Chapter 98
The auction officially ended around ten o'clock at night.
Guests drifted off in small groups or headed to the after-party the organizers had put together.
Alexander got to his feet and helped Charlotte up by the arm.
"Let's go."
She nodded and slipped her arm through his. The two of them walked side by side toward the ballroom doors.
Just as they were about to step out into the night, everything went sideways.
"Charlie! Charlie, you can't just leave like this! You can't abandon me!"
A scrawny, disheveled man burst out from behind a nearby column and lunged wildly at Charlotte.
The sudden commotion froze everyone in the room.
The door security reacted fast and rushed over to stop him. But the man twisted and slipped past them like he had no bones, closing the distance to Charlotte in just a few steps.
Alexander's expression darkened. He stepped forward immediately and put himself between Charlotte and the man, looking down at him with cold, steady eyes.
"Charlotte! It's me! Finnian Reed!"
The man looked furious. He jabbed a finger at her, his voice cracking as he wailed, "You promised me — you said once you made something of yourself, you'd marry me! What is this now? Have you forgotten the vows we made on that hilltop back home? Have you forgotten everything you promised me?!"
The moment those words landed, the whole entrance erupted.
Guests and reporters who hadn't left yet sensed something was off and quickly closed in, surrounding them on all sides. Cameras swung toward the scene.
Vows? Promises? Back home?
Those words, attached to the cool, composed heiress standing there in a custom gown, felt deeply, inexplicably wrong.
Every eye in the place went wide.
Alexander's face went cold. He pulled Charlotte behind him without hesitation and fixed a hard stare on the man called Finnian.
"Security!"
"Don't — don't throw me out!"
Finnian shrank back a little, rattled by Alexander's presence.
But he steadied himself, reached into his jacket, and pulled out a crumpled stack of photos, holding them up high. "I have proof. I'm not lying!"
"Look — these are photos of me and Charlie. We were together before she ever left the countryside."
"We were even engaged!"
The reporters surged forward the moment they saw the photos, shoving cameras up to get a clear shot.
The photos were old — yellowed and blurry. But you could just make out a man and a woman pressed close together, with open fields in the background. The girl's face looked about seventy or eighty percent like Charlotte.
The murmuring in the crowd got louder.
"Oh my god, is this real? Ms. Johnson had a fiancé back in the countryside?"
"That's quite the twist — she comes back to the family and dumps the guy who stood by her? Never saw that coming."
"I mean, what do you expect? A girl who grew up out in the sticks — I always thought something was off about her..."
From a corner not far away, Chloe watched it all unfold, a crooked smile spreading across her face.
Just thinking about the look of panic and helplessness she was about to see on Charlotte's face made her feel almost giddy.
But Charlotte's reaction caught everyone off guard.
Aside from a brief flicker of surprise when the man first burst out, she had been completely composed the entire time.
Finnian. She hadn't forgotten that name.
When the Johnson family had dumped her in that remote mountain village, he was the local troublemaker everyone knew about. He had connections, and he used them as an excuse to do nothing all day — loafing around, harassing the girls in the village.
He had pestered her for a while back then.
One night, he even tried to sneak into her house.
It didn't go well for him.
She was ten years old at the time. She broke his leg with a wooden stick, and he spent three months in bed howling in pain.
That seemed to teach him something, because after that he gave her a wide berth.
Later, she heard he'd crossed the wrong people from out of town, took a beating, and disappeared from the village entirely. No one heard from him again.
She never expected to run into him here, after all this time.
Everything he'd said — vows, engagements — was complete nonsense. More than that, this had the clear shape of a setup. Someone had planned this.
Charlotte narrowed her eyes and swept her gaze slowly across the faces in the crowd, until it landed on Chloe in the corner.
Chloe hadn't managed to wipe the smug look off her face yet. She froze the instant their eyes met.
Charlotte's stare cut right through her. Chloe's confidence caved, and she took an instinctive step back, dropping her gaze.
Charlotte gave a quiet, cold laugh and looked away. Then she calmly stepped forward.
Alexander caught the movement and started to follow, but Charlotte gave his shoulder a light pat — don't worry.
With every eye in the room watching, she walked up to the man who was putting on the performance of his life, and a faint, knowing smile touched the corner of her mouth.
"Finnian. That leg of yours — did it heal up alright?"
The throwaway line made him flinch. The memory of bone snapping came flooding back, and real fear surfaced in his eyes.
But the thought of the money waiting for him pushed the fear down. Greed won. He twisted his face into practiced anguish and threw himself at her.
"Charlie, don't be so heartless."
"I know I'm not in your league anymore, but my feelings are real. I love you — that's always been real."
"I've been searching so long to find you. You can't throw me away just for a comfortable life."
Finnian's plan was simple: grab Charlotte, manufacture the appearance of intimacy, and make the relationship look real. That alone would get him most of the way there.
Unfortunately, things rarely go the way you picture them.
None of it played out as he imagined.
Just as his fingers were about to brush the hem of her dress, she was gone — there one moment, gone the next, like smoke.
Before Finnian could process what had happened, he heard a faint crack from his wrist.
Then his entire arm was wrenched behind his back, and a wave of searing pain tore through him.
"Aagh—!"
His upper body buckled forward. His free hand hit the floor. His face came within inches of the polished marble.
He had never looked more pathetic in his life.