Florence didn't sleep that night not because of the opera nor because of the wine but because every sinner with a crown was gathered under one roof and the devils were selling memories.

The Palazzo Aurelio stood tall and regal, its gothic architecture glowing under soft golden lights. Inside, the ballroom thrummed with murmurs and money. Men who murdered with handshakes and women who concealed poison in perfume clinked glasses and whispered sins into ears lined with diamonds.

At exactly 10:00 PM, a woman in black entered.

She didn't arrive in a limousine.

She had no flashy entrance, no bodyguards, just silence and a scent like blooming smoke.

Her heels touched the marble floor like a countdown, each step echoing louder than any music. She walked, heads turned not out of admiration, but confusion. The guests here knew each other. They traded favors, blackmail, blood. But her? She was like a ghost in velvet.

Celeste Laurent

Her name was written on her invitation but it wasn't her name.

The world believed Raelyn D'Amore had died thirteen years ago. The girl who once wept over her father's bloodied body now stood beneath the very chandelier that had once belonged to her family stolen piece by piece, just like the rest of their legacy. The anger in her veins was steel, but her mask was beautiful lace.

She wasn't here to be admired, she was here to be seen 'By him'.

Standing in the front of the room with shadows and associates on either side of him was Damien Voss. He was the crown prince of the Voss Syndicate, an empire based on a hundred unsolved crimes, global power, and old money.

He was elegantly craved. He wore a Jet-black suit with pocket watch chain glinting against his vest. He had Cold eyes and talked less and every inch of him screamed 'untouchable'

The auction began. One item after another sculptures, rare books, a vial of 19th-century poison rumored to have killed a queen. Bidding soared past millions, the tension rising with every paddle raised.

Raelyn didn't move until the painting came

"Lot 19," the auctioneer announced. "An original oil masterpiece late 1800s. Titled 'The Black Orchid' One of one. Provenance unknown, origin possibly Sicilian.

Opening bid: '€1 million'

Raelyn's breath caught.

The room blurred and all she saw was the brushstroke, the deep violet bloom and golden initials at the corner.

It wasn't just a painting, It was hers.

It had once hung in the D'Amore villa's library. Her father's favorite. He used to say, "Some flowers bloom even in poison."The words were a lullaby and a curse.

She raised her paddle.

"Two million," she said calmly.

Everyone paused, the room shifted and heads turned.

A Russian oligarch smirked and lifted his hand. "Three."

Raelyn didn't look at him. "Four."

There was a pause again and one moved, they didn't dare to.

The auctioneer's voice wavered. "Going once... twice..."

"Sold. To Miss Celeste Laurent."

There was a polite applause as Raelyn rose.

She didn't rush. Her steps were fluid, like silk on marble. She approached the stage, took the certificate, and laid a gloved hand on the painting's frame although fingers trembled.

She remembered that frame covered in blood.

"Beautiful piece," a voice said behind her.

It was low, smooth and dangerous.

She turned and met the devil.

Damien Voss stood close enough for her to smell him. Their eyes locked. His gaze was unreadable except for the tension behind it. Like he was trying to place her... and failing.

"I'm sorry," he said, voice cool. "But that painting doesn't suit your collection."

Raelyn smiled, tilting her head just slightly. "You know my collection?"

"I know collectors. You're not one", he replied.

She smiled wider and said, "And you're not an artist we are both pretending."

His jaw twitched, but she couldn't tell whether he was amused or annoyed.

"You wear her scent," he said suddenly.

Raelyn stilled. "Whose?"

He didn't answer instead he just stared like the memory was on the edge of his tongue, 'the scent of a ghost', he thought loudly to himself.

She leaned in close enough to make his breath hitch, "Some flowers bloom even in poison."

And with that she walked away.

The hallway outside was dim and velvet-lined. Her driver, Luca, waited with the car door open. She stepped in silently, gripping the certificate like a dagger.

"Go," she murmured.

As the car pulled off, she allowed herself for one moment to close her eyes.

She'd stood inches from the man who murdered her father, Looked into his eyes and spoke to him but hadn't recognized her and that was good.

Back inside, Damien Voss watched the doors long after she left.

He turned to his advisor. "Celeste Laurent. Get me everything."

His man nodded.

"And quietly," Damien added. "No one else needs to know I'm curious."

His eyes dropped to the empty space on the wall where 'The Black Orchid' had hung.

Something about her voice... those words... it gnawed at the edge of memory, something old and buried.

Damien Voss didn't believe in ghosts.

But tonight... he wasn't so sure, even still he brushed off the feeling.

In the privacy of her penthouse suite, Raelyn uncorked a bottle of Barolo and stared at the painting now mounted above her fireplace.

She sipped slowly, then pulled out a small USB flash drive from her purse. Plugged it into her laptop after which a video file loaded.

'A child's birthday party'

A man was smiling and he was no other than her father. Another man stood beside him and that was Damien's father with a boy with haunted eyes which was Damien.

Raelyn watched the boy blow out candles.

--

Across town, Damien's assistant returned.

"There's no record of a Celeste Laurent in Monaco's art registry."

Damien didn't respond. He just stared at the empty wine glass she'd left behind.

He picked it up and Inhaled deeply.

There was something about that scent...

It didn't belong to Celeste Laurent.

It belonged to someone he thought was dead.