Chapter 189

Chapter 189
Olivia's POV

I couldn't sleep since Morgan appeared as the queen at that charity gala. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her—standing there, changed, powerful, dangerous. Not the same pathetic girl who once flinched at my every word. No, this Morgan was different. She wasn't going to disappear quietly from my life this time.

"She won't let this go, Dad," I murmured, my voice barely audible over the elegant classical music filling the auction hall. "She knows what we did—what I did. I can't... I can't sleep knowing she's out there, plotting."

Part of me hoped Jonathan would rein Morgan in. If there was anyone who could control her, it would be a media magnate of his caliber. I wasn't worried about her telling him some sob story—if he'd cared about Morgan, he would have contacted her years ago. Fathers like Jonathan didn't want damaged daughters like Morgan disrupting their perfect lives.

"They're not here yet!" I whispered to my father, anxiously scanning the auction hall. My fingers nervously adjusted my designer mask, an exquisite creation that cost more than most people's monthly rent. Not that it mattered now. Nothing seemed to matter since she returned.

Dad shook his head slowly, gesturing toward the VIP balconies extending from the second floor. Heavy dark red curtains obscured three enormous floor-to-ceiling windows.

"Who gets to sit up there?" I asked, unable to hide the envy and longing in my voice. Those seats should be mine. That life should be mine. That's why I'd fought so hard to become Mrs. Reynolds.

"Clients who spend at least ten million annually at the auction," Dad replied evenly.

I swallowed hard. Ten million dollars was nothing to Alexander. The bitter truth stung—I should be sitting up there right now, not down here with the regular bidders.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the auctioneer announced, his voice reverberating through the hall, "our next item—an amethyst piece—'Night of Frost'! Starting bid one hundred thousand dollars!"

"Dad, that's the ring I want!" I exclaimed, grabbing his arm. I needed that ring. It belonged to me in a way no one else could understand.

Dad raised his paddle, and the auctioneer called out, "One hundred and ten thousand dollars!"

The ring was displayed on a rotating pedestal, catching the light. The amethyst was so deep purple it was nearly black, showing its true iron-violet color only under the spotlight. The jewel was held in place by an X-shaped black platinum "cage," with a crimson ruby line embedded in the metal.

My heart ached looking at it. Alexander had designed that ring for the girl he'd rescued. He'd studied jewelry design at Stanford alongside his business major and created this ring for her, symbolizing the innocent girl trapped in darkness, intending to "trap" her as his bride. But he never gave it to me.

After Alexander was forced to marry Morgan, he sold the ring—a goodbye to his secret desire that could never be. I only learned about the ring on Alexander and Morgan's wedding night, when I pulled him away from her with threats of my worsening condition. He was drunk that night, telling me how he felt, about the ring, telling me we weren't meant to be.

Why couldn't he love me that way now that I'd given him everything he'd wanted? Why couldn't he go back to that night and undo his drunken regrets? If he was just going to push me away in the end, why did he keep me as his little secret all those years? I had been so close to having him—his heart, his attention, his help, his name. He should have been mine.

And now I sat here, bidding obscene amounts for a ring that should have been on my finger, and he wasn't even by my side.

"Two hundred thousand dollars!" the auctioneer suddenly shouted. "...from the gentleman in the upstairs box!"

I turned and my heart sank when I saw Alexander's cold face appear behind the left window. The curtain had been pulled back just enough to reveal him. I felt a tear form in the corner of my eye, and my fingers instinctively reached up to touch my pale cheek.

I should be sitting up there.

I quickly typed on my phone: [Alexander, #76 is me,] Then deleted it and sent: [Alexander, I'm at the auction today.]

No response.

I looked up at Alexander again. He sat expressionless, not even glancing at his flashing phone, as if the entire world was beneath his notice.

I called Alexander's number, anger rising in my throat. How dare he ignore me? How dare he be so cold when all I'd ever done was love him?

Before the ringing stopped, the auctioneer called again: "Two hundred and ten thousand dollars, from Ms. P!"

My gaze followed the auctioneer's to the middle window on the second floor. The curtain had just stopped moving, revealing Morgan sitting in a red velvet armchair, holding up a paddle marked with a "P."

I frowned, recognizing the seat as belonging to that mysterious "Ethan" figure Morgan had been relying on. Jealousy cut through me like a knife, and I bit my lip hard enough to taste the metallic flavor of blood.

Why did Morgan want that ring?

"Two hundred and ten thousand dollars, going twice!" the auctioneer announced.

I looked up at Alexander, seeing him staring unabashedly at Morgan, his eyes filled with emotions I couldn't bear to identify. The pain was almost physical.

"Dad!" I urged, my voice containing barely controlled desperation.

Dad glanced at me slowly, and just when I thought I might cry, he raised his paddle.

"Two hundred and twenty thousand dollars! Number 76 bids two hundred and twenty thousand dollars!" the auctioneer pointed toward us.

I looked up at Morgan, confident she had seen me. Her cold green eyes locked with mine across the distance, and I suddenly understood—Morgan didn't care about the ring at all. She was only bidding because I was! This was revenge, pure and simple!

I gripped the back of my chair tightly, my nails digging into the Italian leather. That ring belonged to me! Alexander designed it for me, and I had to have it!

Morgan slowly raised her "P" marked paddle, a slight smirk playing at the corner of her lips.

"Two hundred and thirty thousand dollars, from Mr. W!" the auctioneer called next, and the crowd turned toward the right window.

The curtains slid apart to reveal Jonathan Wallace's famous face, wearing his signature confident smile.

"He's here! He really came!" I gasped, clutching at my father's suit.

"Earlier than I expected..." Dad muttered. "I thought he'd at least wait until the necklace auction to make an appearance."

The bids escalated rapidly after that.

"Two hundred and sixty thousand dollars, from Mr. R!"
"Two hundred and seventy thousand dollars, from Mr. W!"

The price climbed until Alexander bid "three hundred thousand dollars," and the "W" paddle didn't rise again.

Then suddenly. "Three hundred and fifty thousand dollars, from Ms. P!"

Morgan's face remained perfectly calm as she ignored the men looking at her from either side.

"Three hundred and fifty thousand dollars, going once!" the auctioneer shouted excitedly. "Three hundred and fifty thousand dollars, going twice--"

"Three hundred and sixty thousand dollars!"