Sebastian didn't look up until Liam was three feet from the table. Then his eyes lifted, and that smooth, knowing smile spread across his face. "Liam. I was wondering when you'd find your way over."
"May I sit?"
The question was polite, but it wasn't a request. Sebastian gestured to the empty chair across from him, the motion easy, unhurried. "Please."
Liam pulled out the chair and sat. The table was small and intimate, positioned so they could see most of the room without drawing much attention themselves. Smart placement. Sebastian Hart understood the value of knowing where to sit.
"You're not mingling," Liam observed.
"Neither are you." Sebastian picked up his champagne glass, swirling the liquid once before setting it down untouched. "Though I suppose you're on the clock. Art consultant in tow, auction lots to evaluate." He tilted his head. "Very professional of you."
Liam let the comment hang. He picked up a napkin, folded it once, and set it down. "I need to ask you something."
Sebastian's smile sharpened at the edges. "I assumed you didn't come here for the canapés."
"Eros," Liam said the word flatly, watching Sebastian's face for the smallest change. "A shipment logged for your club was stolen. Pure batch. Off-the-books warehouse."
Sebastian's eyes narrowed, his voice carrying a note of confusion. "Was this my batch?"
The question hung between them, and for a moment, Liam studied the other man's face. Sebastian's brow was furrowed, his mouth pressed into a thin line — not the practiced concern of a guilty man caught off guard, but the real irritation of someone who'd just learned something was wrong with his business.
"Yes, it was logged for the Velvet Rope," Liam said.
Sebastian set his champagne glass down with a quiet clink. “I was expecting that shipment days ago. It never showed.” His voice remained controlled, though a sharper edge crept into it. “I figured there'd been a delay. Supply chain problems, a misroute, someone at Valmont holding things up.” He met Liam's eyes. “I didn't expect to hear that it had been lifted.”
“You're telling me you didn't know.”
Sebastian gave a short, almost incredulous laugh. “Yes, I'm telling you I didn't know.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the tablecloth, the last of his easy charm fading from his voice. “Why would I steal my own shipment, Liam? Walk me through the logic there.”
Liam held his gaze. "Someone pays you more than you're making on the floor; you reroute the product, sell it privately, claim it was lost, and get the funds back from me. It's not complicated."
Sebastian let out a short, humorless laugh. "You think I'd burn a relationship with both you and the Valmonts for one payday? The Eros I move through the Velvet Rope brings in more than enough. It's consistent, it's clean, and it keeps my high-end clients coming back every weekend." He shook his head slowly. "I'm not stupid enough to kill a golden goose for a single egg."
The words landed with the weight of a man who believed what he was saying. Liam studied him — the set of his shoulders, the steadiness of his hands, the way his eyes held contact instead of flickering to an exit. There was no sweat at his temples, no twitch in his jaw. Nothing in his expression suggested he was lying.
"Then who?" Liam asked.
"I don't know." Sebastian's voice was quiet, frustrated. "But I want to find out as much as you do. That shipment was expensive. And if someone's hitting shipments tied to my name, that's a problem for me, not just for you."
Liam sat back in his chair, the leather creaking beneath him. The map in his study redrew itself again — the warehouse, the club, the gala. Sebastian Hart, genuine and frustrated, sat across from him with nothing to hide and everything to lose.
He had been so certain. The timing, the connection, the shipment logged for Hart's club. It had all fit too neatly, and that was the problem — it fit too neatly. Someone had wanted it to look like Sebastian. Someone had wanted Liam focused on the wrong target.
"You have enemies," Liam said. It wasn't a question.
Sebastian's smile thinned. "Everyone in this city has enemies when they are connected to you." He picked up his glass, took a small sip this time, then set it down again. “I have no idea who could have done this. I do my best not to make enemies I don't need.”
Liam's jaw tightened. The words echoed what Victor had said two nights ago. Professional extraction. No forced entry. Inside knowledge.
"I'll help however I can on my end," Sebastian said. "I don't like people stealing from me, even if the product hadn't reached my door yet." He paused, his eyes sharpening. "And Liam?"
Liam met his gaze.
"Next time you want to interrogate me, buy me a drink first." Sebastian's smile returned, thin and humorless. "It's polite."
Liam stood, adjusting his cuff. "I'll keep that in mind."
Liam had already taken a half-step when Sebastian's voice cut through the clatter of the gala. "One more thing."
He stopped and looking back.
Sebastian hadn't moved. Still seated, elbows on the tablecloth, fingers laced together like a man settling in for a longer conversation. "Elena." He said her name carefully, like he was tasting it. "You know she's genuinely interested in the work, right? Not just a paycheck."
Liam's jaw tightened. “She's qualified.”
Sebastian's expression shifted, the amusement fading from his eyes. “I'm sure she is, but that's not what I asked.” He leaned back slightly, studying Liam across the table. “You talk about her like she's another asset you acquired. Like her value can be measured by what she brings to Thorn Holdings.”
Liam held his gaze. “Her work has value.”
“I know.” Sebastian's smile returned, softer this time, almost wistful. “That's exactly why I asked whether you knew she loves it.”
Liam opened his mouth to answer, but nothing came immediately. The truth was uncomfortable. He knew Elena was skilled. He knew she was intelligent, and that she could see value hidden beneath layers of dust and history. But love was different. He had never stopped to consider what she actually felt when she looked at a piece of art.
“I noticed her at that gallery opening six months ago. She spent twenty minutes in front of a single Rothko. Not reading the placard. Just—looking. Most people glance, take a picture, and move on. She stayed.” Sebastian shook his head slowly. “It's rare. Someone who cares about the art, not just the investment. Most consultants can tell you what a painting is worth.” He lifted his champagne glass, letting the silence settle before adding, “Very few forget what time it is while looking at one.”
Liam had spent months learning Elena's habits, her strengths, and the things that mattered to her. He knew she was intelligent, stubborn when she believed she was right, and capable of holding her ground when challenged. He knew how she worked, how she approached people, and how seriously she took the artists who trusted her.
What he hadn't considered was what she was like when none of those things were required of her. What did she do when she wasn't working? What interested her when there was nothing to prove and no problem to solve? He realized he knew far less about that Elena than he should have.
For a moment, Liam said nothing. The silence between them was filled by the distant murmur of the crowd and the occasional clink of glasses. He looked across the room toward Elena, who was speaking with another guest, completely unaware of the conversation happening behind her.
“She doesn't talk about it like that,” he said finally.
Sebastian glanced at him. “She doesn't have to. You can tell when someone loves what they do.”
Liam followed his gaze toward Elena. He watched her for another moment before looking back at Sebastian.
“I suppose I have more to learn about her than I realized.” Liam then turned without another word, leaving Sebastian Hart's gaze on his back like a brand. The crowd parted around him as he moved through the gala, his stride measured, his expression unreadable. He didn't look back. There was nothing left to say to a man who'd just handed him a puzzle piece that didn't fit the picture he'd built.
He found her at the far end of the exhibition hall, tucked between two towering columns where the light was softer and the crowd thinner. Elena stood motionless before a large canvas, a small leather notebook open in one hand, a pen hovering over the page without touching it. She hadn't noticed him yet. Her head was tilted slightly, her hazel eyes tracing the brushstrokes with a focus that seemed to shut out the rest of the gala entirely.
Liam stopped a few feet back, letting himself watch. Her lips were slightly parted, her brow faintly furrowed, and she made a small note in the margin of her notebook — not a price or a catalog number, but an observation. Something she had seen.
Her eyes moved across the canvas in deliberate paths, lingering on one corner before returning to the center. She leaned in slightly, studying the texture of the paint where the artist's brush had caught the light, then stepped back again, tilting her head as though the distance changed the conversation.
Liam had seen her evaluate paintings before. He'd assumed she was cataloging provenance, estimating value, calculating resale. Watching her now, he realized she'd barely written a word in the last several minutes.
Sebastian's words echoed in his mind: Most consultants can tell you what a painting is worth. Very few forget what time it is while looking at one.
She wasn't judging it. She was listening to it. Trying to understand what the creator had hidden inside the canvas.
For another moment, Liam simply watched. Then, almost reluctantly, he stepped forward.
"What do you think?"
Her head came up at his voice, her eyes blinking back from wherever the painting had taken her. For a moment she seemed almost surprised to see him, like she'd forgotten where she was. Then her composure settled back into place, and she glanced down at her notes before meeting his gaze.
Elena blinked, the painting's pull releasing her like a surface breaking. Liam stood a few feet away, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp, watching her with an intensity that made her suddenly aware of how long she'd been standing there.
"I—" She glanced down at her notebook, at the half-finished sentence about the artist's use of negative space. "It's interesting. The piece, I mean."
She was flustered. She could hear it in her own voice, the way it pitched slightly higher than usual.
“The composition is unusual for this period,” she said, turning back to the canvas, using the motion to steady herself. “Most of his early work relies heavily on geometric structure—rigid lines, deliberate framing. But this one…” She gestured with her pen, tracing the curve of the paint in the air. “He's breaking his own rules. I don't see anything this loose in his work until several years later. Which means either this is misdated, or he was experimenting much earlier than anyone realized.”
She was rambling. She could feel the words spilling out, filling the silence because she didn't know what else to do with the space between them. Her hand moved, illustrating a point he hadn't asked for.
"The pigment density suggests he layered the oil differently than his documented technique—you can see it in the brushwork, here, where the light catches—"
She stopped. Took a breath. Closed her mouth.
"Sorry," she said, her cheeks warming. "I tend to—when I find something that doesn't match the expected pattern, I get carried away."
She flipped back a few pages in her notebook and found the catalog entry she'd transcribed earlier. After a glance, she looked back at the painting and summarized what she'd found. “The piece is listed as 2019, but the stylistic markers suggest 2021 or later. If it's genuinely from the earlier date, it's a significant outlier, which could increase its long-term value. If it's misdated, the current estimate is significantly below what it could command at a specialized auction.”
She looked up at him, meeting his gaze directly now that she had facts to anchor herself.
"Your call on whether that's worth flagging to the auction house tonight or saving for a follow-up bid."
Liam was silent for a moment. His expression hadn't changed, but something in his eyes had shifted—a softening at the edges, barely perceptible, like frost beginning to thin.
"Perfect," he said.
The word landed in her chest and stayed there, warm and unexpected.
He opened his mouth to continue, his weight shifting forward slightly, but before the sound could form, a voice cut through the ambient noise of the gala.
“Elena.”
She turned to find Sebastian Hart approaching from the side, his movements unhurried and his familiar smile already in place. At some point he'd shed his jacket, leaving the sleeves of his white shirt rolled to his forearms. A champagne glass rested in one hand, and he raised it in a small salute as he drew closer.
“Sebastian.” She kept her voice neutral and professional. “You look like you're enjoying yourself.”
“I could say the same about you.” His eyes moved over her, lingering for a moment before returning to her face. “I was starting to wonder if you were always this quiet, or if no one's given you anything interesting to talk about tonight.”
Elena gave him a small, polite smile. “Thank you. I suppose I've just been taking everything in.”
Sebastian turned to Liam with an easy nod. “Liam. Hope I'm not interrupting anything important.”
“You are.” Liam's voice was flat, but there was no hostility behind it. He said it simply, as though stating a fact.
Sebastian's smile didn't waver. "Then I'll make it quick." He shifted his attention back to Elena, and she felt the full weight of it settle on her like a hand at her lower back. Polite. Warm. Focused. "I wanted to say, properly, that I enjoyed our conversation earlier. Brief as it was."
"You as well," she said, and meant it. He'd been the only person at the gala who'd spoken to her about the art itself.
"I was hoping," Sebastian continued, his voice dropping just slightly, intimate without being inappropriate, "that after the auction, when you're free of professional obligations, I might steal you for dinner. They always hold the dinner after the auction.”
The words hung in the air, polite and unmistakable. An invitation. A proposition dressed in velvet.
Elena's throat tightened. She felt the shift in the space beside her—Liam's stillness becoming something heavier, more present, even though he hadn't moved. She could feel his attention on her like a pressure against her skin.
She looked at Sebastian. His expression was open, patient, his head tilted slightly as he waited for her answer. There was no pressure in his posture, no sense of demand. He was giving her room to decide.
And then she looked at Liam.
His face was unreadable. The same controlled mask he wore in boardrooms, in negotiations, in moments when he was calculating three moves ahead. Not angry. Not possessive—not visibly, anyway. Just… waiting, watching to see what she would do.
And she realized, with a small internal lurch, that she didn't know what she was allowed to do.
The contract didn't forbid dinner invitations. It didn't mention other men at all. But the contract wasn't the only thing governing her life anymore. There was the kiss. The way his hand had cupped her jaw in the game room. The way his thumb had traced her lower lip before he'd leaned in.
There was the fact that she still didn't know what that kiss had meant—to him, to them, to whatever this arrangement was becoming.
"I—" She stopped. Swallowed. Felt both men's attention on her, one warm and waiting, one cool and unreadable. "I'm not sure what my schedule looks like after the auction."
She turned to Liam, the question forming before she could second-guess it.
"Will I be free after the auction?"
His eyes met hers. For a moment, she caught something in his expression—surprise, perhaps, or something else she couldn't quite place. Then it was gone, replaced by his usual unreadable calm.
The gala continued around them, champagne glasses clinking and voices rising and falling through the room, but Elena barely noticed any of it. The three of them stood together in silence, and the question seemed to hang between them, simple enough in words but carrying far more than she knew how to answer.