Page 54 of Bid For Me

But why this? Why not a Sterling-Knight diamond, something tied to his family empire? Wouldn’t that have been the obvious choice, the easiest way to remind me that this arrangement is as much about the business as it is about us?

Unless...it’s not.

My chest tightens, confusion swirling with frustration. What game are you playing, Seb? This doesn’t fit. None of it does – the proposal, the ring, the way he looked at me. If it’s all part of some calculated move, it’s a damn cruel one. Not to mention completely unnecessary. He doesn’t need to play games with me, he has me over a barrel with the damn auction anyway. If he’s playing with my heart, he’s doing that just for fun and the Sebastian I know would never do that.

I hope.

I slip the ring back into my pocket, but the weight of it lingers, like it’s anchored to my thoughts. I can’t sit here any longer. The walls of the café feel like they’re closing in, the quiet hum of conversation around me grating against my nerves, like the quietness is getting louder.

I push my chair back and leave a few bills on the table, not bothering to wait for change. The cold air bites at my cheeks as I step outside, but I welcome it. It clears my head, sharp and bracing, a reminder that I’m still here, still standing.

I wander the streets without any real direction, the city buzzing with life around me. Every step feels heavier than the last, like the weight of everything is finally catching up to me. I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know where I’m going.

But as I pass a small jewelry shop, the window display catches my eye. A single diamond ring sits in the center, displayed on a velvet cushion. It’s understated, elegant, and nothing like the one in my pocket.

Before I can stop myself, I step inside.

The bell above the door chimes softly, and an older man behind the counter looks up, his kind smile reaching his eyes. “Good morning. How can I help you?”

I hesitate, my hand slipping into my pocket to grip the ring. I don’t know why I’m here, what I’m hoping to find. Answers? Clarity?

“I, um...I just wanted to ask about something,” I say, my voice quieter than I intended.

“Of course,” he says, gesturing for me to come closer. “Take your time.”

I pull the ring from my pocket and set it on the counter, the diamond catching the light. The man leans in, his eyes narrowing slightly as he examines it.

“This is a beautiful piece,” he says after a moment. “Harry Winston, if I’m not mistaken. Classic design, platinum band. Very good taste.”

I nod, my fingers twitching at my sides. “How much would something like this cost?”

He glances at me, a flicker of curiosity in his expression. “It depends on the size and quality of the diamond, but this...this is a high-end piece. Easily six figures.”

Six figures.

My stomach twists, and I feel suddenly lightheaded. Why would Seb spend that kind of money on a ring forme?

“This wasn’t custom-made?” I ask, my voice tighter than I mean it to be.

The man shakes his head. “No, this is a standard design. Beautiful, but not unique. Harry Winston pieces are known for their timeless elegance, not personal touches.”

I nod again, my thoughts racing. I thank the man and leave the shop, the ring feeling even heavier in my pocket now.

As I walk through the streets, the questions keep piling up, each one louder than the last. Why did Seb choose this ring? Why go to Harry Winston instead of using one of his family’s diamonds? And why does it feel like...like he was trying to separate this from the contract?

I need answers.

My phone feels like a lead weight in my hand as I pull it from my pocket. I hesitate for a moment, my thumb hovering over Seb’s name in my contacts.

Finally, I hit call.

It rings twice before he picks up, his voice rough but immediate. “Elle.”

The way he says my name sends a shiver down my spine, but I push it aside. “We need to talk,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel.

There’s a pause on the other end, and I can almost hear him trying to figure out where I’m going with this. “Where are you?” he asks.

I glance around, taking in the street signs. “Oxford Street. Near the bookshop.”