The hotel suite smelled like champagne and expensive sweat. Ryan sat in a robe, legs crossed, scrolling through his phone while his right-hand man, Marco, cleared out the leftover glasses from earlier.
The auction had ended hours ago, but he was still grinning. Not from the win, oh he didn't even care about the damn watch. It was from the face Ian made when the gavel hit, that look of losing.
Ryan poured himself another drink, this one was for pleasure. He clicked through names and search logs, still no solid trace on whom the hell Ian was, he didn't know the man he was bidding with.
All anonymous accounts, with no paper trails, no whispers. It was like bidding against a ghost and Ryan hated ghosts. He looked up at one of his men who just walked in, holding a thick white envelope.
"What's that?"
"A letter, it was delivered by hand, no stamp and they said it was urgent."
Ryan raised a brow, sat up, and reached for it.
