Chapter 3 It's Him?

Oliver's words died in his throat.

Deep down, resentment and a bitter sense of injustice churned within him.

If it weren't for Sophia, why would he have to endure years of "hardships"?

He should have inherited the company long ago, living happily with Clara as husband and wife.

Sophia had seen enough of the spectacle. She offered a brief and polite goodbye to Gavin, picked up her purse, and headed for the exit.

Behind her, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed through the hall. She didn't turn around until Oliver's hand, trembling with suppressed rage, clamped down her arm.

Sophia's eyes were filled with frost. "Let go!"

Oliver's expression was dark, his voice harsh. "What exactly did you tell Grandfather? Why is he still so intent on leaving the company to you?"

"Grandfather is considering the long-term development firm. He has sharp judgment—saying such things clearly means he believes my abilities far surpass yours!"

A hint of sharp sarcasm flashed through Sophia's eyes.

Oliver had been a poor student since their school days. If Gavin hadn't been keeping him in check all these years, he likely would have gone astray long ago.

He had spent the past two years abroad living it up abroad—how could he possibly hope to keep up pace with domestic market developments?

Looking down at her gripped arm, Sophia didn't hesitate. She lifted her foot and brought it down.

She was wearing stilettos today, and as she stepped on Oliver's foot, she even deliberately ground her heel into his skin.

Oliver's face contorted as he scrambled back, hissing in pain. "You—!"

Sophia looked at him with complete indifference. She pulled a disinfectant wipe from her bag and methodically cleaning the spot where he had touched her.

To Oliver, the act looked like a blatant provocation.

"What is the meaning of this?" he spat, his voice shaking with hate. "You actually think I'm dirty? Don't forget we're married!"

"Are you actually clean? If it weren't for Gavin's sake, I wouldn't want to waste even one word on an idiot like you."

Sophia casually toss the used wipe into a nearby trash can, her gaze icy. "Married? In my eyes, that is nothing more than a legally protected contract. We're married now, but who knows what the future holds?"

She turned to leave, but Oliver rushed forward, blocking her path again.

"What is that supposed to mean? Are you actually thinking of divorcing me?"

He let out a jagged, sarcastic sneer. "Sophia, don't think I can't see what you're scheming. Your family has fallen, and you're not favored—you need the Miller family's support."

"I don't know what despicable methods you used to make Grandfather like you so much," he continued. "But the biggest reason I took Clara abroad was because of you!"

"Stop making excuses for your own selfish behavior," Sophia cut him off, her voice flat. "Your words now only make me find you more disgusting. If you don't want 'your dirty deeds' abroad reaching Gavin's ears, I suggest you stay away from me."

The threat was blatant, leaving Oliver frozen in her wake.

With that, she got in her car and drove away.

When Oliver had taken Clara abroad, Gavin had cut off his living expenses entirely. It was only through his mothers secret support that he had survived all those years.

Sophia, however, had been watching Oliver's every move; she had collected as much evidence of his misdeeds as much as she could ever need.

If it weren't for Gavin's sake, she would have exposed his "exile" for what it truly was long ago.

Oliver stood there, grinding his teeth, able only to watch the red Maserati perform a flawless drift before disappearing from sight.

He looked down at his hands. For some reason, since his return, he'd been plagued by a persistent feeling of loss—as if something vital had quietly slipped through his fingers.

He tried to reach out and grasp it, but caught only the wind.

Gavin had provide them with the auction's time, location, and invitation.

The next evening, at seven o'clock, Sophia arrived at the venue on time. She wore a black evening gown that was elegantly form-fitting, perfectly outlining her graceful figure.

She glanced at Oliver standing nearby, but didn't wait for him; she submitted her invitation and entered the hall.

This auction was held under the banner of charity, with all proceeds destined for children in impoverished mountain areas.

Sophia and Oliver were seated in the middle rows—hardly the best vantage point.

Sophia discreetly surveyed the room.

Rumors were swirling that the heir of the Windsor family would attend today. Even though it was a relatively unremarkable auction, it had drawn the elite families of their circle, all gathered in clusters, whispering about whether the Windsor heir would actually show his face.

Oliver walked up to Sophia, his expression cold. "Why didn't you wait for me just now? You knew how many people were here—are you so determined to let news of our marital discord spread?"

Sophia glanced at him with a total indifference. "Do you think it would matter if we act like a loving couple now? Your 'deeds' have already spread throughout the entire circle."

Oliver was left speechless again.

In the two years they've been apart, Sophia had grown increasingly sharp-tongued, every sentence aimed precisely at his weakest spots.

"I won't argue with you," he said taking a deep breath. "I heard there's a century-old antique being auctioned today. Grandfather's birthday is coming up; I want to buy that antique as a gift for him."

Sophia nodded casually, ignoring him as she took her seat. Her focus remained on the mysterious Windsor heir.

She scanned the crowd several times but didn't see anyone who fit the profile.

Her seat was by the aisle; though the venue was packed, the chair to her right remained empty.

There wasn't even a nameplate on the back of it.

Soon, the auction officially began.

The host took the stage with practiced enthusiasm, introducing the process before moving into the formal bidding.

Sophia had no interest in these early items.

They were auctioned off one by one until, finally, it was time for the piece Oliver had been waiting for.

"Starting bid: two million dollars!"

"Three million!"

"Four million!"

"Ten million dollars!"

The price skyrocketed instantly.

Oliver gripped his bidding paddle, his knuckles white. "Fifteen million dollars!"

This was nearly all the money he currently had. He was desperate to use this opportunity to regain Gavin's favor.

Though Sophia wasn't an expert on antiques, she knew Oliver's bid far exceeded this piece's actual value.

Quite a few people in the crowd had recognized him; at this price point, the purchase was a guaranteed loss. Those who had been interested quietly lowered their paddles.

Oliver felt a surge of smugness. I've driven the price this high; let's see who dares to compete with me?"

The auctioneer scanned the room from the stage.

"Are there any higher bids?"

"If not, this treasure will go to bidder number 23!"

The auctioneer raised the gavel, about to finalize the sale, when his expression suddenly shifted. He looked toward the back of the room in pure surprise.

"Bidder number 1 has offered thirty million dollars!"

A grasp rippled through the crowd. "What? Thirty million!"

"For an antique like that? Whoever bid thirty million is either clueless about it's value or simply doesn't care about money!"

"Could this be the handiwork of the Windsor heir?"

Sophia's heart hammered against her ribs as a thought struck her. She turned toward the entrance. From the shadows of the doorway, a man in a black suit was slowly walking in.

Her pupils dilated, her entire expression freezing in place.

'It's him?'