Chapter 4 - The Desperate Bid
Dalia let out a horrifying, high-pitched sob.
She turned and ran blindly toward the women’s restroom, leaving a trail of confused whispers in her wake.
I took a deep breath, feeling a profound sense of justice wash over my soul.
"Are you feeling alright?" Gabriel asked, gently rubbing my shoulder.
"I have never felt better in my entire life," I admitted.
The gala’s master of ceremonies tapped heavily on a microphone at the front of the room.
"Ladies and gentlemen, please take your seats for the annual charity auction," the host announced loudly.
Gabriel led me to a VIP table directly at the front of the stage.
Julian was already seated at the adjacent table, looking disheveled and sweating profusely.
He was desperately typing on his phone, completely ignoring the people staring at him.
The auction began with polite applause and mild bidding on designer watches and vacation packages.
Then the host unveiled the premier item of the night.
"Next, we have a private, fifty-acre estate in the Swiss Alps, starting at two million dollars," the auctioneer declared.
Julian immediately threw his numbered paddle into the air.
"Five million!" Julian shouted, his voice cracking slightly.
The room murmured in surprise at the aggressive opening bid.
Julian looked over at me with a wild, desperate glint in his eyes.
He was trying to prove to the room that he was still powerful and infinitely wealthy.
Gabriel casually raised his paddle with a single finger.
"Six million," Gabriel stated quietly.
"Eight million!" Julian roared, standing up from his chair.
"Nine," Gabriel countered without even looking at him.
Julian slammed his hands onto his table, knocking over a crystal water pitcher.
"Fifteen million dollars!" Julian screamed, breathing heavily as he glared at us.
The auctioneer looked absolutely thrilled by the unexpected windfall.
"Fifteen million going once, going twice, sold to Mr. Julian Duval!" the host cheered.
Julian smirked at me, adjusting his suit jacket in a pathetic attempt to look victorious.
"I still have more money than God, Khloe," Julian sneered across the tables.
"Actually, Julian, you don't have a single dime to your name," I replied calmly.
May you like
Before Julian could respond, the heavy ballroom doors burst open.
Four men wearing dark windbreakers with the letters FBI printed in bright yellow walked directly onto the gala floor.
