Chapter 10 New King Crowned

# Chapter 10: New King Crowned

Six months after the blood wedding in Elizabeth Constantine's laboratory, I stood in the grand auction hall of Christie's New York, watching as the world's elite prepared to bid on the Crimson Tear. The diamond glowed softly under the spotlight, set in a new platinum mounting that emphasized its unique color and clarity.

I touched my arm, feeling the scar where Alexander's bullet had grazed me. Some wounds heal cleanly; others leave permanent reminders.

"Are you certain about this?" asked Marcus, my colleague from the auction house who had organized this unprecedented sale. "It's not too late to withdraw the lot."

"I'm certain," I replied, watching as billionaires and royalty took their seats. "The diamond has served its purpose."

The Crimson Tear had become the most famous gemstone in the world in the months following the Constantine scandal. Not for its size or even its rarity, but for the role it played in exposing one of the largest corporate criminal enterprises in history. The technology contained within—the ability to preserve organic material in diamond form—had revolutionized data storage, medical research, and forensic science.

And now, the diamond itself was being auctioned, with all proceeds going to the newly established J.H. & E.C. Foundation—a victims' advocacy group supporting those harmed by corporate malfeasance.

My mother's and Elizabeth Constantine's initials, united in a cause that honored both their memories.

"The bidding will start at twenty million dollars," Marcus reminded me. "Given the diamond's notoriety, we expect it could reach nine figures."

I nodded, only half listening. My attention had been captured by a figure entering through a side door—a man moving with a slight limp, his left arm held somewhat stiffly beneath his impeccable suit.

Eden Constantine had survived his brother's bullets, though recovery had been slow. The once-impostor son was now the legitimate heir to what remained of the Constantine fortune after the investigations, lawsuits, and settlements. He had transformed the company, pivoting from weapons and military contracts to medical research and data security.

Our eyes met across the auction floor. He inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment but made no move to approach. We hadn't spoken since that day in the laboratory, when his blood had mingled with mine to activate Elizabeth's final protocol.

Some connections, I had learned, ran deeper than words.

The auction began with the customary formalities. The auctioneer described the Crimson Tear's specifications, its unique properties, its infamous history. What he didn't mention—couldn't know—was that the diamond on the podium was no longer active. The data, the DNA, the secrets it had contained had been extracted and secured in accordance with Elizabeth Constantine's final wishes.

What remained was simply a beautiful, extremely rare red diamond.

The bidding started furiously, quickly exceeding the initial estimate. Forty million. Sixty million. Eighty million. The numbers blurred as paddles rose throughout the room and phone bidders joined the fray.

I watched dispassionately as the price climbed. The money meant nothing to me; it would all go to the foundation. What mattered was that the diamond would finally be free of the Constantine legacy—and I would be free of it.

At ninety-five million, the bidding began to slow. Only three bidders remained: an oil sheikh, a Chinese industrialist, and a mysterious phone bidder represented by one of Christie's senior directors.

"One hundred million," called the sheikh's representative, causing murmurs throughout the hall.

The Chinese industrialist conferred with his advisors, then reluctantly shook his head. He was out.

All eyes turned to the Christie's director with the phone. She listened intently, then raised her paddle.

"One hundred and ten million," she announced.

The sheikh hesitated, then raised his paddle once more. "One hundred and fifteen million."

Another pause as the director listened to her phone bidder. Her expression registered surprise before she composed herself.

"The bidder offers one hundred and fifty million dollars," she stated, "with the condition that the diamond be donated back to the J.H. & E.C. Foundation after the sale is complete."

Gasps and whispers rippled through the audience. I froze, my eyes automatically seeking out Eden across the room. His expression revealed nothing, but he wasn't holding a phone. This wasn't his bid.

The sheikh conferred hurriedly with his advisors, then shook his head. He was out.

"Going once," the auctioneer called, his voice carrying through the suddenly silent hall. "Going twice... Sold! To bidder number 427 for one hundred and fifty million dollars."

The crowd erupted in applause. I remained still, trying to comprehend what had just happened. Someone had paid a fortune for the diamond, only to give it back to the foundation?

As the audience began to disperse, I approached the Christie's director.

"Who was the buyer?" I asked, though I suspected I already knew.

She smiled apologetically. "I'm afraid they requested anonymity, Ms. Harlow."

Before I could press further, a security team arrived to escort the diamond to the secure room where the transaction would be completed. I followed, still trying to make sense of what had just transpired.

In the private room behind the auction floor, I found Eden waiting. He stood by the window, silhouetted against the New York skyline, looking more at ease than I had ever seen him.

"Congratulations on the successful auction," he said, turning to face me. "One hundred and fifty million is quite impressive."

"It wasn't you?" I asked directly.

Eden smiled slightly. "I considered it. But no, I was not the buyer."

"Then who—"

The door opened, and a Christie's executive entered with the final paperwork. "Ms. Harlow, we need your signature as the seller's representative. The buyer has already completed their portion electronically."

I signed where indicated, still distracted by Eden's presence and the mystery bidder's identity.

"The buyer left this for you," the executive added, handing me a small envelope before departing.

I opened it with trembling fingers. Inside was a simple note card with two lines of text:

"For J.H. & E.C. — Some legacies should remain intact."

The initials at the bottom made my heart skip: A.C.

"Alexander?" I whispered, looking up at Eden in shock.

Eden approached, taking the card from my unresisting fingers. "My brother has had time to reflect during his house arrest. The criminal trials are still pending, but it seems he's found a conscience of sorts."

"I don't understand. Why would he buy the diamond only to give it back?"

"Perhaps he finally understands what our mother was trying to tell us." Eden handed the card back to me. "That some things are more important than power or revenge."

I studied Eden's face, searching for the cold, calculating man who had kidnapped me all those months ago. He was still there, in the watchful eyes and careful posture, but something had shifted. The obsession that had driven him had been replaced by something more measured, more purposeful.

"What happens now?" I asked. "With the foundation? With the diamond?"

"That's up to you," Eden replied. "As the foundation's director, those decisions fall under your purview."

After the scandal broke, I had agreed to head the foundation, using my expertise and unexpected notoriety to advocate for corporate accountability. The work had given me purpose during the chaotic aftermath.

"And what about you?" I countered. "What does the new head of Constantine Industries plan to do next?"

Eden's smile was genuine, if still reserved. "Rebuild. Not what was, but what could be. My mother's research had applications far beyond what my father and brother envisioned."

He stepped closer, his voice softening. "The diamond technology can preserve life, Janice. It can store memories, experiences—entire lifetimes—in a form that will last millennia. That's what our mothers were trying to protect."

I thought of the holographic messages, the preserved DNA, the incredible technology that had been hidden within the Crimson Tear.

"It's too powerful," I said quietly. "Too dangerous in the wrong hands."

"Which is why it needs the right guardians." Eden reached into his pocket and withdrew a familiar velvet box. "The ring still responds to you. The foundation's research team has confirmed it."

I stared at the box, remembering the smaller red diamond it contained—the companion to the Crimson Tear, equally powerful in its own right.

"I'm not taking it back," I said firmly. "I'm done with the Constantine legacy."

"Even the parts worth preserving?" Eden asked, opening the box to reveal the ring. "Our mothers believed in this technology enough to die for it. They entrusted its protection to us."

"They manipulated us," I corrected. "Just as you manipulated me."

Eden acknowledged this with a slight nod. "I won't deny my methods were... extreme. But the threat was real. Still is." He closed the box, returning it to his pocket. "I won't pressure you. When you're ready—if you're ready—the ring will be waiting."

A Christie's staff member entered, informing us that the diamond was ready for transport back to the foundation's secure facility.

"Will you at least consider joining the research team?" Eden asked as we prepared to leave. "Your expertise would be invaluable."

I hesitated, torn between wanting complete separation from everything Constantine and recognizing the importance of the work the foundation was doing.

"I'll think about it," I conceded.

Outside Christie's, a media frenzy awaited—reporters clamoring for details about the record-breaking sale and mysterious buyer. Security escorted me to a waiting car while Eden departed in another direction, slipping away from the cameras with practiced ease.

As my car pulled into New York traffic, my phone chimed with a notification. It was a news alert: "Constantine Industries Announces Revolutionary Medical Storage Technology—CEO Eden Constantine Dedicates Breakthrough to Mother's Legacy."

Below the headline was a photograph of Eden at a podium, the Constantine Industries logo redesigned behind him. No longer the military-industrial complex of his father's era, but something new—focused on preservation, protection, healing.

Another notification followed—a private message from an encrypted number: "One billion. That's my offer to buy it back and give it to you again. — E"

Despite everything, I smiled. Eden Constantine—calculating, manipulative, and ruthlessly determined—had found a new approach. Less abduction, more auction.

I typed a simple reply: "The Crimson Tear is not for sale. To anyone. At any price."

His response came seconds later: "Good. Some things should remain priceless."

As my car turned toward the foundation headquarters where the diamond would soon be secured, I thought about legacies—those we inherit and those we create. My mother and Elizabeth Constantine had left a complicated one, stained with blood but also shining with potential.

What I did with that legacy was, finally, my choice.

The Crimson Tear would remain with the foundation, its technology used to benefit rather than harm. The ring would stay with Eden, a reminder of what had been lost and what could still be saved.

And I would forge my own path—neither completely separate from the Constantine saga nor entirely defined by it.

Some bonds, like those formed in blood, could never be completely broken. But they could be transformed, their purpose redirected from darkness toward light.

As New York flowed past my window, I touched the scar on my arm once more. Eden's words from the laboratory echoed in my memory: "Our blood is mixed now."

Not a curse or a chain, I decided. But a choice—to use what we had inherited, what we had suffered, to build something better than what came before.

The blood diamond had found its true purpose at last.