Chapter 15 Woman, You Have Successfully Caught My Attention
Selena's POV
It was over.
I didn't feel the thrill of revenge, nor the excitement of finally settling a score. All I felt was the relief that comes from clearing out old trash.
Like stepping on a cockroach.
You don't cheer for its death—you just think, well, the world is finally clean again.
Uncle Jonathan and Mr. Arnault were waiting at the end of the hallway.
"Well done, Selena." Uncle Jonathan came over and gave me a big hug, his eyes full of pride.
Mr. Arnault raised his champagne glass to me, his bright blue eyes gleaming with fox-like cunning.
"My dear Astraea," he said in a low voice, his English heavy with a French accent, "that performance just now was absolutely magnificent. If you weren't a designer, you could definitely become the brightest star on Broadway."
"Come on, Mr. Arnault." I took the champagne glass from his hand and downed it in one gulp.
"I was just settling some personal business. But you—your timing was perfect."
"It's my lifelong honor to serve a beautiful lady."
He gave an exaggerated bow, then changed his tone. "But seriously, won't you consider signing an exclusive partnership with one of my brands? That 'Starlit Vine' you wore tonight—I've already gotten at least twenty calls from clients willing to pay any price."
"My work never belongs to any brand. It only belongs to me."
I hate being tied down, whether by family or by business contracts.
Astraea is Astraea because of her absolute freedom.
"Alright, alright."
Mr. Arnault raised both hands in surrender. "I knew you'd say that. Such a stubborn yet charming little thing."
Our group walked through the hotel's magnificent lobby toward the entrance.
Getting into the car back to the ranch, I leaned back against the soft leather seat and finally completely relaxed.
I kicked off my heels and rubbed my slightly sore ankles.
"Selena," Uncle Jonathan looked at me, hesitating.
"Just say whatever you want to say."
"The Katesons... is that it?" He frowned. "After what they did to you, isn't this letting them off too easy?"
I looked at the city lights rushing past the window and shook my head.
"For them, losing money and status hurts worse than death. Going from the penthouse to the gutter, worrying about making ends meet every day, watching people they once looked down on doing better than them... that's the cruelest punishment for them."
Besides, that "perfect match" of Myrdal and Taisia—once they lost the Katesons' protection, how much of their "love" would be left?
I could already picture them tearing at each other over money and benefits, turning against each other with ugly faces.
That show would be far more entertaining than a simple bankruptcy.
--
Royce's POV
I was sitting in the private suite on the hotel's top floor, listlessly watching the city lights through the floor-to-ceiling windows.
Tonight's party was as boring as I'd expected.
A bunch of people wearing fake masks, saying insincere flattery, exchanging benefits they all knew about.
I left early just to stop wasting time.
"Knock knock knock."
My assistant, Hunter, knocked and walked in, looking a bit strange.
"Sir, downstairs... something seems to have happened."
"What happened?" I swirled the whiskey in my glass without turning around.
Probably some tycoon's wife catching her husband cheating, or two family heirs fighting over a woman.
I'd seen that kind of drama too many times.
"It's the Kateson family's engagement party."
Hunter's tone was hesitant. "It seems... things got really ugly. I went down to look just now—the banquet hall entrance is surrounded by people, all talking about it."
The Katesons?
I had no impression of them—some insignificant small family.
"Get to the point." I was getting impatient.
"The point is... the center of this storm seems to be a woman named Hart."
"Hart?"
I finally turned around, raising an eyebrow slightly.
That surname had been appearing in my life quite frequently lately.
"Yes, Sir. I heard people around saying that woman seems to be the Katesons' adopted daughter who was later kicked out. Tonight she suddenly showed up and had an intense confrontation with the Katesons. The strangest thing is..."
Hunter paused, seeming to organize his words.
"Mr. Arnault was there at the time, and he... he was very warm toward this Miss Hart, even publicly calling her 'Astraea.'"
My finger stopped on the rim of my glass.
Astraea?
That mysterious woman who went head-to-head with me at the auction up to 100 million?
That "Astraea" I'd been investigating but couldn't find any background on?
"Are you sure?"
"I'm absolutely certain, Sir. Many people heard it at the time. Although Mr. Arnault later said he'd mistaken her for someone else, everyone could tell they were close."
Hunter continued, "Also, that Miss Hart supposedly wore a set of never-before-seen jewelry tonight. Many people are guessing it's Astraea's latest work. She... she seemed very... commanding, completely different from the rumored down-and-out adopted daughter who was kicked out—like two different people."
My mind instantly flashed to the woman I'd seen at the restaurant.
That woman in the ridiculous floral dress, with clown-like makeup, talking nonstop about money and brands, vulgar and materialistic.
She was Selena Hart.
But this woman Hunter was describing—who could make Arnault treat her differently, who was mistaken for Astraea, who had a powerful presence—was also named Hart.
Impossible.
Absolutely impossible to be the same person.
A coincidence?
Or...
A ridiculous thought flashed through my mind.
"Where is she?" I stood up.
"She should have left already. I saw Jonathan Hart's car just leaving the hotel."
Jonathan Hart?
The Hart family's second-in-command, that famously difficult old fox.
He personally came to pick up an... adopted daughter kicked out by the Katesons?
Things were getting more and more interesting.
I grabbed my jacket and strode toward the elevator.
"Sir?"
"To the banquet hall."
When I reached the banquet hall, it was already a mess.
Guests were gathered in small groups, excitedly whispering to each other.
The party's main character, that man named Myrdal, stood there pale-faced, like he'd lost his soul.
His fiancée, that woman named Taisia, was sitting on the floor, her makeup completely ruined, crying and laughing like a madwoman.
And the head of the Kateson family, that man I'd once met at a business reception, was kneeling on the ground, picking up torn documents piece by piece, his movements as servile as a beaten dog's.
My gaze swept across the scene and finally landed on those scattered paper fragments.
I walked over and bent down to pick up a piece.
It was covered with dense data and charts, and a logo I knew very well—from an asset management company.
This wasn't an ordinary document.
I looked up at the farce before me.
Was she really that stupid gold-digger I'd met at the restaurant?