The Bidding War

As much as Julien would have liked to rain down on his cousin’s bidding war, that new user wasn’t him. He found such things… trivial and tiresome. No one had time to sit and battle it out in an online bid. He had better things to do. Julien ignored his cousin, though his spies were keeping a tight eye on Tamura’s penthouse.

Meanwhile, Toran was still stuck at her job, scrolling through the auction site’s comment section. The chat was lively, filled with speculation about the two mysterious bidders. Some users called them insane, others swore they were bots messing with the system. Toran refreshed the auction page again, fingers drumming absently against the counter. The bids were climbing, but that wasn’t what she was waiting for. Not really. She leaned back, exhaling slowly.

It was his turn.

The realization curled uncomfortably in her chest. Hadn’t this started as her game? Her thumb hovered over her phone. She told herself she was just keeping track, just staying ahead.

But part of her wanted to see what he’d do next. She chuckled, placing her phone down as another customer walked in. She carried out her barista duties, finding time between orders to reply to Tamura’s texts.

Delayed, but always precise.

— I don’t know anyone else crazy as you. Maybe it’s a bot or someone trying to stir trouble. Don’t just jinx it as another “admirer.” I might have nightmares.
— Gentleman… right. As for the vintage espresso machine, thanks. I’ll take it. My hazard pay AND compensation for that awful war crime of a pizza. Hawaiian? Extra Pineapple?? That’s just brutal.
— It’s still at $100K. Is that your limit? Will I be selling this ticket to mysterious man or bot?

A taunt, light but pointed, meant to stir the pot. Toran smirked and placed her phone down, returning to cleaning up the shop. One more hour until her shift ended. Today had been… interesting. And now she had a gift to look forward to at home.

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Tamura’s grin was sharp, predatory, as he read her texts. His fingers flew across his burner phone, the dragon inked on his arm flexing as he typed.

— Bots don’t bid $100k, darling. That’s reserved for men who know your worth. And trust me—heh—I’m not the only one.
— Nightmares? Please. You’d dream in technicolor if you knew half the things I’ve planned.
— Pineapple was a test. You passed. Next time, I’ll send something hotter.

The auction site updated: $100,001 still held strong. Tamura’s smirk tightened. Who the hell is this? If it wasn’t Julien, then who dared challenge him? He let it sit, stewing, while his attention drifted back to Toran. Tamura smirked as he reread her last message, rolling his cigarette between his fingers.

Sharp. Calculated. A little reckless.

His type.

His jaw tightened, and he scoffed under his breath, tossing the phone onto the desk. His type? What a joke.

He wasn’t playing this game because of her. He was playing it because he was bored. Because he liked control. And yet, his fingers twitched—just barely—before he forced himself to delay a bit. He waited half an hour before sending another text.

— $100k’s chump change. But why bid when I can just steal you? Exhibit’s dull without someone to scandalize.
— P.S. That machine’s got a safety switch. Press it, and you’ll find out why I’m not a gentleman.

He tossed his phone aside, prowling to the window of his penthouse. Lindell’s skyline stretched beneath him, a sprawl of neon-lit chaos. She had taken the bait. Now? Now he’d reel her in slow.

His burner buzzed—a courier confirmation. The espresso machine was delivered, complete with his personal touch: a hidden compartment stocked with single-origin beans… and something extra. A note left inside: Your espresso or mine?

Tamura leaned against the glass, anticipation curling in his chest. She would find it. They always did.

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Toran wiped the sweat from her forehead as she finished cleaning up the shop. Her phone vibrated. She glanced at the screen and laughed.

“So $100k’s your limit after all, Peacock?”

She wiped away a nonexistent tear, amusement laced in her expression as she typed:

— Then that man really doesn’t understand my worth. $100k is an insult. Still, if he wins, I will need to deliver the ticket in person. Maybe I’ll see if the man is worth that much. Or bot. I’m still convinced that it’s a bot.
— Steal me away? What makes you think I’ll go along? Maybe mysterious man over here will take me first. He still must pay me after all. My heart goes with the higher paying customer.
— Tempting me, aren’t you? Though, I am tempted.

She pocketed her phone and resumed her tasks, sweeping the floors as she mulled over the game unfolding. It was exhilarating, in a way. How easily he rose to the bait. How predictable, yet entertaining, he was.

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Tamura’s laughter echoed in his dimly lit SUV, parked across the street from her shop. Through the glass, he watched her—sweeping, scowling, alive with sharp edges and wit.

— $100k’s the floor, darling. I just like watching ants scramble before I crush them. Cute that you think I’d let you waltz off with some amateur. — Steal you? Please. You’d beg me to. The real question is—

His fingers hovered, then moved with purpose:

— How much would you charge to break that bot’s heart? I’ll double it.
— P.S. Check the espresso machine’s third drawer. Consider it a preview of how I handle… sensitive situations.

He grinned, knowing she would find the hidden compartment soon enough. Inside, nestled among the coffee beans, lay a velvet pouch containing a switchblade with her initials etched into the handle. A gift, a warning—always both.

His gaze flicked to the auction page. He lifted a finger. $200,002.

Let the bot choke on that.

A final text, softer, a whisper against the chaos:

— Careful, Toran. Your ‘tempted’ is my favorite flavor. I’ll collect it in person.

He shut off the engine, stepped onto the pavement, and melted into the night. A neon-haired shadow with too many secrets and a promise.

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Toran moved with grace and precision as she lost herself in the cleaning process. When she recognized that she was slipping back to old habits, she slowed down, pacing herself. It had been a while since something truly exciting happened. The thrill of it made her momentarily slip back into old… routines.

After a while, she wiped the last table and chair, gathered the trash, and emptied it into the bin behind the bar. She placed the cleaning supplies away and took off her apron. Heading to the locker room, she changed out of her uniform, slipping into a white T-shirt featuring an indie rock band logo, dark high-waisted jeans, and a brown leather jacket. Slinging her shoulder bag across her chest, she dropped the tamper inside with a smirk before checking her phone.

She let out a soft whistle. Bold of him to assume she would beg.  And to offer such a ludicrous amount? Typical man. “Think I would back down?” she scoffed and sent off one single message:

— $100 million. Still too little?

A random, outrageous number and a taunt to go with it. She wasn’t really expecting him to take it seriously. Not really.

She locked up the shop and stepped outside, pulling the scrunchie from her hair. Dark chocolate curls unraveled, stopping just below her shoulder blades. She ran her fingers through them, a smile full of anticipation playing on her lips. The chic, split curtain bangs framed her sharp features.

Toran hurried home, deliberately making sounds as she walked. Her movements mimicked those of a skittish rabbit, yet her sharp eyes were far from fearful. She checked over her shoulder often, listening. The streets were empty—again. Still, she didn’t relax until she was home.

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Tamura’s laughter ricocheted off the polished steel walls of an unknown place, sharp and unhinged, as her $100 million text lit up his screen. He straddled the arm of the leather couch, shirtless, the green dragon on his torso twisting as he smirked. Screams and sound of metal on flesh echoed in the background, but he couldn't care less.

She dared to play his game? Adorable. Dangerous. Perfect.

His fingers danced across the burner phone, the glow highlighting the angel wings inked down his spine.

— $100 million? Cute. Let’s make it a billion — cash, gold, crypto? Your pick. I’ll even throw in a head if you’re into morbid souvenirs.
— P.S. Saw the new haircut. The bangs suit your murderous glare. Careful—keep tempting me, and I’ll start charging you rent for the space I’m taking in that pretty head of yours.

He attached a photo of himself sprawled in his car’s backseat, the city’s skyline bleeding through tinted windows. His thumb deliberately obscured most of the frame—except the dragon tattoo snaking up his hip and the silver pistol resting on his thigh. Let her parse that.

The auction page refreshed on his laptop: $200,002 still held. Tamura’s grin turned lethal. He tapped a number into his encrypted line. “Deliver the second ticket to her apartment. Leave it with… insurance.”

By dawn, a courier slipped the package under Toran’s door. Tamura watched via a feed hacked from her building’s lobby cam, cigarette smoke wreathing his face as he imagined her fingers peeling back the wrapping. Would she laugh? Roll her eyes? It didn’t matter. He’d already won—she’d text him within the hour. They always did.

Leaning back, he traced the angel wings on his back, their feathers bleeding into his sister’s portrait. “Patience, Aya,” he murmured to the ink. “This one’s worth the chase.” Lindell’s dawn painted his scars gold, but Tamura only saw Toran’s smirk—a puzzle he’d crack bone by bone.