Chapter 183
Anna’s POV
The auctioneer’s voice faded to background noise as I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. Despite the plush leather chair and perfect temperature of Sapphire Sky Hotel’s auction room, something felt off. An invisible thread of tension pulled at my awareness, making it impossible to focus on the elegant land portfolios spread before us.
I glanced at Marcus on my right, his expression calm and calculating as he studied the Nestling Crest Bay documents. Catherine sat to my left, scrolling through her phone with open disinterest. But that feeling-that distinct sensation of being watched-wouldn’t dissipate.
It had started the moment we entered the grand hall. At first, I’d dismissed it as the usual attention our appearance together naturally commanded. But now, with the auction formally beginning and the crowd settled, that gaze bore into us with unmistakable intensity.
I casually scanned the room, pretending to admire the crystal chandeliers while racking the source of my discomfort. My breath caught when I spotted him-Keith Dunn from Sovereign City, his face still bearing yellowish remnants of bruises. But his eyes weren’t fixed on me as I’d initially assumed.
He was staring directly at Catherine.
I turned to Catherine, keeping my voice low. "Do you know a man
named Keith Dunn? From the Dunn family in Sovereign City?"
She didn’t bother looking up from her phone. "Keith who? Never heard of him." Her fingers continued their practiced dance across the screen. "I only know Samuel Griffin from Sovereign City, and honestly, men from there aren’t exactly prizes to look at— Samuel included."
I suppressed a smile, grateful Samuel hadn’t attended today’s auction. His expression would have been priceless hearing Catherine’s casual dismissal.
My gaze drifted back to Keith. Why was he so fixated on Catherine? That wasn’t the look of attraction or even casual interest.
George’s POV
The auctioneer’s gavel struck with finality, each sharp crack resonating through Sapphire Sky Hotel’s grand ballroom like the tick of an
executioner’s clock. I maintained my composure as the first five parcels of land went for prices that bordered on insanity. Something wasn’t right.
"You Skyview folks really put a premium on dirt, don’t you?" Keith muttered beside me, his bruised face contorting with confusion.
I forced a dry chuckle while my mind raced. Why was every parcel being snatched up at prices well above market value? From my vantage point, I could see Marcus Murphy sitting with perfect stillness, his expression neutral as bids climbed higher and higher. He hadn’t placed a single bid yet, but everyone kept glancing in his direction, as if seeking permission.
"Don’t worry," I assured Keith, my voice steadier than my nerves.
"Murphy’s not bidding because he’s waiting for the premium lots. So should we."
The auctioneer cleared his throat.
"Moving to Lot Six, adjacent to Nestling Crest Bay. Opening bid at fifteen million."
Keith’s eyes widened. "That’s our target, right?"
I gave a curt nod, my jaw tightening.
This parcel was crucial. After decades in the business, I recognized a game-changing opportunity when I saw one.
"We must secure this lot. At any cost."
The bidding war began with ferocious intensity. When it reached twenty million, Keith jumped in, his voice carrying across the room with confident authority.
Then something extraordinary happened.
"Twenty-six million."
Anna Shaw’s clear voice cut through the chatter, silencing the room instantly. I felt my heartbeat falter as every head turned toward her. The emerald dress made her stand out like
a venomous snake among garden variety pests.
The silence that followed was deafening. Not a single counter-bid.
Not a single whisper. Just collective breath-holding, as if the entire financial elite of Skyview City had received some silent command.
’T-twenty-six point one million," Keith stammered, breaking the spell.
"Thirty million." Another voice—Luke
Hill’s father-entered the fray without hesitation.
Keith turned to me, his face pale despite the bruising. "Thirty million?
That’s the absolute ceiling for this property’s value."
My blood ran cold as the gavel fell.
We’d lost Lot Six. My eyes drifted to Marcus Murphy, who hadn’t even bothered to look up from his conversation with Phillip. Yet somehow, he seemed to be orchestrating everything.
"I think we’re being targeted," Luke whispered, leaning close enough that I could smell his expensive cologne.
"Have you noticed? Whenever we bid, suddenly everyone goes crazy."
"Just a coincidence," I replied, the lie bitter on my tongue. I wasn’t about to admit my growing suspicion-that I, George Simpson, had been deliberately excluded from crucial information.
Lot Seven went to Phillip Murphy. Lot Eight saw us locked in competition with Marcus again, the price climbing to a staggering thirty-eight million before I was forced to concede.
"This is insane," Keith hissed, sweat beading on his forehead. "What the hell is going on? Why is Murphy gunning for every property you want?"
I didn’t answer, too busy watching the room. Something was happening that I couldn’t see—like currents flowing beneath seemingly calm waters. Even more puzzling was how a southern real estate tycoon took Lot Nine, then immediately stepped over to exchange pleasantries with Marcus.
My stomach clenched. Had I been so thoroughly marginalized that I was now the last to know about major
market movements in a city where I’d once been king?
When Lot Twelve came up—a prime lakefront property—I resolved to claim it regardless of cost. But once again, as soon as I placed my bid, Anna Shaw calmly raised her paddle, offering twenty-eight point eight million. The room went silent, and the pattern repeated itself. No one dared challenge her.
"I don’t understand," Keith muttered, his frustration palpable. "This isn’t about buying land-everyone’s acting like they’re in some cult."
By the time we reached the final three lots—the crown jewels of the auction— my confidence had evaporated entirely.
I watched with growing despair as Lot Fifteen’s price skyrocketed, with Marcus conspicuously absent from the bidding. When a property developer finally secured it, he immediately approached Marcus’s table with a respectful nod of acknowledgment.
"Why is he thanking Murphy?" Keith asked, bewildered. "He didn’t even bid on that property."
I remained silent, the truth finally dawning on me with devastating clarity. This wasn’t just about land.
This was a public execution of the Simpson name-and everyone had received an invitation except me.
"If I’d known it would be like this," I muttered, watching another prime lot slip through my fingers, "I would have fought harder for the earlier parcels."