Chapter 7
Sylvie sat down with a stony expression, her back ramrod straight, eyes fixed on the auction stage ahead.
The auction reached its midpoint, but Sylvie remained utterly disinterested–until the auctioneer pulled away the red silk from a velvet tray, revealing the pearl necklace, shimmering with a gentle luster under the spotlight.
Sylvie’s pupils contracted sharply.
She remembered how, as a child, Paige always wore that necklace to galas–the pearls resting against her slender neck, swaying softly with every graceful step, like moonlight made tangible.
“Do you want it that badly?” Alaric’s deep voice murmured in her ear.
Sylvie didn’t answer. She simply raised her paddle. “Eight million.”
“Nine million!”
A sweet voice chimed in from beside her. Clarisse offered her a faint smile. “I really love this necklace too, Sylvie. May the highest bidder win -hope you don’t mind?”
Sylvie’s nails dug into her palm. “Thirteen million.”
“Sixteen million.”
“Thirty million.”
“Forty–five million.”
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The price soared to 160 million.
Sylvie’s funds from selling off her own wedding gifts were nearly gone, but Clarisse kept bidding, calm and poised, her smile betraying utter confidence.
“One hundred sixty million, going once.” The auctioneer looked to Sylvie. “Ms. Ainsley, would you like to bid again?”
Sylvie’s throat tightened.
She never imagined she’d one day have to beg for a necklace.
“Yes,” she forced out, her voice hoarse. She turned and grabbed Alaric’s sleeve. “Alaric, lend me the money…”
Her voice trembled. “It was my mom’s. I have to have it.”
Alaric was visibly stunned.
He’d never seen Sylvie–so proud, so radiant–reduced to pleading.
“I’m begging you.” Sylvie’s eyes were rimmed red, her voice barely a whisper.
Alaric reached into his suit for his black card, just about to hand it over-
“Alaric.” Clarisse suddenly clutched his arm, eyes glistening with tears. “I really, really love this necklace…”
She bit her lip. “This is the first time I’ve ever wanted something so much. Please, don’t help Sylvie–okay?”
The air seemed to freeze.
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Chapter 7
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Sylvie looked at Alaric–the man who once shielded her from every storm.
He hesitated, his gaze flickering between her and Clarisse.
After a long, heavy silence, Alaric finally looked at Sylvie and spoke, his words slow and deliberate, “Let her have it.”
Four words–soft as a feather–but they cut through Sylvie like a knife.
The gavel fell. “Sold! Congratulations, Ms. Pritchard!”
Sylvie stood frozen, ice–cold all over.
She watched Clarisse accept the pearl necklace and watched her gloat with a triumphant smile. Sylvie’s fingernails bit deep into her palm, blood
seeping between her fingers onto the carpet–yet she felt nothing.
It was the first time Alaric had ever seen Sylvie like this.
Her eyes were bloodshot, but she stubbornly refused to cry; her lips were white from being bitten, but she kept her back straight, refusing to break.
For some reason, a strange ache twisted in Alaric’s chest.
“Alaric…” Clarisse leaned against him, feigning frailty. “I’m not feeling well–it’s that time of the month. Could you get me a blanket?”
Alaric hesitated but finally stood and left.
Sylvie lost all interest in the auction.
She sat, ears ringing, Paige’s smiling face flashing before her eyes, always with that necklace at her throat.
As soon as the auction ended, Sylvie stopped Clarisse in the corridor.
“Sell me the necklace,” Sylvie rasped. “Name your price–anything.”
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Clarisse laughed lightly. “Anything at all? What if I told you to get on your knees?”
Sylvie trembled.
24419rs.
She remembered Paige’s dying words, her hand gripping Sylvie’s. “Syl, no matter what happens, you must live with dignity.”
But now, for the sake of a necklace, she was ready to give up her last shred of pride.
“Fine.”
The word was dragged from her, barely audible.
Her eyes were red as she slowly bent her knees.
“Don’t bother.” Clarisse suddenly laughed, cutting her off. “Even if you get on your knees, it’s useless.
“I already had that worthless necklace tossed out to a stray dog.”
She whipped out her phone and swiped to a photo–a filthy stray mutt, muddy pearls dangling from its neck.
“Your mother’s keepsake belongs on a dog-” Clarisse leaned in, enunciating every word with a venomous whisper, “After all, trash deserves trash. Forever and ever.”
Sylvie’s pupils constricted.
She shook all over, a deafening roar filling her ears, as if someone was pounding a hammer against her skull.
Paige’s pale, dying face flashed before her eyes, that once elegant necklace now…
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“Say that again.” Sylvie’s voice was chillingly soft.
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Clarisse smiled smugly. “Trash deserves trash. Forever and ever. What, didn’t you hear me?”
Sylvie slowly lifted her head, her eyes blazing red. “Which hand did you use to put it on?”
“This one.” Clarisse flaunted her right hand. “Why, are you—”
Before she could finish, Sylvie snatched up the fruit knife from the table and drove it straight into Clarisse’s palm.
“Aaaah-!!”
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