Page 25 of Lavish
“The Harrington estate,” the auctioneer’s voice rang out. “We’ll start the bidding at twenty million. Do I hear twenty million?”
I raised my paddle.
Miles lifted his paddle with a casual “Twenty-one million.”
I stole a glance at him, his nonchalance only fueling my resolve. The auctioneer continued, “Twenty-one million from Mr. Whitmore. Do I hear twenty-three?”
“Twenty-three.” I raised my paddle again.
“Twenty-five million.”
I felt everyone’s eyes on us, but my eyes were only on him.
“Thirty million.”
I had every intention of seeing him fall, and I would make sure it was hard. He never understood why I needed control, and I never understood how he let go so easily. Or maybe we just didn’t want to understand each other.
“Thirty-one million,” he said.
I didn’t break my gaze. “Thirty-six.”
His eyes darkened. A silent warning—or perhaps an invitation. I couldn’t tell which, but it didn’t matter. It was all part of the game now. I caught him tapping his pen just like I did—something I never thought I’d share with anyone.
My phone buzzed once more. I sent the call straight to voicemail. If I answered, I risked losing control of the auction.
“Thirty-seven million!”
Miles and I both turned to see someone in the back raising their paddle.Who the hell?
I raised my paddle, and other bids continued.
“Thirty-eight million!”
“Thirty-nine!”
The phone buzzed again, this time with a text. I glanced down, and the words sent a chill down my spine:
I’m watching you, Serena. Meet me now, or this gets messy. It doesn’t have to be. No more ignoring my calls, sugar.
I felt a jolt of unease. Watching me? Here? My eyes darted around the room.
The phone buzzed again, and this time, a photo appeared on the screen—a snapshot of me from just moments ago, sitting exactly where I was now. The angle was off, as if taken from the upper balcony overlooking the auction floor.
My gaze immediately went up. The balcony was dim, almost too dark to make out details.
Another buzz. Shit. Another photo.
This time, it was from the exit of the auction room, the back of my head facing down at my phone.
The message beneath it read:
Time’s running out. Follow, or everyone finds out who you really are.
My eyes flicked back to the auctioneer. I couldn’t afford to lose the property—not now, not when I was this close.
The auctioneer’s voice droned on, and I raised my hand, my voice steady despite the turmoil raging inside. “Forty million.”
Another buzz.
