bChapter /bb193 /b

OLIVIA’S POV

The entire hall fell into a stunned hush the moment I spoke. It was like the air itself had been cut by the sharp edge of bmy /bwords.

“Sixty million?” someone near the back whispered, barely daring to breathe.

“And yet I thought Adrian Westwood was crazy for bidding fifty million… she’s insane,” another voice added, half in awe and half in disbelief.

“With how quiet she’s been all this time, I thought she was just Damien Cole’s assistant… but now? Who the hell is she thenb?/bb” /banother voice murmured, the question hanging in the air like a stubborn ghost no one could banish.

I kept my gaze steady, not flinching under the sudden storm of attention. Beneath the mask, my expression remained unreadable Let them wonder. Let them question. That mystery was my shield and my weapon at the same time.

a deliberate choicebi. /i/b

My eyes drifted to where Adrian sat. His face was priceless: eyes wide, lips parted just slightly in shock. For a second, he seemedpletely thrown boff /bbnce, and I had to force myself to keep my expression calm instead of smiling in triumph. He clearly hadn’t expected anyone–least of all meb–/bbto /be out with a price like that. But I knew better than to think it was over. Adrian Westwood wouldn’t fold so easily.

“Sorry ma’am, are you sure about that price?” the manager asked, his voice shaky as he gripped the microphone tighter, like it might anchor him bto /breality.

“You heard me right,” I said, voice firm, low, andpletely certain.

The manager swallowed, cleared his throat quickly, and tried to recover his professional tone. “Alright thenb, /bsixty million dors fromb…/b”

Before he could finish and reveal anything more, I lifted my gloved hand, raising my index finger to my lips. A subtle gesture, but clear enoughb. /b

He caught it immediately. His eyes flickered with understanding, and he nodded respectfully. “Sixty million from… thedy in the mask,” he corrected himself.

A ripple of murmurs moved through the crowd again, louder this time.

And then, as I knew he would, Adrian raised his bidding paddle. His voice was calm but edged with a stubborn resolve. “Sixty–five million dors.”

There it was. The voice I had been waiting for. The fight had truly begun.

“Sixty–five million dors from Mr. Adrian Westwood, going once…” the manager called, ncing around the room to see if anyone dared to interrupt.

I barely waited for the words to leave his mouth. “Seventy million dors,” I countered, raising my paddle smoothly, my heart beating faster but my hand steady.

The crowd gasped again. It was as if every new bid from me was rewriting the boundaries of what they thought was possible – or reasonable.

“Seventy million dors… for a car? That’s just reckless. Does she even have that much money to throw away?” someone whispered behind me, words dripping with disbelief.

I ignored them. They didn’t know who I was, and that was exactly how I wanted it.

Damien leaned in close, lowering his ivoice /iso only I could hear. “I guess you really dide prepared,” he murmured, his tone half–amused, half- admiring. “But your opponent doesn’t look like he wants to back down.”

btheir /b

I allowed myself the smallest of smirks behind the mask. “Like you said,” I whispered back, “I came prepared. And I’m ready to drag bthis /bas long bas /bbit /b

takes.b” /b

My gaze shifted back to Adrian. He wasn’t smiling anymore. His jaw was tight, his brow furrowed. Beside him, James leaned bin/bb, /bbtalking rapidly /bbinto /bbhis /bear. From the tension on James’s face, I could guess the gist of the conversation: caution, reason, maybe even bconcern /bbabout /bbhow /bbfar /bbthey /bbcould /bbpush /b

b1/3 /b

b15.10 /bbMon/bb, /b21 Jul WD G

Chapter b193 /b

this without crossing some invisible financial line.

But Adrian was stubborn. I could see it in his eyes. The kind of stubbornness that had probably won him more than a few battles

The manager’s voice cut back through my thoughts, shaky but trying to remainposed. “Seventy million dors going once…

! waited, eyes locked on Adrian, studying him carefully. His fingers drummed on the table, his stare fixed on the Rolls–Royce like he could already see it in his driveway.

I could almost see the war in his mind: the desire to win shing with the cold logic of numbers.

“Eighty million dors,” Adrian said, his paddle rising confidently.

“Eighty million from Adrian Westwood, going once…” the manager announced, his voice carrying a mix of excitement and disbelief.

The hall buzzed with whispers like ripples spreading across water.

“This isn’t even an auction anymore… It’s a battle between billionaires,” someone murmured behind me, just loud enough that I caught it.

“And it almost feels personal… like a rivalry,” another whispered.

They weren’t wrong. My heart beat steadily, but my mind raced. If this back–and–forth went on too long, the crowd might realize I didn’t truly care about the car anymore. That I was here, standing my ground, proving something–to myself… and especially to Adrian.

I stole a nce at him, catching the intensity in his eyes. He looked determined, perhaps a little too sure of himself. His jaw was set, lips pressed in ba /bthin line. I wondered if he was thinking the same thing: that this had turned from bidding on a vintage car to a silent deration of power and defiance.

“Eighty million going twice…” the manager repeated, his voice rising with suspense.

I smiled faintly, drawing in a breath, feeling the weight of my mask on my face. Enough games. It was time to end this.

“130 million dors,” I dered, my voice unwavering and clear, even through the mask.

For a moment, the entire hall seemed to freeze.

The manager didn’t even hesitate. “Sold!” he said, his voice cracking slightly, then regainingposure. He pointed directly at me.

A wave of gasps and stunned silence washed over the room before the chatter erupted again, louder than ever.

“That’s incredible… Who is she?” someone asked, their voice tinged with awe.

“Adrian Westwood just lost an auction… and it’s the first time anyone’s beaten him,” another voice chimed in.

I tilted my head slightly, hiding a smirk. So this was his first loss? Too bad for him–because this wouldn’t be hisst.

As people around us started murmuring and leaning closer to glimpse the woman in the red diamond dress and mask, I slowly rose to my feet. The dress shimmered under the lights, and I could almost feel hundreds of curious eyes trying to pierce through my disguise.

The manager descended from the small stage, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. When he reached me, his expression was ba /bmixture of relief and admiration. “Congrattions, ma’am,” he said, shaking my hand with both of his. Then he turned and shook Damien’s hand respectfully.

As the official announcement echoed-“the auction has ended, thank you all foring“-people began to stand and drift toward the exits. Some still shot me curious nces, and I felt the power of it: not just from the price I’d paid, but from the mystery I’d created.

I walked slowly toward the Rolls–Royce, every step deliberate, my heels tapping softly on the floor. My hand brushed the vintage door handleb, /bbtracing /bbits /belegant curve.

“You’reing home with me,” I whispered to the car, unable to keep a small smile from spreading across my face. The paint glistened like liquid bonyx /bbas /bI admired the beauty, It looked even better up

close

???

b15:10 /bbMon/bb, /bb21 /bbJul /bWG

Thenb, /bfrom behind me, his voice came, smooth but edged with something sharper.

b“/bCongrattions,” Adrian said, stepping closer. “This is my first time losing an auction, and you’ve secured bthe /bgrandest bprize/b. bIt’s /bba /bbbig /bwin for you

He extended his hand, palm openb, /bwaiting.

I turned my gaze to him, letting my eyes roam deliberately from his polished shoes to his perfectly styled hair. His expression was politeb, /beven chai ming. but behind it, I could see ba /bhint of frustration, a flicker of disbelief.

In that moment, memories flooded in–memories of what he’d done, what he’d tried to do. The fire he’d set to everything I once valuedb, /bthe danger bhe’d /bbrought to my family. A part of me burned to p that hand away, to let him feel the sting of everything he’d made me endure.

Instead, I let out a quiet scoff. No words. Just a cold, dismissive sound that spoke volumes. I turned away, my dress swirling slightly bwith /bbthe /bmovement, diamonds catching the light in a final defiant sparkle.

I started walking toward the manager, leaving Adrian’s hand hanging uselessly in the air. I could feel his gaze following me, heavy band /blingeringb. /bbThat /bbwas /bexactly the scar I wanted to leave–a silent wound to his pride.

I reached the manager, my voice calm as I asked, “When will the car be delivered to my residence?”

As he started exining logistics and paperwork, my mind drifted back, just for a moment, to Adrian standing behind me.

Let him watch. Let him remember that he lost–not to another man, but to a woman he once thought powerless. And let him knowb, /bdeep downb, /bbthat /bbthis /bwasn’t the end of our story.

biA/i/b