Back in his cheap hotel room, Adam helped Quintella go to bed—or tried to. The auction's fervor still burned in her veins, while the chaotic scene at the gates served as an icy counterpoint, making her shudder beneath the comforting blankets.
After a moment of brushing her hair and a few gentle words whispered, he sat across from Robert at the table, eyes narrowed, yet a smirk spreading across his face.
Robert tried to smirk back, but only managed a crooked smile. "Two hundred and thirteen million Prestige."
