Chapter 10 The bidding
The grand ballroom of the Le Méridien Royale was transformed into a haven of opulence and sophistication. Crystal chandeliers cast a golden glow over the space, reflecting against polished marble floors and illuminating the sea of guests dressed in couture and high fashion. Velvet drapes in royal navy cascaded down gilded walls, and the fragrance of white orchids and lilies lingered in the air, freshly arranged across each cocktail table. The room buzzed with laughter, clinking glasses, and the soft rhythms of a live jazz quartet tucked away behind a curtain of white roses.
Outside the grand entrance, a long red carpet stretched beneath a domed glass awning, where luxury vehicles dropped off their passengers one by one. Photographers stood at attention, cameras flashing as the city’s fashion elites made their way into the most anticipated event of the week: The Fashion Expo Welcome Gala.
Among the final arrivals were Elena Montclair and Brielle St. James. A hush fell over a cluster of onlookers as the black limousine door opened and Elena stepped out.
She wore a floor-length gown of midnight blue silk that shimmered under the lights like liquid moonlight. The neckline dipped into a soft V, tastefully hinting at her collarbones, while the back plunged into an elegant scoop, framed by sheer mesh adorned with intricate crystal beadwork. The sleeves hugged her arms and ended in delicate, embroidered cuffs. Her hair was styled in a vintage Hollywood wave, pinned on one side with a silver star-shaped clip that sparkled as she moved.
Around her neck, she wore a necklace that had once belonged to her grandmother—a single teardrop sapphire framed by a halo of diamonds. Matching sapphire earrings peeked through her curls, and her silver heels clicked gently against the polished marble as she took her first step inside.
Brielle followed, turning heads in a scarlet off-shoulder gown that hugged her hourglass figure and flared just at the knees. Gold accents traced the hem and sleeves in vine-like patterns. Her short curls were swept up into a soft bun, leaving a few tendrils to frame her glowing face. She wore stacked bangles on one wrist, and a pair of gold chandelier earrings that caught every glint of light in the room.
As the two women stepped into the ballroom, conversations faltered, and eyes followed them as they made their way through the crowd. They exchanged poised smiles, their friendship radiating confidence and class.
They found a spot near the central bar, where they ordered drinks and leaned against the polished brass counter.
"This place is stunning," Brielle said, looking around. "Like something straight out of a Vogue spread."
Elena smiled faintly, her eyes scanning the crowd. "It’s more than stunning. It's dangerous."
"Dangerous?" Brielle asked, raising a brow.
Elena took a sip of her champagne. "Because every single person here is hiding something behind all that shine."
Brielle laughed. "Girl, relax. It’s a party. Even if it's crawling with fake smiles."
"Exactly. And somewhere in here is a man I agreed to marry for reasons that have nothing to do with love."
Before Brielle could respond, Elena's gaze shifted—her eyes locked onto Jaxon across the room.
He was dressed in a sharp black tuxedo with a silk lapel and no tie, the top button of his shirt left casually undone. His hair was perfectly tousled, his face unreadable as he conversed with two older executives. He hadn’t seen her yet, but the very sight of him sent a strange twist through Elena's chest.
Brielle nudged her. "Are you seriously checking out your fake fiancé right now?"
"I'm observing the enemy," Elena whispered, turning back to her drink.
"You might want to stop observing, because he's heading this way."
Elena froze, but when she turned back, it wasn’t Jaxon who had made his way to her side.
A deep, confident voice interrupted their moment. "Elena Montclair, isn’t it?"
She turned to see a tall man in a charcoal grey tuxedo, standing with one hand in his pocket and the other holding a flute of champagne. His striking green eyes shimmered with something between interest and calculation.
"Yes," she replied, wary.
"Caleb Donovan," he introduced himself with a slow smile. "I believe we were both at the panel briefing earlier today."
Brielle’s posture straightened slightly beside Elena.
"Ah, right," Elena said. "I remember. The guy that helped me out when my Debit card abandoned me and You were asking about the ambassador program."
"I ask a lot of questions," he said, eyes never leaving her face. "But none quite as important as this: may I steal a minute of your time?"
Elena hesitated, casting a glance toward Brielle, then back toward where Jaxon had been. He was gone.
She met Caleb’s gaze again. "I suppose a minute couldn’t hurt."
As she followed him toward the quieter edge of the ballroom, Brielle watched them disappear into the crowd, her expression darkening just slightly.
Something about that man made her uneasy.
____________
As the music played on and the room glimmered with golden lights, Caleb gently guided Elena away from the dance floor to a quieter lounge area near the open terrace. With a wave of his hand, he signaled to a waiter.
"Two glasses of Château d’Esclans Whispering Angel Rosé," he said smoothly, his gaze never leaving her.
Elena gave a polite smile as they settled into one of the plush velvet couches. From this angle, they could still see the glamor of the gala, but the soft jazz playing in the background and the warm lighting made the space feel more intimate.
“So…” Caleb began, swirling his wine. “This whole event is quite the spectacle.”
“It really is,” Elena replied, glancing at the crowd. “It’s my first time attending, but it’s been amazing so far.”
He smiled, taking a sip. “Well, I’m glad I came, then. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have run into the most captivating woman in the building.”
Elena chuckled lightly, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Flattery already?”
“Just calling it how I see it,” Caleb said with a sly grin. Then he leaned forward slightly. “So…what’s your connection to Jaxon Wentworth?”
The question came so casually, yet Elena felt her muscles stiffen. Her grip on the wineglass tightened just a little.
“We…we’re connected through business. Our families, I mean,” she replied, trying to keep her tone even.
Caleb arched an eyebrow, watching her carefully. “Business…interesting. You two seem rather close. Or is it…more than that?”
There was something too curious in his tone. Elena gave a tight-lipped smile, finishing the last of her drink and setting the glass down.
“Well, this has been fun, but I think I should head back. Big day tomorrow.”
Caleb’s gaze lingered on her, thoughtful and calculating, but he didn’t press. “Of course. I’ll see you around then.”
Elena offered a nod, turned, and walked away—her heels clicking softly against the marble floor. As she disappeared back into the glowing heart of the gala, Caleb leaned back against the couch, his expression unreadable.
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Elena’s heels echoed softly on the polished marble floor as she made her way toward the restroom, eager to escape the lingering questions Caleb had thrown her way. The music and chatter of the gala felt distant now, a mere hum behind her focused thoughts.
She paused briefly in front of the restroom entrance, taking a slow, steadying breath. Just then, a sudden movement caught her eye—a familiar figure standing not far away, deep in conversation with a woman.
It was Jaxon.
Elena’s heart skipped, and her pulse quickened. The way his jaw was clenched, the sharp angle of his brows—they didn’t speak of casual chat. The woman’s face was tense, brows furrowed, lips pressed tight. Their body language screamed confrontation.
Elena instinctively took a step back, melting into the shadows near a grand marble pillar. She narrowed her eyes, trying to catch every word, every tone, as quietly as she could.
“I told you to leave,” Jaxon’s voice was low but fierce, every syllable dripping with frustration. “This isn’t the place for this.”
The woman’s reply was quick, almost desperate. “You can’t keep shutting me out like this, Jaxon. You owe me—”
“Enough,” he snapped, cutting her off. “Just go. Before this gets worse.”
Their voices lowered, but the tension remained thick in the air. Elena’s breath hitched, her mind racing. Who was this woman? What was she to Jaxon? And why did it feel like a warning meant for her, even though she was just a silent observer?
After a few more hushed words, the woman turned away, leaving Jaxon standing alone, his shoulders stiff, his expression hard. Elena stayed hidden a moment longer, then slowly slipped away, the unanswered questions swirling in her mind.
Elena stepped into the softly lit restroom, the cool air a sharp contrast to the warmth and tension she’d just left behind. She locked the door behind her and leaned against the marble sink, her fingers tracing the cool edges as her mind replayed the sharp words she’d overheard.
“I told you to leave…” Jaxon’s voice, rough and controlled. “You can’t keep shutting me out…”
The weight of those words settled heavily on her chest. Was this about her? Was he still entangled in some past she didn’t know about? The woman’s presence, her insistence—it all felt like a puzzle with missing pieces.
Elena closed her eyes briefly, shaking off the swirl of uneasy thoughts. She told herself not to read too much into it. After all, this was Jaxon’s life—complex, layered, and clearly filled with more secrets than she’d realized.
With a steadying breath, she freshened up quickly, wiped her hands on a crisp towel, and made her way back out.
The gala’s hum of laughter and clinking glasses drifted through the open door as Elena returned to the bar. Brielle was there, animated and radiant, locked in conversation with a tall man whose easy smile lit up the room.
Elena paused at the edge of the crowd, watching Brielle’s carefree laughter, the effortless way she held the attention of her new companion.
As Elena neared the bar, Brielle’s laughter softened the tension still clinging to her shoulders. But the moment Brielle caught sight of her, her smile faltered, and she quickly turned to the man beside her.
"Excuse me, I need to grab my friend," she said with a polite smile, rising gracefully from her seat.
“Elena!” Brielle called, rushing toward her. “Where the hell have you been?” Her voice was low but urgent as she took Elena’s hand and pulled her slightly away from the crowd. “You disappeared with that guy—Caleb something—and I didn’t see you come back. I was two seconds from calling security to search the whole rooftop.”
Elena offered a weak, apologetic smile. “I’m fine, Bree. We just talked. He ordered drinks, asked a few questions—nothing wild. But it got... weird. So I left.”
“Weird?” Brielle’s brows rose. “Weird how? Was he creepy?”
“Not exactly. Just... inquisitive. Too inquisitive. He started asking questions about Jaxon—how we met, what kind of relationship we have. It felt off.”
Brielle’s jaw tightened slightly. “That guy has an edge. I knew it when he smiled too easily earlier. Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on him.”
Before Elena could respond, the lights in the room shifted subtly, dimming and focusing on a small elevated stage draped in sheer silk and white florals. The hum of conversation lowered to a murmur.
A man in a velvet blazer and headset stepped into the spotlight with a practiced smile. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he announced smoothly, “thank you for gracing us with your presence tonight. We hope you’ve enjoyed the Welcome Gala so far. Now, it’s time to begin one of the most exciting parts of the evening—our Charity Auction. All proceeds will go toward the Global Women’s Empowerment Initiative, and we thank you for your generous participation.”
Polite applause rose across the room.
Elena’s eyes wandered as she clapped, scanning the space more out of habit than interest. That’s when she saw him.
Jaxon.
He stood off to the side of the crowd, near a velvet rope barrier, dressed sharply in a deep navy tux with a black lapel, tailored to his frame like it had been sewn by the gods. His dark hair was swept back, and the shadows in the room caught the sharpness of his features, making him look even more formidable than usual.
But it wasn’t just him.
Damon, his ever-serious personal assistant, stood close behind him, murmuring something into his ear. Jaxon gave a brief nod, his expression unreadable as his gaze swept the room—until, for a fleeting second, his eyes met Elena’s.
Elena stiffened slightly, unsure if he saw her or merely glanced in her direction. The memory of his earlier phone call—and that woman—echoed fresh in her thoughts.
Brielle followed her gaze, then leaned in, whispering, “So we’re all just pretending this isn’t the weirdest triangle of the year?”
Elena gave her a look, half amused, half exasperated. “Don’t start.”
Onstage, the host continued, his voice rising with enthusiasm. “We’ll be starting tonight’s auction with an exclusive design from the Eliré House of Fashion—a one-of-a-kind, hand-beaded evening gown flown in from Paris. Starting bid is fifty thousand.”
As the crowd stirred with anticipation and murmurs, Elena turned her attention back to the stage—but her thoughts were scattered, split between the man who had just tried to dig into her life and the one who stood on the other side of the room, unreadable and distant.
\---
The auction was in full swing, and the air buzzed with anticipation. Designers, moguls, and high-net-worth fashion enthusiasts raised paddles, exchanged sly smirks, and whispered to their assistants as bids climbed higher with every call from the auctioneer.
An emerald necklace from an Italian luxury house had just sold for over $200,000, and a bespoke tuxedo designed for the late Crown Prince of Spain had sparked a bidding war earlier in the evening.
The host returned to center stage with a bright, slightly mischievous glint in his eye. “Now, ladies and gentlemen, for something a little more exciting and entirely unexpected.” He motioned toward the side of the stage, where an elegant assistant stepped forward, holding a velvet-covered box.
“In a special twist for tonight,” he continued, “we have the honor of auctioning exclusive outfits from some of the guests themselves—dresses worn tonight by two fashion icons who’ve dazzled us with their presence.”
Whispers and gasps rolled across the room. Elena’s eyes widened as the spotlight swung toward the audience.
“First,” the announcer beamed, “we’ll begin with this masterpiece—worn by none other than the charming Brielle St James. A fiery red sculpted gown designed by Lemaire Studios, featuring a plunging back, delicate off-shoulder structure, and a trail of hand-stitched crystals sweeping into a train.”
Brielle gave a smirk and stood from her seat, giving a confident wave as applause burst from the crowd. A few cell phones discreetly recorded her as the bidding began. The price skyrocketed within seconds.
“Eighty-five thousand!”
“Ninety!”
“Ninety-five!”
“One hundred thousand dollars!”
The gavel hit as the final bidder secured the look. Brielle gracefully returned to her seat with a grin. “Well,” she whispered to Elena, “you better be ready, because I heard them say your name next.”
Before Elena could process it, the spotlight returned, brighter than before.
“And now,” the host called out with theatrical flair, “the crown jewel of this evening—worn by the exquisite Elena Montclair.”
A dramatic pause followed as the velvet was pulled back, revealing a digital rendering of the gown on screen above the stage.
Elena's dress, now being spotlighted, was a show-stopper from the moment she walked in. It was a floor-length gown in a rare shade of moonlight silver, created from a blend of silk and sheer organza that shimmered subtly under soft light. The bodice hugged her torso with delicate boning, overlaid with thousands of fine crystal droplets that gave the illusion of stardust melting into her skin. A high slit revealed a long, toned leg with every step, and a daring open-back dipped low, ending in a soft ‘V’ above her hips.
The neckline was sculpted but elegant—an off-the-shoulder drape that cascaded into sheer sleeves embroidered with tiny silver leaves. The skirt, light and ethereal, moved like smoke trailing behind her, with a silk lining that whispered with each step. On her ears, teardrop-shaped diamonds matched the subtle shimmer of her dress, while a slim platinum bracelet completed the look.
She shifted in her seat, stunned and half-embarrassed, as the crowd erupted in appreciative claps and murmurs. “They didn’t tell me they were going to do this,” she muttered under her breath.
Brielle just grinned. “Honey, you’re the show.”
“Starting bid,” the host declared, “at $100,000.”
“Two hundred,” came a firm voice from the left side of the room.
Elena turned sharply. Caleb. Dressed in a sleek black tux with silver cufflinks and a glass of champagne in one hand, he lifted his auction paddle with a slight smirk on his face.
“Elena Montclair is elegance personified,” he said casually, enough for people around to hear. “That dress deserves a home as fine as the woman who wore it.”
A few chuckles and whispers followed.
Jaxon, standing still across the ballroom, barely reacted. But then—quietly, subtly—he lifted his paddle.
“Two fifty,” he said, coolly.
Caleb’s eyes narrowed, clearly not expecting Jaxon to jump in. He raised his paddle again.
“Three hundred.”
Jaxon’s response was instant. “Three fifty.”
The host grinned like a game show host who’d just struck gold. “Ah! We have ourselves a duel!”
Gasps and giggles rippled through the crowd. Elena’s pulse quickened. Her gaze bounced between the two men—both staring ahead, expressions cold as steel.
“Four hundred thousand!” Caleb fired.
“Four fifty,” Jaxon countered, jaw tight, brow furrowed.
“Half a million,” Caleb snapped, eyes fixed on Elena now.
Jaxon didn’t even blink. “Six hundred thousand.”
The crowd was practically breathless. The tension was palpable—two titans, publicly battling over a dress that had now become a symbolic prize neither wanted to give up.
Elena sat frozen, her hands clenched in her lap. She didn’t know what unsettled her more—the price tag her dress was fetching, or the two men making a show of dominance with her in the crossfire.
Caleb tilted his head, taking a long sip from his glass. “Seven hundred.”
A pause. Jaxon looked at him, the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth.
“One million,” he said calmly.
The ballroom broke into gasps and applause.
The auctioneer’s eyes widened, stunned. “Sold—to Mr. Wentworth, for one million dollars!”
The gavel hit.
Elena couldn’t breathe.
Jaxon didn’t look at her. He simply handed his paddle to Damon, turned away, and disappeared into the crowd.
Caleb leaned back, drumming his fingers on the table. Though he didn’t speak, the message in his narrowed eyes was clear: This isn’t over.
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