and increments are at 180 million! Any challengers?”

The air turns cold. The room falls silent. This time, Ms. 924 doesn’t move at all. She just turns around and looks at you. Her face is covered with the jeweled ornate mask, but you see something in her eyes — dark, knowing, yet alluring.

“3.6 billion… going once… going twice… Once again, sold to Mr. 24 in the third row.” The gavel falls quickly.

A round of applause rips through the room as Ms. 924 gives you a small, gentle nod of faux congratulations, before snapping her head back in silent grace.

The silk-and-gold elastic band is pushed backstage and the auction continues.

“Item number 29. A delicate antique brooch featuring rare Colombian emeralds in gold filigree. Starting bid at forty thousand.”

Your fist shoots up instantly. “Two million.”

This time the reaction is louder — a collective groan of disbelief. Heads turn. A few people whisper furiously.

“Item number 30. An ornate vintage perfume bottle with emerald stopper, French, late 18th century. Starting bid at thirty thousand.”

“Two million five hundred thousand.”

The pattern repeats with delightful recklessness. A jeweled silver hairpin. A small carved ivory figurine. A pair of antique lace gloves. Every time Ms. 924 shows even the slightest interest, you crush it with an absurd overbid, grinning the whole time.

You also claim several other pieces in quick succession — including a delicate leather choker with emerald studs and gold buckle, and an ancient polished jade artifact with ornate fittings, both listed vaguely as rare items from private noble collections.

Each gavel strike makes your adrenaline spike higher. Why not? Your account feels endless tonight, and something about watching that poised woman in the sleek black halter dress stay so elegantly unfazed only makes you want to push harder.

Ms. 924 never reacts outwardly. No glare, no frustration. Just that calm, queen-like poise. Her dark eyes occasionally flick in your direction, steady and unreadable, with the faintest hint of amusement.

Then the final item is announced.

The room hushes in anticipation.

“Item number 42. The centerpiece of tonight’s auction. A magnificent 17th-century necklace. Solid gold chain with a large, intricately designed pendant featuring flawless Colombian emeralds and deep Kashmir sapphires. Once said to have adorned the neck of a noblewoman whose beauty and will were legendary. Starting bid at one hundred and eighty thousand.”

Your heart kicks up. This is the one. After dominating so many smaller treasures, claiming this necklace will feel like the perfect victory.

Bidding erupts.

An index finger points to the sky.

“Mr. 17 bids a 5% increase.”

Another woman mirrors the motion.

“Ms. 378 bids another 5% increase.”

One elderly gentleman raises his palm, five fingers splayed.

“Mr. 2074 ups the bid by 50%! Any challengers?”

The bid climbs higher and higher. Fingers drive the price upward until finally she moves.

“Ms. 924 raises it by 5%!”

You smile and finally move too, mirroring her action.

“Mr. 24 raises it by 5%! The bid is currently at 2.8 billion!” the auctioneer screams, face flushed with excitement. But neither of you gives up. She raises it by 5% each time, and you counter with another 5%.