Matchmaker Mayhem
Chapter 120: The Auction of Love – Bidding for a Chance at Romance

Chapter 120: The Auction of Love – Bidding for a Chance at Romance

The Sakura Grand Hotel had never looked more decadent.

Every corner of the ballroom shimmered beneath the soft, golden light of suspended crystal chandeliers. Silk-draped tables ringed the marble floor, each centerpiece a delicate sculpture of red camellias and white orchids. Waitstaff moved with practiced elegance, balancing silver trays of champagne flutes and hand-rolled sushi, while a jazz quartet played a playful, romantic melody from the corner of the room.

Ava stood just off-stage, cue cards in one hand, the other smoothing invisible wrinkles from her satin gown. The rich emerald color popped against her skin, the subtle sparkle of the neckline catching the light with every shift of her body. She was all grace and poise on the outside—but internally? Chaos.

"I can’t believe I let Mei talk me into this," she muttered.

Behind her, Ryan stepped up, his presence always felt before it was seen. His tuxedo jacket was open, sleeves rolled just enough to hint at rebellion, and his tie hung loose like he’d dared to be both formal and roguish all at once. "Let me guess," he said, voice low and amused, "this was described to you as an elegant charity event?"

Ava scowled. "With ’light matchmaking elements.’"

Ryan’s lips quirked into a grin. "And now it’s a glorified bachelor auction."

"It’s for charity!" she defended, but she wasn’t fooling either of them.

The premise was deceptively simple: every matchmaking contestant had to design and present a curated "date package" featuring one of their matched couples. The guests—Tokyo elites, socialites, influencers, and matchmaker groupies—would bid on the date that most appealed to them. All proceeds would go toward a local nonprofit that supported newlyweds and marriage counseling programs.

It had sounded cute in theory.

In execution?

A matchmaking Hunger Games.

Ava’s table was pristine, her couple handpicked with care: Kenta, a charming travel photographer with a messy man bun and a contagious laugh, and Yui, a quiet-but-brilliant illustrator whose shyness vanished when talking about Studio Ghibli or cats. They had bantered sweetly during introductions, their chemistry low-key but real. She had high hopes.

"I swear," Ava said, flipping her cue cards, "if Julian shows up and tries to auction off a robot couple again—"

A loud clang of a mic cut through the music.

"Oh no," Ava whispered.

Because Mei had found the microphone.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" Mei’s voice rang out across the ballroom like a bell—commanding, cheerful, and chaos-infused. "It is time for Lot Seven—Ryan Kim!"

A spotlight turned. The music paused.

Ryan froze mid-sip of his whiskey. "She didn’t."

"She did," Ava confirmed.

Mei beamed, completely in her element. "Ryan Kim is a high-powered attorney with a heart of gold. He enjoys cooking elaborate meals, slow jazz, and long walks—mostly because his fiancée drags him into them."

Laughter broke out across the room.

Ryan turned to Ava, scandalized. "She’s auctioning me off like a prize cow."

Ava sipped her champagne. "She did call you high-powered."

Ryan narrowed his eyes. "You’re enjoying this."

"Immensely."

"And you’re not going to stop it?"

"Nope."

Harold took over the auctioneer’s podium with surprising flourish, his voice booming like a man born for theatrics. "Opening bid at twenty thousand yen!"

Hands shot into the air.

"Thirty!"

"Forty-five!"

"A hundred thousand!" someone from the back shouted, and Ryan’s eyebrows vanished into his hairline.

"Wow," Ava murmured. "You’re in demand."

"I’m being sold like a romantic collector’s item," Ryan muttered. "This is disturbing."

When the bidding crossed ninety thousand yen, Ryan turned to Ava, eyes narrowed. "Do something."

"Too late."

"I will find creative ways to make you regret this."

"Promise?"

Just as another woman lifted her paddle at a hundred thousand, Ava stood up, as serene as a queen in her throne, and lifted her paddle.

The room fell silent.

"All bids concluded!" Harold announced dramatically. "Sold to the woman in black—Ms. Ava Lee!"

Applause broke out.

Julian, standing at the bar with a glass of neat scotch, muttered loudly, "Disgusting."

Ryan descended the steps to where Ava stood. "Do I say thank you? Or ask how much of that was pure ego?"

"Fifty-fifty," Ava said sweetly. "Also, you’re mine."

Ryan leaned in, brushing a kiss to her cheek. "Always was."

The audience cooed.

And just like that?

They stole the entire show.

Later, in a quieter corner of the ballroom...

Ava tucked herself against Ryan’s side as they watched the final "dates" being auctioned. Kenta and Yui had gone for a generous sixty thousand yen, and were already smiling over their winning bidders—two shy but giggly young women who seemed more interested in chatting than dating.

"I think I might actually be getting the hang of this matchmaking thing," Ava murmured.

Ryan brushed his lips against her temple. "You’ve always had it. You just didn’t believe it."

"I still don’t believe Mei has wedding invitations drafted."

Ryan laughed. "I do."

Ava tilted her head. "Why do you sound so smug about it?"

He sipped his drink. "Because the woman who just outbid half of Tokyo for me is going to make one hell of a bride."

Ava flushed.

Ryan took the glass from her hand, setting it aside.

Then he kissed her—deep and slow, ignoring the fact that half the room still had their phones out.

Someone whistled.

Someone else muttered, "Get a room."

They did.

But that was for later.

For now?

Ava was winning.

In matchmaking.

In love.

And yes—in bidding wars.

Got it. Let’s dive in.

---

The ballroom lights were still dazzling behind them, laughter and champagne spilling across the gilded room. But Ava and Ryan were no longer part of it.

She tugged his hand, heels clicking rapidly down the velvet-lined corridor. Past the crystal-laden archway, through a side exit marked "Staff Only." No one stopped them. No one dared.

They were adrenaline and wine. They were the buzz of too many eyes, too much tension. They were Matchmaker and Her Man—newly "bought" for a night of scandalous romance.

They were also two seconds from combusting.

Ava pushed open the side door with more force than necessary. It swung open to reveal a hidden terrace—a rooftop balcony high above Tokyo’s skyline, dark and mostly deserted, save for the faint flicker of lanterns strung low along the stone railings.

Cool air hit her flushed skin like a shock.

Ryan’s voice was hoarse behind her. "Ava—"

She didn’t give him time.

He barely got the door closed before she shoved him against the railing, her hands already pulling at his jacket.

"Did you really spend ninety thousand yen on me?" he teased, breathless, even as his hands found her hips and dragged her close.

Ava grinned against his neck. "Worth every coin."

Then she kissed him—hard, messy, desperate.

Ryan groaned, lifting her effortlessly onto the stone ledge. It was barely wide enough for safety, and Ava’s heart thrilled at the danger, at the way his hands gripped her thighs like he’d never let her fall.

"Tell me to stop," he rasped against her lips.

"Don’t you dare."

His hand slipped under the slit of her evening gown, warm fingers brushing against bare skin. Ava gasped, head tilting back as the city lights twinkled behind her like a galaxy. Below them, Tokyo pulsed—bright, alive, utterly unaware of the fevered storm building on its rooftop.

Ryan kissed down her throat, his voice ragged. "You’re going to ruin me, Lee."

"Then be ruined," she whispered, fingers in his hair, pulling him back in.

The terrace was cloaked in shadow, hidden just enough from view to feel daring, but not quite private enough to kill the thrill.

He pressed closer. The railing was cold at her back. His mouth was fire at her chest.

"God, look at you," Ryan groaned, dragging her thigh over his hip, locking her to him.

Ava’s breath stuttered. "Ryan—someone could—"

"Let them," he said darkly, "They’ll just know who you belong to."

She pulled him into her. One swift, bold motion. Her gasp echoed into the night.

Ryan’s eyes locked on hers. "We’re really doing this."

"Stop talking."

And for once, he obeyed.

They moved together—slow at first, reverent, then fast, wild, like the city couldn’t watch fast enough.

Every moan muffled in his shoulder. Every gasp drowned in the rustle of her dress.

And when Ava came undone, it wasn’t the city she was thinking of.

It was him.

Only him.

---

The chaos of the auction gala was a distant murmur now, swallowed by the hush of night.

Ava’s head rested against Ryan’s shoulder, her dress bunched around her thighs, her pulse finally slowing. The air was cooler now, but his arms around her—strong, steady—kept her anchored. Safe.

They didn’t speak for a long moment. Just the sound of their breaths, tangled like their limbs, filled the silence.

Ryan’s fingertips stroked her back in slow, rhythmic circles. His other hand threaded through hers, their fingers interlaced against the railing as if grounding them both.

"I can’t believe we just did that," Ava murmured, voice husky from kisses and laughter.

Ryan tilted his head, brushing his nose against her temple. "I can. I’ve been wanting to do that since you outbid every woman in Tokyo."

She huffed out a laugh. "That was for charity."

"That was for possessiveness," he corrected, smirking. "And I liked it."

Ava lifted her head, meeting his eyes. They were darker now—intimate, full of something quiet and reverent. Like the stars above them had all been pulled into his gaze.

"I meant what I said," he whispered. "You were worth every damn yen."

She smiled, tracing her fingers along his jaw, softer now. "You’re going to ruin me, Kim."

"Right back at you, Lee."

A gust of wind swept through, lifting her hair like a whisper. Ryan tucked a strand behind her ear, then leaned in to press a slow kiss to her forehead.

It wasn’t rushed.

It wasn’t lust-driven.

It was grounding. Real. A promise beneath the glitz and adrenaline.

They stood there a while longer, the city humming far below, the world holding its breath around them.

Finally, Ryan spoke again, voice low. "Let’s not go back yet."

Ava blinked. "You want to stay on a cold rooftop with your pants halfway undone?"

He grinned, nuzzling her neck. "I meant... not to the gala. Not to the cameras or the challenges or Julian’s smug little face."

Ava nodded, heart squeezing at the honesty in his voice. "What did you have in mind?"

Ryan looked around, then tilted his chin toward a smaller, elevated balcony just above them—more secluded, lined with paper lanterns and wide enough to dance.

"I want a moment that’s just us."

Ava narrowed her eyes. "Are you about to propose again?"

"Not unless you want me to," he said, pulling her closer, spinning her slowly in his arms.

She snorted, but her body already moved with his. A slow, barefoot shuffle on cool stone. Her hand in his. Her cheek pressed to his chest.

No music.

Just their own rhythm.

And the pulse of a city that, for one perfect night, faded into background noise.