Chapter 233: An Auction To Take Over!

The heavy double doors of the Bellevue Auction House opened into a grand, glittering ballroom, buzzing with high-society chatter, classic orchestra music, and the soft clinking of crystal glasses. The event was themed as a masquerade—guests fluttered around in elaborate, velvet-and-feathered masks, hiding their identities behind layers of silk and gold lace.

I didn’t bother with a mask.

I stood out effortlessly, dressed in a sharp, tailored charcoal suit, custom leather loafers, and a pristine timepiece gleaming against my wrist. I navigated the sea of disguised elites with total composure, taking a quiet flute of wine from a passing waiter’s tray.

Checking my watch, I saw there were thirty minutes left until the main event.

Off to the side of the grand ballroom, a discrete glass elevator and a marble staircase led straight down to the secure underground gallery—where the real multi-million-dollar bidding was set to take place. Guests holding VIP clearance were slowly peeling away from the main party, heading downward.

I finished my wine, set the glass on a passing tray, and joined the stream of attendees descending into the vaulted underground hall.

At the bottom of the stairs, two massive guards in dark suits stood flanked by high-tech security scanners. I held up the digital pad Sarah had set up with Cornell’s VIP credentials. The guard scanned the screen, the green light chimed, and he stepped aside immediately with a respectful nod.

"Welcome to the lower gallery, Mr. Cornell," the guard said, waving me through.

I stepped into the opulent, dimly lit auction amphitheater and took my place near the middle rows. Plush leather seats fan out around a central stage, where a velvet-draped display podium sat under a bright spotlight.

As I settled in, my eyes scanned the elite crowd filling out the hall.

Just two rows ahead of me, sitting surrounded by a full entourage of legal aides and corporate bodyguards, was Sterling himself—the head of Sterling Co. He was dressed in a smug, tailor-made tux, swirling a glass of whiskey as he quietly conferred with his team, already looking like he owned the entire room.

He had no idea that the "small-time watchmaker" sitting right behind him had fortune waiting in the vault just to tear his little plan to shreds.

---

Sitting two rows ahead, Sterling adjusted his silk lapel, leaning slightly toward his personal assistant. The low hum of chatter filled the underground hall as high-profile collectors and corporate titans settled into their seats.

"Brief me," Sterling commanded in a low, expectant tone, his eyes scanning the room. "Who in this gallery do we actually need to worry about for the watch?"

His PA quickly flipped through an encrypted tablet, cross-referencing the gallery layout and guest list. "The major collectors from Europe are here, but their cap is set well below eight figures. The Asian conglomerate rep on the left is holding back for the art pieces later tonight. Honestly, sir, no one in this room has allocated the kind of capital we brought for this piece."

Sterling smirked, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. "Good. Mia’s little masterwork belongs to Sterling Co. tonight."

Feeling a persistent stare from behind, Sterling casually turned his head, looking over his shoulder toward the middle rows.

Sitting back in his plush leather chair was a tall figure in a sharp charcoal suit and a sleek Venetian mask. It was Ethan, resting one hand comfortably on his knee while raising his wine glass toward Sterling in a quiet, mock toast.

Sterling’s eyes narrowed under his own ornate mask. He turned back to his PA. "Check seat number 42. Who is that?"

The PA tapped the digit code linked to Ethan’s seat and scanned the master guest registry. "Seat 42... Ah, that’s Cornell, sir. The independent watchmaker."

Sterling let out a sharp, breathless laugh, shaking his head with complete disdain. "Cornell? That fool?" He scoffed, taking a slow sip of his whiskey. "The desperate little bugger has been crawling around my company’s inbox for months begging for a partnership. What is he even doing down here?"

"He likely drained his tiny workshop account just to get a seat," the PA murmured with a slight smirk.

"Let him watch," Sterling dismissed with an arrogant dismissive wave of his hand. "That young fool doesn’t have the money to play in this league. He couldn’t outbid my pocket change, let alone what I’m dropping tonight."

At the front of the amphitheater, the heavy velvet curtains parted. The head auctioneer stepped up to the podium, adjusting his microphone as the spotlight locked onto the velvet display pedestal.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the auctioneer’s voice echoed through the room. "Welcome to the featured lot of the evening—the unreleased, custom tourbillon masterpiece."

The velvet cover was pulled away, revealing Mia’s pristine, handcrafted tourbillon timepiece resting under the harsh spotlight. The intricate gears caught the light, gleaming like a constellation of polished silver and rose gold. A quiet gasp went through the gallery of elite collectors.

"We will open bidding for Lot 14 at $2 million," the auctioneer announced, his voice booming over the speakers.

A few paddles went up across the hall.

"$2.5 million to the gentleman in row three!" "$3 million on the left!"

Sterling sat back with a dismissive smirk, casually raising his paddle. "$5 million."

A few independent collectors winced and lowered their hands, but a wealthy European collector raised his paddle. "$6 million!"

Sterling’s jaw tightened slightly under his mask. Irritated that people were actually pushing the price up on what he considered his property, he raised his paddle high and barked directly at the stage:

"$15 million!"

The entire underground hall went dead silent. A collective murmur rippled through the gallery. Fifteen million dollars for an unbranded, independent prototype was absolute madness—a price point designed purely to bully everyone else out of the room.

The European collector shook his head, laying his paddle flat on his lap. No one else moved.

Sterling sneered, glancing over his shoulder toward seat 42. Ethan was sitting back comfortably in his charcoal suit, sipping his wine with his legs crossed, having not raised his paddle a single time.

Sterling let out a quiet scoff, turning back to the stage. "Why did that pathetic kid even bother coming here if he can’t even afford an opening bid?" he muttered to his PA with a smirk. "Spent his entire life savings on a seat just to sit there like a spectator."

"Going once at $15 million..." the auctioneer called out, raising the wooden gavel high.

Sterling adjusted his jacket, sitting up comfortably with a triumphant grin on his face, already anticipating holding Mia’s work in his hands.

"Going twice at $15 million..."

The auctioneer raised the gavel to strike the wooden block—

"$16 million."

Ethan’s calm, smooth voice echoed clearly across the dead-silent room. He hadn’t even lifted his arm high; he just held up his paddle casually between two fingers, his dark eyes locked straight onto the back of Sterling’s head.

The entire gallery turned in unison to stare at the masked young man in seat 42.

Sterling froze, his smug grin vanishing instantly. He whipped his head around, his eyes wide with absolute disbelief as he glared at Ethan.

"What?!" Sterling hissed through his teeth, his face flushing dark red beneath his mask. "No way... There is no way that bankrupt little kid has that kind of money!"