The Heiress’s Auction to the Billionaire She’d Once Humiliated 

Samantha found herself leaning forward, too, drawn by gravity she didn’t understand. Acutely aware of the small distance between them. I thought about you, she admitted after high school.

Read articles about your success. And I wondered if you remembered me. Dylan’s laugh was soft, painful.

Samantha, you were the yard stick. I measured everything against every deal, every success. Some part of me was thinking, “Would she see me now?” The confession made her chest constrict. She felt heat blooming across her skin. This wasn’t the revenge fantasy she’d braced herself against. “That’s incredibly sad,” Samantha whispered. “Yes, and terrifying because this isn’t simple.” “No,” Dylan agreed. It really isn’t.

Their food arrived. They ate mechanically, conversation shifting to safer topics. But underneath the surface, something hummed. Samantha found herself studying details. The way Dylan’s hands moved when he talked, the slight scar above his eyebrow, the way he listened as if her words actually mattered. Each observation made her more conscious of him, of the way her body responded to his presence without permission.

When dessert came and went, Dylan walked her outside.

His car waited at the curb. This was goodbye.

Samantha looked at him one more time, her heart beating an unsteady rhythm.

What you said about wondering if you’d be worth my attention. You always were.

I just wasn’t looking. She walked away before she could watch how the words landed, her heels clicking against pavement, acutely aware of his gaze on her back. warm and intense.

This should have been simple revenge.

Instead, walking through Manhattan’s night, Samantha admitted what she’d been avoiding. Dylan Baskers had become infinitely more dangerous than the boy she’d dismissed because now she couldn’t stop thinking about him, and her body seemed to know something her mind refused to admit.

Dylan told himself he wasn’t obsessing.

He thought about nothing else. Not in the vengeful way he’d carried for years, but in a way that made his chest tight.

His thoughts scattered. The way she’d listened when he spoke. The vulnerability underneath. Her pride that called to something protective he hadn’t known he possessed. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

Two weeks later, circumstance delivered what manipulation shouldn’t.

a scheduling conflict requiring his attendance at the Morgan Heritage Foundation’s quarterly review where Samantha worked. The foundation operated from a converted townhouse. Dylan arrived early, his heart already racing.

Mr. Baskers. Samantha’s voice came from the doorway. He turned. She stood there in workclo. Simple, practical. His mouth went dry. She was more beautiful than she’d been at the gala. Samantha, Dylan said, her name coming out rough. I didn’t know you’d be here. The lie hung obvious between them. Her expression suggested she knew exactly how unconvincing, he sounded. I work here 3 days a week, Samantha said with defensive pride in her voice. It’s honest work.

I wasn’t implying otherwise. Weren’t you? She moved into the room and Dylan’s awareness narrowed to her. The way she moved, her proximity making his skin feel too warm.

You show up unannounced at my workplace.

Either you’re following me or exerting influence. Dylan felt heat rise in his face. I sponsor this foundation. I’m here for a legitimate review.

A review you’ve never personally attended before, Samantha pointed out.

How would you know that?

Because I read the meeting minutes going back 3 years. You were always listed as remote participation. She’d researched him. The realization sent satisfaction curling through his chest. Fine, Dylan said quietly.

You’re right. I came because I knew you worked here. Why? Samantha asked.

Because I can’t stop thinking about you, Dylan admitted, the words escaping before caution could intervene.

Because that dinner was supposed to be closure, and instead it’s been 2 weeks of distraction.

Samantha stared, her lips parting slightly. The site made his heart lurch.

The director appeared in the doorway.

“Mr. Baskers, we’re ready for the quarterly review.” The moment shattered.

“I should get back to cataloging,” Samantha said.

Stay, Dylan said, his voice rougher than intended. Please, Samantha’s eyes narrowed, but she nodded.

Of course, Mr. Baskers. The meeting was torture. Dylan sat through projections while every cell tracked Samantha’s position. His awareness of her was acute, almost painful. The way she tucked, hair behind her ear when concentrating, the sound of her voice sending electricity down his spine each time she spoke. When the room emptied, he stopped her. “This has to stop,” Samantha said before he could speak.

“You showing up, using influence, finding excuses to be near me.” “Why not?” Dylan asked. “Because I can’t afford complications,” Samantha said, her voice holding strain. “I don’t have space for whatever this is becoming.

What if I want to help? I don’t want your help. I want to earn my own survival, even if it means struggling unnecessarily, Dylan pressed. Especially then, Samantha said, looking at him directly, his breath caught. The only thing I have left is pride. You taking that would be cruer than any revenge.

The words landed like blows making his chest tight.

I’m sorry. You’re right.

Then why did you really come? Samantha asked. Dylan’s throat went dry.

Because I’m falling for you. Because one dinner wasn’t enough, and I don’t know how to ask for more. Samantha’s breath caught audibly. Color rose in her cheeks, and Dylan watched her fight for composure.

“I can’t afford to fall for you,” she whispered. “You’re everything I was raised to want and everything experience taught me not to trust.

So, what do we do? Dylan asked. She looked at him for a long moment, and the air between them felt charged, electric.

“We don’t. You go back to your empire. I go back to cataloging.” She left. And Dylan stood watching her disappear, his heart racing.

That night, alone in his penthouse, Dylan pulled up information on Samantha’s foundation. He could fix everything with one phone call, but he’d also prove her exactly right. So Dylan did something he’d never done. He forced himself to do nothing. To respect boundaries, even when every instinct screamed to cross them. Late that night, Dylan admitted what he’d been avoiding.

He wasn’t falling for Samantha Ren. He’d already fallen.

Three weeks of careful avoidance ended with a storm. Dylan had been working late at the foundation’s offices with Samantha. Careful partnership that maintained professional distance while awareness hummed constantly beneath.

When the power died, emergency lighting cast everything ghostly blue. “Well,” Samantha said, “This is atmospheric.” Thunder cracked overhead. Samantha jumped and Dylan found himself moving toward her. It’s okay. Old building, good bones, he said. Thunder always startles me, Samantha admitted, wrapping her arms around herself. Dylan noticed the temperature had dropped, her worn cardigan insufficient. Here, Dylan shrugged out of his jacket, offering it.

She looked at the jacket, then at him.

Something flickered in her eyes.

That’s very gentlemanly.

She took it, pulling it around her shoulders. It swamped her frame, and Dylan felt something in his chest constrict at the sight of her wrapped in something that belonged to him. Another crack of thunder. Samantha flinched, and Dylan settled on the couch. “Everyone has fears,” Dylan said. My grandmother was terrified of elevators.

“What’s yours?” Samantha asked. The question surprised him into honesty.

Irrelevance.

The fear that everything I’ve built could disappear and no one would notice.

That’s incredibly sad. Also incredibly egotistical, Dylan admitted.

Wanting to matter isn’t egotistical, Samantha said, moving to the window. I used to fear irrelevance, too. Now I fear mattering too much. Having people depend on me and failing them. You won’t fail.

I already did. My father’s foundation is being restructured by someone who cares more about his vision than her own pride. Dylan interrupted. That’s not failure. That’s love.

She turned to face him, and the look in her eyes made his heart race.

You say things that make me want to trust you.

Why is that terrifying? Dylan asked.

Because caring means vulnerability, Samantha said, moving closer, each step deliberate. But you keep finding ways through my walls.

What kinds of things do I make you want?

Dylan asked. Partnership, support, Samantha said, stopping directly before him. His throat went dry. You? The confession hung in the air. Dylan stood slowly. They were inches apart now, close enough that he could see her pulse jumping in her throat. Could hear the slight hitch in her breathing.

“Samantha,” Dylan started. “Why did you bid on me that night?” Samantha asked fiercely.