Roman and Julienne's heart desire
Chapter 88: The Final Piece

Chapter 88: The Final Piece

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The sun slipped through tinted glass in golden ribbons, dancing over the folds of Julie’s silk dress as the car glided soundlessly across the smooth road.

The landscape beyond the window was a blur of manicured hedges and white-stone walls, passing like secrets kept too long.

Julie sat with her hands resting gently on a soft cream clutch, her fingers still, her posture composed.

Yet beneath her calm exterior, her thoughts swirled like wind beneath snow.

She could feel the weight of whispers even before they arrived. Her gown, a soft beige that matched her skin like melted light, rustled only faintly as she shifted to glance out the window.

Roman sat beside her, one leg crossed, his arm resting along the back of the seat.

Dressed in tailored black, the matte fabric hugged his form with ruthless elegance.

He looked ahead, gaze steady, lips unmoving, the silence between them unthreatening, but electric.

"You’ve been quiet," he said, voice low and smooth like poured smoke.

Julie glanced at him. "I’ve never been to a place like this before."

He didn’t look at her. His gaze remained trained on the road ahead. "It’s not so different from anywhere else."

She tilted her head. "That doesn’t sound convincing."

Roman smiled faintly, almost too subtly to catch. "Here, people just wear masks made of diamonds instead of paper."

Her lips curved, but she didn’t laugh. Not really.

The car slowed, drawing up before an arched iron gate wrapped in flowering vines.

The building beyond was pale stone, seamless and towering, its windows reflecting the early evening sun.

No sign marked the entrance. Just two valets in black, standing sentinel.

Roman stepped out first and turned to offer his hand. Julie took it without hesitation, the soft brush of his fingers grounding her more than she wanted to admit.

Her heels met marble with a crisp click, and immediately, the air shifted.

Whispers. Not loud. Not crude. But there.

"That’s her."

"The girl from the video..."

"Roman brought her—here?"

Julie felt it like a prickle against her skin, but she kept her head high, spine straight, expression unreadable.

Roman’s hand came to rest lightly at her lower back, not possessive, but firm. Protective. An anchor.

The doors opened for them before they reached them.

A suited attendant led them into a vast corridor filled with golden light and quiet echoes.

The scent of polished wood and cold champagne hovered in the air.

They were guided to the auction hall—a cathedral of shadows and splendor.

Rows of velvet chairs fanned out before a raised platform lit like a stage.

Above, chandeliers shimmered like constellations trapped in crystal.

Roman chose a seat near the center, not the front. He preferred angles,

The auction had begun like a quiet storm.

Soft strings played overhead, elegant and unobtrusive, brushing through the grand chandelier-lit hall like whispers too shy to interrupt.

Gold sconces flickered along the paneled walls, their flames trembling with anticipation.

Julie sat beside Roman, her back straight but not rigid, her hands folded neatly in her lap.

The fabric of her pale silver gown shimmered faintly under the overhead lights—soft, fluid, expensive. But she barely noticed.

Her eyes, dark and thoughtful, drifted from one item to the next as the auctioneer’s voice echoed across the marbled room.

"A 17th-century oil painting—Valerio Castello, from the Genoese Baroque."

The bidding climbed swiftly. Seven. Nine. Eleven million.

Roman didn’t move.

His expression remained unreadable, carved from patience and power.

He leaned back in his chair like he had all the time in the world, like the numbers meant nothing—because they didn’t. Not to him.

Julie glanced sideways at him, studying the clean angle of his jaw, the stillness of his mouth. He might as well have been watching clouds.

Next came a private yacht license.

Then a steel case containing 40% ownership of a boutique weapons manufacturer based in Geneva. Subtle murmurs stirred in the crowd—this one mattered.

Julie could feel the air tighten as suits shifted in their seats and glances sharpened.

"Opening bid—forty billion."

Julie blinked. Forty?

"Sixty."

"Ninety-five."

"One-twenty."

Still, Roman didn’t move.

Julie allowed herself the smallest, most careful smile. The room smelled faintly of old wealth and ambition—wood polish, cologne, pressed silk.

But none of it touched Roman. He was an island. A quiet storm, unmoved by noise or numbers.

She let her gaze drift again across the crowd—powerful men, jewel-draped women, calculated charm everywhere.

There was something mesmerizing about the rhythm of it. Greed dressed in elegance. Desire masked behind champagne and polished shoes.

Until—

A bell rang.

Soft. Singular. The room stilled.

"The final piece of the evening," the auctioneer announced, almost reverently, as if afraid his voice might shatter what was about to be revealed.

"From a private heirloom collection. Unseen in public. One-of-one. Designed in Paris... commissioned under silence. Ladies and gentlemen..."

A final curtain lifted.

No one moved.

Inside the glass, beneath spotlight and crystal casing, lay a choker.

Not just jewelry. Not just design.

A whisper of war and royalty. A secret wrapped in beauty.

Julie’s breath caught—not loudly, just enough that Roman, even without looking, must have noticed.

It was unlike anything she had ever seen.

Emeralds—deep, stormy green, not the bright kind people wore for show, but the kind found in ancient mines and stolen history.

Five stones, gradually descending in size, set in platinum that curled like smoke around the neck.

Along its edges—tiny diamonds like falling snow, catching the light with a glint that was somehow both subtle and arresting.

But what held her wasn’t just the beauty.

It was something else. Something in the way it was displayed. Revered.

Julie leaned forward slightly, not realizing she’d moved until her own reflection in the glass looked back at her. Her eyes wide. Lips parted.

A hush hung over the hall.

Someone at the front whispered, "It’s not in the catalogue."

Another voice, softer: "It was never meant to be sold."

Roman finally moved.

Only a tilt of his head, his eyes lifting toward the stage. But Julie felt it like gravity.

The auctioneer cleared his throat, almost reluctantly. "We open the bid... at twenty-five billion."

No one spoke.

No hands lifted.

Julie could feel the air around her hum with restraint. Curiosity, yes—but uncertainty, too.

The kind of piece that could destroy someone’s fortune or elevate their legacy. Nothing safe about it.

Roman raised one hand.

The gesture was almost casual. But it carried weight.

"Fifty billion," he said.

The room exhaled.

Julie turned to him, surprised. His voice was calm. Low. He hadn’t even looked at her.

Someone else raised their card. "Fifty-five."

"Seventy."

Roman didn’t glance at the competition. He didn’t need to.

Julie’s heart thudded. Not fast—but steady. Each beat deliberate, like footsteps echoing in a long corridor.

He was going to win it.

No. He was never going to lose it.

"Eighty-five billion."

"One Thousands trillion."

Silence again.

Julie swallowed.

She wasn’t sure why her throat felt tight. Maybe it was the way the lights caught the green fire of those emeralds... or the quiet realization blooming in her chest:

He saw it.

He saw her.

Because that necklace didn’t scream wealth. It didn’t demand to be noticed.

It carried a kind of grace, veiled and commanding. It didn’t seduce—it haunted.

Roman’s eyes flicked toward her then.

Just a glance.

Not seeking approval.

Just letting her know.

Julie looked down quickly, her fingers curling gently against her palm. Her heart beat a little harder.

"No further bids?" the auctioneer asked, clearly hopeful someone would challenge.

Nothing.

The man nodded once, his gavel rising.

Roman still hadn’t blinked.

"Sold," the auctioneer declared. "To Mr. Thompson, for one Thousand billion."

The gavel came down.

Julie exhaled softly, unaware she’d been holding her breath.

Roman leaned toward her then, his voice like velvet laced with gravel. "I saw the way you looked at it."

Her head turned, eyes widening just a little. "What?"

He smiled faintly, the kind that made her wonder if he’d been watching her the entire time. "Your eyes don’t lie, Julie."

She lowered her gaze, suddenly warm in the cheeks, though the room was cooled to perfection. "It’s beautiful," she murmured.

Roman didn’t answer right away.

He just looked ahead, watching as the glass casing was carefully lowered, the choker secured by gloved hands.

And then, without turning, he said quietly, "So are you."

He stood first, offering his hand once more.

And this time, when she placed her fingers in his—

She couldn’t look away.

His palm was warm, steady, wrapping around hers with a possessiveness so quiet it didn’t scream, it whispered.

He lifted her with a grace that made the gesture feel private despite the hush that had fallen across the auction floor.

Eyes followed them, heads turned discreetly, and yet the world around them melted into velvet shadows.

Julie’s breath caught in her throat, but she didn’t let it show.

Her fingers trembled only slightly where they touched his, ’Julie most you feel this way?’ she asked herself feeling her heart beating like a drum.

"Roman why are you exceptionally different today," Julie asked they walked.

Roman, as always, didn’t rush. He moved like a man who had never been late to anything, because time waited for him.

"I’m just... not the type who speaks in rooms like this. But with you, I don’t feel the need to hide behind silence."

They stepped down the carpeted aisle, surrounded by the glow of golden sconces, the air thick with wealth, whispers, and rose-laced cologne.

Murmurs coiled around them like smoke.

’Hmm is this what it means to be with a billionaire,’ Julie in her head looking at how people are looking at them.

"That’s her. The girl with Mr. Thompson in the video."

"Did you see the bid?"

"One thousand trillion... for a necklace."

"Yes. For her. He bought it for the woman beside him."

"That shows how valuable she is to him," One woman who is in her thirties said and walked forward.