Chapter 3
"Twenty-five million, going once! Twenty..."
"Twenty-six million!" a voice called from across the room.
Roman's smile faltered.
"Twenty-seven million!" another voice joined.
The price was swiftly driven up to twenty-eight million.
Roman's composure began to crack.
"Audrey," he urged, "go straight to thirty million!"
Instead, I set my paddle down, picked up my champagne flute, and took a slow, deliberate sip.
"Audrey?"
"It's too expensive," I stated plainly.
"What?" he spat.
"Thirty million? For a vase?" I frowned. "Do you know how many years I could live idly for that sum?"
"But... the family's reputation..." he pressed, his voice tight with urgency.
"Reputation is an abstract concept," I replied, my tone unhurried. "Money is tangible.
"The prenuptial agreement states the supplementary card is for 'maintaining the dignity befitting Nolan's wife.'
"Spending thirty million on a vase feels profoundly undignified to me.
"It's wasteful.
"It clashes entirely with my frugal persona."
Roman turned purple with rage.
On the podium, the auctioneer brought down his gavel.
"Twenty-nine million for the third time! Sold! Congratulations to bidder number 32!"
The room erupted in applause.
Roman stared at me, his gaze sharp enough to freeze the air between us.
I simply raised my glass, offering a smile.
My duties were to smile, to nod, and to offer polite greetings and farewells.
"Saved the family thirty million. You're welcome."
The car ride home was icy, the silence thick with tension.
Finally, Roman spoke, "You were full of surprises today, Audrey."
"You flatter me," I replied evenly.
"Aren't you worried about how Dad will react when he finds out?" he pressed.
"Terrified," I admitted, leaning my head against the cool window. "That's precisely why I did my homework."
"What homework?"
"Bidder number 32," I said. "He was a plant, hired by your father."
I continued, "Your father never had any intention of spending thirty million on that vase.
"He just didn't want to offend the organizers.
"So, he sent you with me, expecting me to be the fool who secured the bid.
"I'd be the one swiping the card for a vase that would ultimately grace the Kinsley home, boosting his reputation.
"However, the prenup states I'm accountable for explaining any major expenses on the supplementary card.
"If asked about a thirty-million-dollar vase, I'd have no choice but to tell the truth.
"I'd have to say it was on your direct instruction."
The blood drained from Roman's face.
"So," I concluded, "who do you think your father would truly be angry with?"
Roman fell completely silent.
The rest of the journey passed without a word.
As the car pulled up to the mansion, and before I could step out, he suddenly spoke again, "Audrey."
"Audrey," he began one evening at dinner, pushing his gold-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose.
"Yes?"
"Is this really all you want? Just... to do nothing?"
"What else?" I pushed the car door open. "To scheme and fight with you boys? That sounds exhausting. It doesn't align with my career goals."
Now, Connor, the youngest, was the most insidious of them all.
He appeared the most harmless, yet his tactics were the most potent.
He specialized in "emotional" warfare.
"Audrey!" he exclaimed one weekend afternoon, bursting into the sunroom with his math homework clutched in his hands. "I can't figure out this problem!"
I was immersed in a novel and didn't even bother to look up. "Ask one of your brothers."
"Jonathan's at a gig. And Roman's at the office." He moved closer, his deer-like eyes wide and pleading. "Please, can you help me? Please?"
I let out a sigh and set my book down. "Which one?"
"This one. Solid geometry."
I gave it a quick glance. "Connect AC and BD; they intersect at point O. Now, you need to prove PO is perpendicular to the plane ABCD. Draw the diagonals as auxiliary lines and apply the three perpendiculars theorem."
His eyes widened with feigned admiration. "Audrey, you're amazing! What did you do before this?"
"Overtime," I deadpanned.
"Huh?"
"Relentless, soul-crushing overtime."
"Oh..." he murmured, pretending to understand. "Audrey, could you go to my parent-teacher conference next Friday? For my dad?"
"No."
"May I ask why?" he pressed.
"It's not in the contract."
He said, "But my dad's abroad. And both my brothers are busy."
"What does that have to do with me?" I retorted.
He grabbed my sleeve, his voice dropping into a vulnerable whisper. "Please, Audrey. All my classmates... they say since I don't have a mom... no one cares..."
He hung his head, his voice thick with what sounded like unshed tears. "The teachers always ask about my family..."
I cursed inwardly.
This little actor was too good.
"Time and place," I relented flatly.
"Next Friday, 2 PM. The International Division auditorium," he chirped, his head snapping up, eyes sparkling.
Not a single tear in sight.
"Thanks, Audrey," he said.
On the day of the conference, I dressed in plain athletic wear, wore a face mask, and slipped into the very last row of the auditorium, hoping to remain invisible.
It turned out he was just saving up for his biggest stunt yet.
The spotlight found him on stage.
A poised, brilliant young man, the picture of confidence.
After his speech, the hall erupted in applause.
His eyes scanned the audience, somehow finding and locking onto me in the back row.