Chapter 73

Elise's POV

The car stopped at the entrance. The doorman hurried forward and pulled open the rear door.

Victor got out first. He walked around to my side, opened the door, and extended his hand toward me.

I looked at that hand. Long fingers, clean nails, a section of dark shirt fabric visible at the cuff. The hand hung in midair, its posture casual yet carrying an unmistakable sense of command.

I placed my hand in his.

His palm was dry and warm.

He held my hand and led me through the entrance.

The air conditioning in the lobby hit me immediately, mixed with a faint fragrance—something like floral notes combined with leather. The floor was black and white marble in an intricate pattern, and an enormous crystal chandelier hung overhead, casting soft light that illuminated every corner with perfect clarity.

There were many people. They stood in small clusters, conversing. The men mostly wore suits, the women evening gowns or impeccably tailored dresses. They held champagne or juice in their hands, their voices kept deliberately low, occasionally punctuated by soft laughter.

But I heard nothing jarring.

No screaming, no arguments, no crude jokes, no one sizing others up with that kind of uncomfortable gaze.

Everyone was courteous. When passing by, they would step slightly aside to make room. If they accidentally bumped into someone, they would murmur an apology. Waiters moved through the crowd with silver trays, wearing perfectly calibrated smiles.

Victor released my hand.

"Go look around," he said.

A simple sentence. No explanation, no elaboration, not even a glance in my direction.

Then he simply walked away. He moved toward a group of people not far off and began exchanging pleasantries. His figure merged into the crowd, looking like someone who belonged here completely.

I stood alone in the center of the lobby.

For a brief moment, I wanted to run.

Look at me—white T-shirt, jeans, sneakers, hair pulled back in a careless ponytail. Around my wrist, a ring of purple-blue bruises left by Liam.

Standing here, I looked like a beggar who had wandered into a mansion by mistake.

But no one gave me a second glance.

Those who passed by at most let their eyes rest on me for a second before naturally looking away. No whispers, no pointing, none of those looks that made you feel utterly filthy.

Strange.

I actually felt somewhat unaccustomed to it.

I tentatively began to walk, slowly making my way around the lobby. When I passed a long display counter, I stopped to look—it held a row of jewelry, necklaces, earrings, bracelets, each with a small card beneath it indicating the estimated value. The smallest number had six digits.

Next to it, an oil painting hung on the wall. It depicted a sea, blue almost to the point of blackness, with a lone sail on the surface. Below the frame was written the artist's name and the sale price.

I glanced at the number behind the glass and quietly looked away.

I continued forward. Passing through an archway, I entered another hall. Here were displayed some antique furniture and porcelain. Someone was bidding on an antique vase, their voice neither high nor low, as if discussing the weather.

I found a corner sofa and sat down.

The sofa was soft. So soft that I sank completely into it. The fabric against my back felt fine, and the curve of the armrest perfectly supported my arm. I let out a long breath, my shoulders gradually relaxing.

A waiter brought me a bidding paddle while politely inquiring whether I needed any refreshments.

I toyed with the paddle, listening to the people around me occasionally raising their paddles to increase bids. The current item had started at a million dollars but had already broken through ten million, with each bid raising the price by a hundred thousand.

I watched silently.

This wasn't my world.

The inheritance my parents had left behind after a lifetime of struggle seemed like a lot to outsiders—several million in total. But here, the entire life's work of two so-called elite lawyers could only buy a single porcelain vase.

I don't know how much time passed.

Maybe ten minutes. Maybe twenty.

Someone sat down beside me, bringing with them a scent that made me relax.

"What do you think?" Victor asked, seemingly casually.

I thought about it.

"The service is excellent," I said. "Everyone is very polite. The prices are very high."

He said nothing, waiting for me to continue.

"I haven't felt this relaxed in a long time," I added, my voice softening, almost as if talking to myself. "Not at the Millers'. Not when I was with Liam. Back then I always had to be careful about this or that, afraid of doing something wrong, afraid of displeasing someone."

I paused.

"Actually, even when my parents were still alive, I never had this kind of experience."

"I was too young then," I continued, my gaze falling on the crowd ahead, though my focus was unfocused. "I thought the greatest freedom in the world was being able to eat an extra ice cream on the way home from school without my mother lecturing me endlessly because of what the dentist had said."

Only after I finished speaking did I realize what I'd said.

Too childish. Too ridiculous. A nineteen-year-old girl sitting among jewelry and antiques worth millions, reminiscing about her childhood longing for ice cream.

But Victor didn't laugh.

He didn't comment either. No consolation, no agreement, no reaction at all. He just sat there quietly, one arm resting on the back of the sofa.

Since we were sitting together on a loveseat, this posture made it look as if he had me in his embrace.

I looked at him, trying to read his intentions in those deep, pale blue eyes.

But there was nothing.

After a few seconds, he stood up.

"Come with me."

He didn't take my hand. He just dropped those words and walked toward a direction deep in the lobby.

I followed.

Through the crowd, around the display areas, down a corridor carpeted with thick rugs. The paintings on both sides of the corridor became increasingly abstract, the lighting progressively dimmer. Finally, we stopped in front of an inconspicuous wooden door.

Victor pushed it open.

Inside was an elevator.

He pressed the topmost button. That button had no number, only an extremely small symbol, barely noticeable unless you looked carefully.

The elevator's ascent took longer than I expected.

When the doors opened, what came into view was another corridor. But this corridor was completely different from those downstairs—the lighting was dim, the walls replaced with dark wood paneling, the carpet even thicker, the temperature in the air several degrees cooler. Quiet. Extremely quiet. Even footsteps were absorbed completely.

At the end of the corridor was another door. This time Victor needed to swipe a card to open it.

The space beyond the door made me catch my breath.

It was a special private room, and through the floor-to-ceiling windows here, I could see a large hall outside.

At first glance, it looked similar to the lobby downstairs. The same size space, the same display arrangement, the same clusters of people gathered in conversation.

But judging from their reactions, they seemed unable to see us.

"It's one-way privacy glass. They can't see in," Victor explained.

I nodded.

The lighting outside was dimmer.

People's clothing was more casual—or rather, more flamboyant. I saw a woman wearing an all-black leather suit, a slim cigarette between her fingers. Several men wore suits decorated with feathers, their conversation seemingly animated. They gathered around a table in the corner, where instead of champagne and juice, there were crystal decanters filled with amber-colored liquid.

Nothing was displayed on the exhibition tables, and all the auction item labels read: [Confidential].

No jewelry. No porcelain. No antiques.

But from everyone's clothing and accessories, it was easy to judge that the clientele here held even higher status than those at the earlier auction.

"What is this place...?" I felt somewhat nervous.

Some unpleasant memories surfaced—I couldn't help but recall the last time Liam had brought me to that party without a word, only for me to discover I was nothing more than a dessert being served.

"Don't be nervous." Victor's hand came to rest on my shoulder, steady and strong. "I don't have a habit of letting my woman suffer indignities."

"This is also an auction, though as you've probably guessed, the items here are somewhat more special." Victor showed me a rare smile. His sharply defined features softened with this hint of warmth.

Victor poured himself a glass of whisky and sat down on the sofa.

"Are you planning to stand there the whole time?" he asked, half-joking.

I sat down beside him. The sofa cushion compressed, his body heat seeping through the fabric, neither too close nor too far.

Victor raised his chin toward the hall beyond the floor-to-ceiling window.

"Watch carefully," he said. "This is something most people will never see in their lifetime."