08

Mia's POV

Just then, the auctioneer walked onto the stage and tapped the gavel.

The crisp sound suppressed the clamor in the ballroom. Guests returned to their seats one after another. The small auction had begun.

The first item was a Cartier antique brooch in the shape of a leopard, encrusted with emeralds and diamonds. Bidding started at a hundred thousand and stopped at four hundred and fifty thousand after several rounds.

The second item was a Qing Dynasty famille rose vase, painted with twining lotus flowers on the body. The colors were exceptionally well preserved, and it finally sold for one million two hundred thousand.

The third item was a nineteenth-century Dutch landscape painting, identical to those Dutch school works I'd seen in textbooks five years ago.

I tried hard to focus my attention on the auctioneer, watching him raise the small gavel high, watching him smile as he surveyed the room, watching him call out figures I might never earn in my lifetime.

This tactic worked at first. When I stared intently at the lights in the center of the stage, the figure in my peripheral vision temporarily faded into a blurred outline.

But soon this tactic failed. I clearly felt a gaze directed toward me, pressing heavily onto my face.

I couldn't take it anymore.

I turned my head directly and met Calvin's eyes.

He didn't look away. This was the first time tonight Calvin had looked at me head-on.

I saw myself in his eyes—a slightly panicked expression, a look of helplessness.

Calvin, is this what you wanted? To drive your prey into your territory, then enjoy watching it have nowhere to escape?

No evasion, no pretending to look elsewhere, no guerrilla tactics with peripheral vision—just looking straight at me like that.

"Lot 47. 'Lady with a Fan,' twentieth-century oil painting, provenance re-examined, excellent condition. Starting bid, one million five hundred thousand pounds."

The auctioneer's voice interrupted our "standoff." I turned back to look at the stage.

"One million eight hundred thousand." Someone in the front row raised their paddle.

"Two million." Another voice from the right side.

Calvin raised his number paddle. His movement was unhurried, raising the paddle to shoulder height, his wrist turning slightly.

"Two million five hundred thousand." Calvin's voice wasn't loud, but the entire room quieted for a moment.

The auctioneer smiled and surveyed the room, the small gavel suspended in mid-air. "Two million five hundred thousand once—"

The room was dead silent.

"Two million five hundred thousand twice—"

I looked down at the gold-embossed number paddle in front of me. It had been lying quietly beside my plate all evening, untouched all night. My rationality was screaming at me not to be impulsive—

Mia, you're crazy. Your account doesn't even have a fraction of this figure. You're just attending in place of Ethan. You might not even have the qualifications to bid!

But my hand was already acting on its own accord, raising the number paddle as if possessed.

"Three million."

The room erupted. Hundreds of gazes simultaneously hit me like spotlights. No, hit us.

To everyone, this woman sitting next to the Rothschild patriarch must have an extraordinary background to dare compete with him in bidding.

Calvin lowered his paddle and turned his head.

This time he didn't hide it, but looked straight into my eyes.

The distance was too close. His pupils were like two deep wells. I could almost see my own panicked reflection clearly.

His lips moved without sound, but I understood the words they formed.

"You win."

The gavel fell, shaking my heart violently.

Three million.

I had just used a paddle that didn't belong to me to call out a price I could never repay in my lifetime, snatching away a painting he had bid on first.

I must have gone mad—driven crazy by his "the dress fits well" and that piece of steak, driven crazy by his not saying a word all evening yet refusing to let me go.

The next second, Calvin leaned toward me.

His forward lean wasn't large, but the distance between us was already only a palm's width. This crushed the last line of defense.

His knee pressed against my hem under the tablecloth. The cedarwood scent overwhelmingly pressed down like an impenetrable net.

"Mia Sterling," Calvin's voice was extremely low, with a hint of playfulness, "three million. How do you plan to pay?"

I opened my mouth. My throat felt like it was stuffed with cotton, unable to speak at all. My scalp tingled.

Of course I couldn't come up with that much money. My bank account balance wasn't even a fraction of that figure. I had just raised my paddle on impulse.

The commotion around us became increasingly obvious. I could hear people asking "Who is that?" "What's the background of that woman at the main table?" "What's her relationship with Rothschild?"

These voices flooded into my ears like a tide from all directions.

Calvin ignored all the voices.

His knee still pressed against my hem. His gaze traveled from my eyes to my hand gripping the paddle tightly, then back to my eyes.

"Tomorrow at noon, come to the Rothschild Foundation. Tell me why you lied back then."

His finger moved. Under the cover of the tablecloth, I felt something being pressed into my palm.

A card.

With my fingertip, I felt the outline of an eagle with spread wings—the Rothschild family crest.

Calvin pulled back, straightened up, nodded to those around him, then turned and left.

The surrounding clamor gradually returned to its original volume. The auctioneer was introducing the next item. Waiters began serving the fourth course. For everyone else, the evening continued its normal course.

Only my world had stopped at the moment before he pulled away.

I closed my eyes. Calvin's final look floated before me. In his eyes was neither mockery nor anger, but something deeper.

Obsession.

He still had an obsession with me.

And what terrified me most about this wasn't that I owed him a truth I could never repay, nor was it tomorrow's noon appointment I had to face alone like a trial.

It was discovering that I was still moved by that obsession.