Wearing a tailored, neon green pantsuit that clashed horribly with the mahogany walls of the auction house, was Lydia Laurent.
Lydia was clutching a numbered paddle, her chin tilted up in a desperate, strained display of haughty confidence. She had clearly rushed here straight from whatever rock she'd been hiding under, banking on her miraculously unfrozen accounts to swoop in and ruin Aria's night.
A collective murmur buzzed through the room.
Damien's golden eyes darkened into narrow slits. The annoyance of having his kiss interrupted was instantly eclipsed by the homicidal irritation of seeing Lydia Laurent breathing the same air as his wife.
His jaw locked, and his hand abandoned Aria's waist, reaching for his own paddle resting on the armrest. He was prepared to drop a ten-million-dollar bid right on Lydia's head just to crush her into fine dust.
Aria immediately slapped both of her hands flat against his solid chest, her fingers gripping the lapels of his tuxedo jacket.
