Chapter 3 Fighting Over Her Mom's Last Work

Seraphina thought it was absurd.

She had given up her husband's attention, given up her daughter's affection, given up that necklace—and now she had to give up her mother's painting too?

"Miss Dixon." Seraphina said coldly, "This painting, I cannot give up."

The smile on Susan's face froze for a moment. She said pitifully, "Seraphina, I'm not trying to take it from you. It's just that I really love this painting. I don't know how much longer I have to live, and I just want to keep something I like in my final days..."

As she spoke, her eyes reddened.

People gradually gathered around, whispering.

"Isn't that Mrs. Talbot? Why is she fighting with a sick person over something?"

"I heard that girl has a terminal illness, how pitiful..."

"Mrs. Talbot is being so heartless, isn't she?"

Seraphina gripped the bidding paddle tightly, her knuckles turning white.

"Susan, what does how long you live have to do with me?" She said word by word, "Does every person with a terminal illness have the right to take other people's things?"

Hearing such harsh words, tears suddenly streamed down Susan's face.

"That's not what I meant..."

Michael's eyes turned cold. "Seraphina, that's enough. It's just a painting. Besides this one, you can pick any other painting here."

Seraphina looked at him.

"Michael, this is my mother's painting."

Michael paused slightly, only then remembering that Seraphina's mother had been a famous painter.

But in an instant, his gaze turned cold again.

"So what? Is that so important?"

"Your mother's things aren't your things. When did it become your place to decide where it goes?"

Seraphina laughed in anger.

"Michael, are you out of your mind?"

Michael's face turned frighteningly dark. "What did you say?"

"I said you're out of your mind." Seraphina met his gaze. "My mom's belongings, something my mom left to me—you say it's not my place to decide? Then you tell me, whose place is it? This mistress's?"

"Seraphina." Michael gritted his teeth. "Don't make a scene here!"

"Make a scene?"

Seraphina wanted to laugh but found she couldn't.

"Michael, for seven years, I haven't made scenes, haven't caused trouble, haven't put you in a difficult position even once."

"Today I'm just asking you one question."

She stared into Michael's eyes. "My mother's painting—will you let me have it or not?"

Michael looked at the calmness in her eyes, feeling an inexplicable tightness in his chest.

But soon he convinced himself that she was deliberately targeting Susan.

His gaze turned cold.

"This painting, Susan wants it."

Seraphina's heart turned completely cold.

"Michael..."

Susan's eyes were red. "Forget it, I don't want it anymore. Let Seraphina have it. After all, I don't have much time left anyway, it's just a painting..."

"This isn't called 'letting me have it.' This was mine to begin with."

Seraphina didn't watch her act anymore and raised her paddle without hesitation.

"Two million."

"Three million."

Michael countered.

"Four million."

This was Seraphina's last bit of money. This sum was originally meant to buy insurance for Janna, but now that she was going with Michael, she didn't need this money anymore.

Michael looked at Seraphina.

"For this painting, I'll light the lamp."

Lighting the lamp—an auction house rule. If someone lights the lamp, it means no matter what others bid, they'll double it until they win.

Seraphina bit down hard on her jaw. She knew she couldn't compete.

Just as the painting was about to go to Susan, a voice came from outside the crowd.

"Wait."

A middle-aged man in a black suit walked over quickly.

He looked at Seraphina, then at Michael, and bowed slightly. "Mr. Talbot, I'm sorry, but this painting cannot be sold."

Michael frowned. "What do you mean?"

The manager turned to Seraphina with a respectful attitude. "Excuse me, are you Seraphina Borgia?"

Seraphina paused. "Yes, I am."

The manager smiled politely and handed her an auction agreement.

"Ms. Borgia, this painting is a posthumous work by your mother, Natalie Wipere. According to auction house rules, direct relatives have priority buyback rights. In other words, as long as you're willing, this painting can be transferred to you directly at the reserve price without participating in the bidding."

There was an uproar around them.

Susan panicked and tugged at Michael's sleeve. "Michael—"

Michael's gaze fell darkly on Seraphina.

Seraphina came back to her senses and looked at him, her eyes seeming both mocking and sarcastic.

"Michael, you just said this was my mother's thing, and it wasn't my place to decide."

She pointed at the agreement, her beautiful lips uttering a sentence:

"Well, I'm sorry, but I'm afraid this really does have to be my decision after all."

Michael's face completely darkened.

"Michael, let's go. I don't want it anymore, I don't want anything." Susan cried sadly.

Michael gently patted her hand, then looked up at Seraphina, his icy tone carrying an unquestionable command.

"Seraphina, just give her the painting. Name your price."

Seraphina instinctively clenched her fists.

"Why should I?"

"She's not well. Do you have to argue with a sick person?"

Seraphina looked at the undisguised favoritism in his eyes, the corners of her lips curving into a faint smile.

She took a deep breath, walked up to Michael, and met his gaze.

"Michael, you want this painting?"

Michael didn't speak, but his eyes said it all.

Seraphina's smile deepened.

"Fine, no problem. But when asking someone for something, you need to have a sincere attitude, right?"

She ignored Michael's instantly darkening face and said word by word:

"As long as you beg me, I'll consider giving it to her. How about that? Fair enough, isn't it?"

Dead silence fell around them.