The atmosphere inside the auction hall was electric, but like, the kind of electric that feels like you might get struck by lightning at any second. This was the "main event." Every heavy hitter in the art world was there, from Arnold Grant in the front row to Julian Marx lurking in the back like a final boss.
I was backstage, my hands shaking so hard I could barely zip up the dress Vivian had sent me as a "good luck" gift. I had Catherine's diamonds in my ears, and honestly, the weight of them was the only thing keeping me grounded.
Suzette walked past me, looking at me like I was a glitch in the system. "Enjoy your fifteen minutes, Ana," she hissed. "Because once this is over, you're back to being a ghost."
I didn't even look at her. "Funny," I muttered, "because ghosts are the only things that actually haunt people. Watch me."
The Auction of a Lifetime
Claire took the stage first. She was polished, professional, and cold as a New York winter. She started the bidding for the minor pieces, but the room was flat. The energy was mid. People were checking their watches, and I could see Julian Marx looking worried. The "Grant Collection" was the centerpiece, and if it didn't sell for a record price, Erwin's was going to take a massive hit.
Then, it was time for "The Swan."
"For our final lot of the evening," Claire announced, her voice tight, "I'd like to invite a member of our New York team to provide the briefing. Ana Santos."
I walked out onto that stage. The lights were blinding. I could see hundreds of people staring at me—rich people, powerful people, and right in the middle, Will.
He looked at me, and for a second, I almost choked on my words. He looked hurt, but also... curious. He wanted to see if I was still the girl from the plane or just another fake.
"A lot of people look at this painting and see technique," I started, my voice echoing through the hall. I didn't use the script. I didn't use the technical terms Gerard Abel had tried to force on me. "They see a 'blue period.' They see oil on canvas. But if you look at the way the light hits the water, you see a man who was saying goodbye. This wasn't painted for a gallery. It was painted for a heart that was breaking."
I talked for five minutes. I told the story of the artist's struggle, the hidden details in the brushstrokes, and why this piece was the only one that mattered. By the time I finished, the room was so quiet you could hear the air conditioning.
"We'll start the bidding at five million," Julian Marx called out.
"Seven million!" Arnold Grant shouted before Julian could even finish.
"Ten million!" another voice came from the back.
It was a frenzy. The prices kept climbing—twelve, fifteen, twenty million. Claire was standing in the wings, her jaw literally dropping. She'd never seen a bidding war like this. In the end, Arnold Grant took it for twenty-five million dollars. A record.
The room erupted. I stepped off the stage, my heart hammering against my ribs. I had done it. No cap, I had actually saved the auction.
The Aftermath & The Kiss
As the crowd moved toward the champagne, Julian Marx approached me. "That was quite the performance, Ana. You have a gift. If you ever find yourself back in New York and looking for a real job... call me." He handed me a gold card. My heart soared, but the victory felt hollow because I still hadn't talked to Will.
I found him near the balcony, looking out over the London skyline. The rain had stopped.
"I didn't think you'd show up," I said softly.
"My mother told me I'd be an idiot if I missed it," Will said. "She was right. You were amazing, Ana."
"Will, I'm so sorry," I said, the words tumbling out. "The lie... it grew so fast. I wanted to be someone who deserved to sit next to you. I thought if you knew I sleep on a futon, you wouldn't even look at me."
Will finally turned to me, stepping into my personal space. "Ana, I didn't like you because you were a Director. I liked you because you were real. Then you lied, and you became just like everyone else."
"I'm not that person anymore," I whispered. "I'm just Ana. And tbh, I'm a pretty good intern."
Will laughed, a small, tired sound. "You're a terrible intern, Ana. You're a brilliant curator." He stepped even closer, his eyes dropping to my lips. The tension was 10/10. "Don't lie to me again. Fr. Life is too short for the fake stuff."
"Never again," I promised.
Will didn't wait. He reached out, cupping my face with his hands, and pulled me into a deep, desperate kiss. It tasted like champagne and relief. It wasn't just a polite kiss; it was the kind that makes your toes curl and your head spin. I tangled my fingers in his hair, pulling him closer, finally feeling like I belonged exactly where I was.
"Tbh," I whispered against his lips when we finally broke for air. "That was way better than First Class."