Chapter 68
The mysterious woman was utterly self-assured, yet her every move left the audience breathless.
“Mother, did I hear that correctly?” Cassandra’s voice trembled with disbelief, her delicate features twisting in shock. “That country girl just bid 60 million? How could she possibly afford such an outrageous sum? Is this some kind of performance?”
Isabella remained silent, her icy gaze locked onto Evelyn. Then, a sudden realization flickered in her mind, and she turned to glance at Madeline, Reginald Whitmore’s second wife.
A cruel smirk curled her lips. Let’s see if Evelyn can survive the Whitmore family if she dares to rise from the dirt to riches.
“70 million,” Zachary announced coolly, raising his paddle. The spotlight caught the sharp angles of his profile, casting him in an ethereal glow that made it impossible for anyone to look away.
His bid sent the price soaring to new heights, silencing those who lacked the means to compete.
“75 million.”
Evelyn didn’t hesitate. Her voice was steady as she raised her paddle again.
The crowd erupted into chaos.
Even Damien, who was accustomed to high-stakes games, held his breath. It was like watching two legendary gunslingers in a duel—each move deliberate, each bid a bullet fired, threatening to ignite a storm that would consume everything.
“80 million.”
Evelyn remained composed, though a faint crease formed between her brows.
The pressure was mounting. She had fought hard to secure this chair for Nathan. A surge of determination burned through her. She didn’t need Nathan to reimburse her—she could compete with Zachary using her own funds. But she wasn’t reckless.
Antiques held value because of their history, but she had her limits.
Eighty million was her line. Anything beyond that would be nothing but a battle of egos—petty and meaningless.
“Zachary, is your high IQ compensating for your abysmal EQ?” Damien muttered under his breath, noticing Evelyn’s displeasure. He leaned closer, urgency lacing his words. “Ms. Sinclair clearly wants that chair. You were married once—can’t you show her some courtesy? She’s just a young woman. Must you humiliate her in front of everyone?”
“She’s sitting there representing Nathan, competing against me. This has nothing to do with her,” Zachary replied, his gaze fixed ahead, cold and unreadable.
Damien exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “You’re impossible.”
“80 million going once! 80 million going twice! 80 million—”
“One hundred million!”
A crystalline voice cut through the tension.
Zachary’s brow arched slightly, but he didn’t turn.
The crowd gasped, their attention snapping to the elegant woman who had just raised her paddle—Madeline Whitmore, Reginald’s second wife.
Evelyn’s eyes brightened with understanding. Of course. Her father must have sent Madeline as backup, fearing Nathan wouldn’t spend excessively.
Zachary’s dark eyes gleamed with calculation. He hesitated—not because he couldn’t afford it, but because pushing further would cross into poor taste.
In the end, the Antique Rosewood Chair was won by Whitmore Holdings amidst thunderous applause!
Just as the audience thought the auction was over, the auctioneer grinned and announced, “Whitmore Holdings has also generously donated the final item of tonight’s charity auction—a legendary piece of jewelry, ‘Crimson Heart,’ crafted by a master designer from Valmont over an entire month!”
