Chapter 123
Serena
The music had stopped completely now. The room felt smaller, the air thicker. Every woman in that ballroom was staring at me with varying degrees of curiosity and disdain, but Beatrice's expression was the only one that mattered. And Beatrice was watching me like I was a particularly interesting insect she was considering whether to crush.
My mind raced. This is over. This deal is dead. Evelyn's here, and she's going to poison this before I even open my mouth.
Sure enough, Beatrice moved. She reached for a silk shawl draped over a nearby chair, wrapping it around her shoulders with deliberate slowness as she crossed the floor toward me. When she finally spoke, her voice was cool, precise, the kind of upper-class British accent that could make "good morning" sound like an insult.
"So. You're the Vance girl Evelyn was just telling us about." She stopped a few feet away, close enough that I could see the flecks of gold in her green eyes. "The one with no breeding, no manners, and apparently no sense of propriety. You barge into my private salon, interrupt my guests, and now you stand here expecting... what, exactly?"
I swallowed hard, but forced myself to hold her gaze. "I'm here because I have urgent business to discuss with you, Lady Beatrice. Business that has nothing to do with—"
"Nothing to do with the fact that you publicly humiliated the daughter of one of my dearest friends?" Beatrice's eyebrow arched. "Nothing to do with the fact that Marcus Holland had to ground his own child because of the scandal you created?"
Evelyn moved to stand beside Beatrice, her smile widening. "Beatrice is far too important to waste her time on opportunistic little girls, Serena. Even the mayor's wife has to make an appointment to speak with her. What makes you think you deserve five minutes of her attention?"
I could feel the other women closing in, emboldened by Evelyn's aggression and Beatrice's apparent disinterest. Their voices rose again, a cacophony of judgment and derision.
"The audacity—"
"Crashing a private event—"
"Should be thrown out—"
But I kept my eyes locked on Beatrice. Not Evelyn. Not the chorus of socialites who were already writing me off. Just Beatrice. Because she was the only one who mattered. The only one who could give me what I needed.
"Lady Beatrice." My voice cut through the noise, somehow steady despite the panic clawing at my chest. "I came here because I'd heard you were a woman of vision. Someone who didn't let petty social grudges interfere with real opportunity." I paused, letting my gaze sweep over the sneering faces around her before returning to meet her eyes. "But looking at this... I suppose I was mistaken."
The mockery in the room swelled.
"Did she just—"
"The arrogance—"
"Beatrice, are you going to let her speak to you like—"
But Beatrice's expression had shifted. Just slightly. Her eyes narrowed, not with anger, but with something sharper. Interest, maybe. Or irritation that I'd dared to judge her.
I didn't wait for her to speak. I shifted my weight, angling my body toward the door as if I'd already made my decision. "You know what? Forget it. I came here to offer you a significant transaction—the kind that doesn't come around often. But if you'd rather spend your evening listening to..." I gestured vaguely at Evelyn and her chorus, "...this, then I'll take it elsewhere. I'm sure there are other collectors in this city who'd appreciate what I'm offering."
I took a step back. Then another. My heart was hammering so hard I thought they might hear it, but I kept my expression bored, dismissive, as if walking away from Lady Beatrice Ashford-Kent was the easiest thing in the world.
"Wait."
The word wasn't loud. It didn't need to be. The entire room went still.
Beatrice hadn't moved, but her gaze was locked on me now with an intensity that made my skin prickle. "Stop." She raised one hand, silencing the murmurs that had started to rise again. "All of you. Be quiet."
Evelyn's mouth snapped shut mid-protest. The other women exchanged glances but said nothing.
Beatrice took a single step forward, her eyes never leaving mine. "Three seconds, Miss Vance. Tell me why I shouldn't let you walk out that door right now."
I didn't hesitate. "Monet. The Crimson Water Lilies at Midnight. Fifty million dollars."
For a moment, the room was so quiet I could hear my own heartbeat. Then someone laughed—a sharp, disbelieving bark that was quickly echoed by others.
"She's lying—"
"That painting's been locked in litigation for years—"
"Fifty million? Ridiculous—"
But Beatrice wasn't laughing. She was staring at me with an intensity that made my skin prickle, her expression unreadable.