Chapter 21
Lucinda and Tamsin had just stepped into the hotel lobby when a server in a black uniform approached them respectfully. "Ladies, please follow me."
Tamsin glanced at Lucinda. Lucinda nodded slightly.
The two followed the server through the lobby—not toward the main hall, but into a side corridor.
The elevator ascended and stopped on the second floor.
The server pushed open a heavy wooden door, revealing a private suite inside.
The suite wasn't large, but it was exquisitely appointed.
A floor-to-ceiling glass wall faced the auction floor below, offering a clear, sweeping view of everything in the main hall.
Leather sofas, solid wood coffee tables, fruit platters, tea service—everything was provided. A small aromatherapy diffuser sat in the corner, releasing a faint, pleasant fragrance.
Tamsin dropped onto the sofa, crossed her legs, and sighed. "Private boxes are way more comfortable. Down there, people packed together—what a nightmare."
Lucinda said nothing. She walked to the glass and scanned the floor below.
The main hall was already more than half full.
Men in tailored suits, women dripping in jewels—the entire scene glittered like a carefully staged display of wealth and power.
Her gaze swept through the crowd before she settled onto the sofa.
Downstairs in the main hall, Dahlia found a seat near the front, smoothed her skirt, and glanced around elegantly.
Her gaze drifted toward the private boxes on the second floor.
Those were reserved for the truly elite—top-tier wealthy families and old-money clans. She wouldn't even dare dream of sitting up there.
She scanned the hall again. No sign of Lucinda.
Her lips curved upward.
Of course, Lucinda couldn't get in.
Someone from that kind of backwater probably didn't even know which way the auction entrance faced.
She'd hoped to let Lucinda witness her, Dahlia's grace among high society circles. But now, Lucinda hadn't even made it inside.
What a shame.
The stage lights blazed to life. The auctioneer stepped onto the platform. The hall fell silent.
"Honored guests, welcome to this auction. Our first item—" The auctioneer paused, tone turning solemn. "Vortexal."
A large screen displayed an image: a transparent glass vial containing pale golden liquid, accompanied by dense blocks of text.
"This medication was recently developed by the renowned medical expert Dr. Sinclair. Its function is similar to the extremely rare Solsticex, but it is particularly effective for cerebral infarction—a historic breakthrough. Starting bid: eighty million dollars."
The hall erupted into murmurs.
In the second-floor box, Lucinda's gaze locked onto the screen. Her brow furrowed slightly.
Tamsin's expression shifted as well. She sat bolt upright and lowered her voice. "Lucinda, isn't this from the batch you developed just last month? It's still in internal trials—hasn't even hit the market yet. How did it end up at an auction?"
Lucinda didn't respond. Her gaze settled on the text displayed on the screen.
Dr. Sinclair.
That was her name in the medical field.
The name was legendary in the industry, but very few had actually met her.
Now someone was using her identity to auction off medicine that hadn't even been released.
"There's a mole." Her voice was flat, emotionless.
Tamsin slammed her fist against the sofa armrest in frustration. "I knew it! You only made a handful of pills. Besides the one used at the nursing home, the rest were locked in the lab. Anyone selling it must have stolen it from the inside. Lucinda, we can't let this slide!"
"I know." Lucinda withdrew her gaze and leaned back on the sofa. "Keep an eye out. See who's behind this."
Tamsin nodded firmly. "Don't worry. Leave it to me."
Down below, Diana and Dahlia sat together.
The moment Vortexal's image appeared on the screen, Diana's eyes lit up.
She grabbed Dahlia's wrist, lowering her voice but unable to contain her excitement. "Dahlia, this is it! My dad told me—my uncle's illness is cerebral infarction!"
Dahlia's heartbeat quickened.
She stared at the pale golden liquid on the screen, her eyes growing brighter.
Diana was from the Lancaster family. With this inside information, how could she fail to win Hayden over?
If she won the bid and delivered the medicine to the Lancaster family, even if Reginald was reluctant, he'd owe her a debt of gratitude.
"Eighty million dollars."
The moment the auctioneer finished speaking, Dahlia raised her paddle.
"Eighty-five million dollars."
"Ninety million dollars."
The price climbed rapidly. Dahlia gritted her teeth and kept up.
She had just over a hundred million dollars in her account—everything she'd accumulated over twenty years in the Douglas family.
But it was worth it. Once she secured the Lancaster family, what was this amount of money?
"One hundred twenty million dollars!"
She raised her paddle, voice steady.
The hall fell silent for a moment.
The gavel fell. Vortexal was hers.
Dahlia accepted the vial, fingers trembling slightly, but her smile couldn't be suppressed.
She carefully tucked the medicine into her purse, exchanged a few whispered words with Diana, and left the main hall.
The medicine was in hand. There was no point staying.
She needed to get home and figure out how to present the vial to Hayden for maximum effect.
At the entrance, she glanced back at the second-floor boxes.
Those lit windows looked like eyes, gazing down on the entire hall from above.
One day, she would sit up there, too.
The auction continued.
Lucinda sat in the box, her gaze resting lightly on the stage.
She had no interest in the first few items—until the fifth was brought out.
A pristine specimen of ginseng, snow-white throughout, roots intact, housed in a custom temperature-controlled case.
The auctioneer introduced it. "This is a wild ginseng root aged over thirty years—a key ingredient in many rare medicinal formulas. Starting bid: twenty million dollars."
Lucinda's gaze paused slightly.
Ginseng—the critical supplementary ingredient for improving Vortexal's formula.
She'd sent people searching for it last month but hadn't found a quality specimen.
"Thirty million dollars."
She pressed the bidding device in the box. Her voice echoed through the hall via speaker.
The hall fell silent for a moment.
People looked up toward that lit window on the second floor, whispering among themselves.
"Fifty million dollars." Someone in the back row raised a paddle.
"Sixty million dollars." Lucinda's voice remained calm.
"Seventy million dollars."
"Eighty million dollars."
The hall went dead silent.
Eighty million dollars for a single medicinal ingredient?
Who was sitting in that second-floor box?
The gavel fell.
Lucinda's expression didn't change. Beside her, Tamsin clicked her tongue and leaned over to whisper, "Lucinda, that kind of spending—do your parents know about this?"
Lucinda ignored her.
The auction entered its final stages.
The last item was slowly brought out—six transparent glass vials neatly arranged on a velvet tray.
The auctioneer's voice turned solemn. "Solsticex. Six doses. Dr. Sinclair's signature work—no longer available on the market. It is said this medicine can bring people back from the brink of death. Global supply does not exceed twenty doses. Starting bid for each dose: one hundred million dollars."
The entire hall held its breath.
"One hundred fifty million dollars."
A low voice came from a box on the opposite side.
Lucinda's gaze shifted slightly.
That voice...
She turned her head, looking through the glass toward the opposite box.
"Two hundred million dollars."
Someone tried to raise the bid. That voice spoke again, tone unhurried.
The hall erupted.
Two hundred million dollars for one pill?
This was beyond just being wealthy.
Tamsin's eyes widened. She pressed against the glass, peering down. "Who is that? So rich?"
"Three hundred million dollars."
The voice from the opposite box remained steady.
The hall fell into deathly silence. No one bid again.
The gavel fell. All six doses of Solsticex went to one person.
The auctioneer cleared his throat, tone respectful. "Sir, the Solsticex has been packaged for you. As the highest bidder of tonight's auction, would you like to say anything?"
The box fell silent for a moment.
That low voice spoke again, calm and measured. "Dr. Sinclair's medicine is worth the price. I have always admired her personally."
Lucinda sat on the sofa, fingers lightly tapping the armrest.
Tamsin turned to look at her, eyes full of meaning.
"Sir," the auctioneer asked again, "would you be comfortable disclosing your identity?"
The voice remained flat. "Reginald."
Lucinda's gaze settled on that lit window across the way. She studied it for a moment.
The glass was reflective. Nothing could be seen.
Tamsin leaned over, lowering her voice with a teasing edge. "Lucinda, he really admires you. Three hundred million dollars for your medicine without batting an eye. Does this Mr. Lancaster have feelings for you?"
Lucinda withdrew her gaze and stood. "Let's go."
"Wait for me—"
The two figures disappeared through the box entrance.