Chapter 117 Chapter 116
Harper POV
Auction time feels like standing at the edge of a stage with a spotlight aimed directly at your soul.
The hall is unrecognizable now.
Where this morning there were folding chairs and tangled lights and frantic volunteers, tonight there is warmth and shimmer and money.
String lights hang like stars.
Centerpieces gleam under the glow.
The air smells like champagne and expensive cologne and the kind of anticipation that makes your skin feel too tight.
Every seat is filled.
Sorority sisters.
Hockey players.
Boosters in slick jackets.
People with paddles resting casually in their hands like they’re not about to bid on human beings.
I stand near the side of the stage with Lila, clutching my clipboard like it’s a shield.
My dress is different from last night.
Still black.
But softer. Elegant. A little less revenge and a little more… armor.
Lila leans in, whispering, “Okay. Deep breaths. Pretend you’re accepting an award.”
I shoot her a look.
“I don’t want an award,” I murmur.
“I know,” she whispers back. “You want Logan Shaw to stop being an idiot. Unfortunately, that is not on tonight’s program.”
I choke out a laugh, despite myself.
My stomach twists.
Because Logan is here.
Of course he is.
He’s the captain. The face. The golden boy.
I saw him earlier, moving through the crowd with that practiced ease, shaking hands, smiling when he had to.
But I also saw the way his smile never quite reached his eyes.
I saw the way his gaze found me even when he was talking to someone else.
Like a magnet he didn’t want.
Like a problem he couldn’t ignore.
I haven’t spoken to him since this morning’s setup.
Since he promised—
Show up when it’s daylight.
I don’t know what that promise is worth yet.
The emcee steps up to the microphone, voice booming warmly through the hall.
“Good evening, everyone! Thank you for joining us for our annual charity date auction—supporting youth programs, campus outreach, and local families in need!”
Applause ripples.
My pulse pounds.
Lila nudges me. “Smile. You look like you’re about to be interrogated.”
“I feel like I might be.”
The emcee continues, smooth as silk.
“Tonight, you’ll have the opportunity to bid on some of our wonderful student leaders and athletes—an evening out, a dinner, a campus experience—”
I hate the way it sounds.
An experience.
Like we’re gift baskets.
My name is on the list.
My face is on the program.
Harper Lane — Sorority President.
I swallow hard.
The first few auction items go quickly.
Some sorority sisters get called up and draw big bids from friends and alumni.
Then it’s hockey players — faces people recognize — and the paddles rise fast and loudly.
I clap because it’s expected.
But my palms are damp.
My heart won’t settle.
Then I hear it.
The emcee’s voice brightens.
“And now… one of our most anticipated participants this evening.”
My stomach drops.
Lila stiffens beside me.
Oh God.
The emcee smiles toward the crowd.
“She is a campus leader, the president of one of our most respected sororities, and a woman who has helped organize this entire event.”
Applause surges.
My face grows warm.
“And tonight,” he continues, “she’s joining the auction for a very special cause. Please welcome… Harper Lane!”
The spotlight finds me instantly.
White-hot.
My breath catches.
Lila squeezes my hand once.
“You’ve got this,” she whispers. “Remember. Undeniable.”
I step forward because my legs know what to do even if my brain doesn’t.
I walk up the steps.
The room blurs.
Faces like shapes and shadows.
I stop center stage, forcing control into my shoulders.
Smile.
Smile.
Smile.
The emcee leans in slightly.
“Harper, thank you for doing this.”
“Of course,” I manage without shaking.
His voice stays upbeat.
“All right, bidding begins at five hundred dollars!”
A murmur goes through the room.
My stomach twists.
Five hundred.
A paddle lifts.
“Five hundred!”
Another.
“Seven hundred!”
Breath constricts.
People who know me.
People I know.
The bids rise.
Nine hundred.
One thousand.
Then I hear it.
Some sneakers scuff at the front of the crowd.
My pulse jerks.
Another paddle lifts—slowly, deliberately.
“Two thousand.”
The emcee’s smile falters slightly.
My eyes lift.
And there he is.
Logan.
Standing.
Not casual.
Not smiling.
Just standing with his paddle raised and eyes locked on me.
My breath stops.
Lila makes a strangled sound beside me.
The emcee clears his throat, trying to save the moment.
“Well! Captain Logan Shaw is not playing around tonight!”
A few people laugh.
Someone calls, “Way to go!”
But Logan isn’t smiling.
He looks… intense.
Like he doesn’t want anyone else in this room thinking they have a shot.
Another paddle goes up.
“Three thousand!”
Logan’s jaw flexes and he doesn’t hesitate.
“Three-five.”
Gasps.
Whispers.
This is no longer casual.
This is serious.
The emcee’s eyes grow wide.
“Three thousand five hundred!”
My knees go weak.
Another pause.
Then Logan’s voice, low and steady, almost strained—
“Five thousand.”
The room goes silent.
My breath leaves me.
The emcee steadies himself.
“Well… five thousand dollars!”
Applause breaks.
People cheer.
They think it’s charming.
They think it’s romantic.
They think it’s all part of the fun.
But Logan isn’t smiling.
His eyes don’t lighten.
He just keeps looking at me—unblinking, unguarded, and undeniably serious.
I stand under the spotlight, heart pounding so loud it feels like it might echo.
Because I wanted to be a choice.
And Logan Shaw just chose me—
in front of everyone.
Now I have to figure out what that means.