Jaxen POV
The brands kept pinging back the same answer.
Scarlett wouldn’t take a single damn thing.
Not the house my assistant lined up. Not the jewelry. High-end, limited, stupidly expensive, none of it moved her.
What the hell had changed?
The woman in my memory used to light up over the smallest thoughtful gift.
This one looked at seven-figure presents as if they were dirty laundry.
Maybe if I handed it over myself.
That thought wouldn’t leave me alone.
So I showed up at the biggest charity auction of the year in the city.
The night where old money and new packs rubbed shoulders under chandeliers, and every Alpha in three states pretended not to size each other up.
The last lot was a crown, hundreds of diamonds, old European workmanship, the piece that made even jade
