Chapter Eight
Lucas Brown’s sneered as Adrian calmly raised his paddle. To Lucas, there could be only one explanation—Adrian was relying on Catherine Moretti’s backing. Without her, he was nothing.
So, the fool thinks he’s clever because Catherine is sitting beside him? He really has no idea how these auctions work.
He had been to Armstrong’s private auctions before, and he knew the rules better than most: bidders were strictly responsible for their own payments. No one, not even someone like Catherine Moretti, could pay on behalf of another. If Adrian thought he could use her name to throw weight around, then he was walking straight into a trap.
Suppressing his glee, Lucas decided not to expose Adrian just yet. Instead, he raised his paddle lazily, adding a modest increment to the price.
“Ten million, three hundred thousand.”
The crowd turned toward him, murmuring approval.
“Mr. Brown is still competing.”
“Of course—he’s not going to lose to Adrian Cole of all people.”
Lucas smirked and glanced toward Elena, expecting admiration. Instead, her expression was taut, her eyes flicking nervously between him and Adrian. The sight soured his mood. Why does she look worried about him? She should be cheering for me!
“Twenty million.”
Adrian’s voice rang out again, calm and unhurried.
The guests stirred in disbelief. It wasn’t just the number—it was the way he said it. As if such an astronomical sum was nothing to him.
Lucas nearly laughed aloud. Perfect. Keep raising the stakes. The higher you climb, the harder you’ll fall when the truth comes out.
He lifted his paddle again. “Twenty point five.”
The duel began.
Back and forth, the price climbed. Adrian, unmoved, responded without hesitation each time. Lucas raised only slightly, deliberately dragging Adrian higher, waiting for him to hang himself with his own rope.
The onlookers buzzed with excitement.
“They’re really going head-to-head!”
“Does Adrian even understand what he’s doing? This is Armstrong’s auction—if you can’t pay, you’re finished.”
“Exactly. Rumor has it, someone once defaulted here, and Armstrong’s men broke his legs on the spot. That’s the kind of man Armstrong is.”
Elena grew pale. The words slashed at her, dredging up her own worst fears. She couldn’t hold back anymore. She leaned forward, her voice sharp but trembling.
“Adrian, stop it! Don’t make a fool of yourself. You know that black card you’re holding is fake—it won’t work here! This isn’t some regular banquet—you’ll ruin yourself if you keep pushing!”
Her desperation drew gasps from those seated nearby.
“So it’s true—the black card was fake?”
“No wonder. How could someone like him ever…”
Snickers and murmurs spread, but Adrian remained unruffled. He didn’t even glance at her.
“You don’t need to worry about me,” he said softly, his tone carrying a weight that silenced her.
Elena froze, her protest dying in her throat.
Lucas, meanwhile, was overjoyed. Elena’s words had given him the perfect opening. He raised his paddle once more, his voice loud and mocking.
“Thirty million!”
“Let’s see if he still dares to play along,” he said loud enough for the crowd to hear, earning a few chuckles of agreement.
The host announced, “Thirty million from Mr. Brown. Do we hear higher?”
The crowd waited, expecting Adrian to falter at last.
But Adrian’s eyes never left the ring. His voice cut through the air, clear and steady.
“Fifty million.”
The hall erupted.
“Fifty million?!”
“He’s insane!”
Elena’s face went white. Her fingers dug into her dress as if to steady herself. Has he lost his mind?
Lucas’s pulse quickened. For a moment, doubt flickered in him. Could he really…? But then he dismissed the thought, his arrogance returning in force.
No. Impossible. He’s bluffing, and I’ll be the one to tear off his mask.
He threw down his paddle dramatically. “I’m done. Let him have it.”
A hush fell. No one else dared to challenge such a staggering figure.
The host’s gavel hovered, his voice trembling with excitement. “Fifty million once… fifty million twice…”
But before he could declare the sale, Lucas’s voice rang out again, oily with false concern.
“Wait. With all due respect, shouldn’t we ensure that Mr. Cole is capable of paying? After all, this is Chairman Armstrong’s auction. Rules must be followed. If someone is attempting to disrupt the event…” He paused, smirking. The implication was clear. “ He should be verified!”
Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
