Chapter 66
Sebastian’s lips pressed into a thin line, his dark brows furrowing.
If Evelyn could casually drop nine million, ten was nothing. She hadn’t stopped because she couldn’t afford it—she had stopped because she chose to.
It was deliberate. A calculated move. Yet, he couldn’t call her out. No one had forced Vanessa to splurge on that painting. She had walked into that trap all on her own.
The auction continued, several more items passing by without Evelyn making a single bid. She sat poised, her expression unreadable.
Sebastian, however, had only one goal—the Antique Rosewood Chair. He remained still, waiting.
Next up was a pair of Antique Emerald Ornaments, donated by Madam Isabella on behalf of Blackwood Enterprises. The starting bid was set at two million.
Evelyn scoffed, shaking her head in disdain. She’d rather throw money at a cheap replica than waste it on those gaudy stones. Only a fool would buy them.
As expected, the bidding was sluggish. The auctioneer struggled to drum up interest, and in the end, they sold for a measly 2.6 million.
Isabella’s smile stiffened. At least it was something.
Sebastian remained indifferent. Whatever his stepmother did only reflected poorly on Alistair. It didn’t touch him. But Isabella and Alistair were tied together—her disgrace was his.
“The Whitmore Holdings has donated a pair of Georgian Sky-Blue Porcelain Chalices, courtesy of Madeline Whitmore!”
The room erupted in murmurs. Collectors leaned forward, eyes gleaming. Even Evelyn stiffened, twisting in her seat to scan the crowd. Then she spotted her—Madeline, elegant as ever, sitting near the back.
Her fingers flew over her phone, texting Tristan. “Why is Aunt Madeline here? Why wasn’t I told?”
Tristan’s reply came swiftly. “Just found out myself, Ms. Evelyn. Probably a last-minute decision by Mr. Whitmore.”
Evelyn cursed under her breath. That unpredictable old man.
Her pulse quickened. Nearly every Whitmore was here tonight. If anyone recognized her as Reginald Whitmore’s daughter, the carefully constructed walls around her identity would crumble.
Then—Madeline caught her eye. Subtly, she flashed an “OK” sign, amusement dancing in her gaze.
Relief washed over Evelyn. She knew. And she wasn’t going to expose her.
Madeline was sharp. Legendarily so.
The auctioneer’s voice boomed, pulling attention back to the chalices.
“These Georgian Sky-Blue Porcelain Chalices are exquisite—a rare treasure. And Madeline Whitmore has generously donated two! The Whitmores’ generosity is unmatched. Truly, a family with hearts of gold.”
The whispers grew louder.
“Nothing like Blackwood’s offerings earlier. Those emeralds? Pathetic. My garden sculptures are worth more.”
“Alistair’s wife has terrible taste.”
Isabella’s face burned with humiliation. The contrast between her donation and Madeline’s was brutal.
Sebastian, however, finally showed interest. His fingers tapped the bidding paddle, a dark glint in his eyes.
