“Forty-two,” another bidder called out.
Focus, Serena.I gritted my teeth and lifted my hand again. “Fifty million.”
Another buzz. The next photo was even more damning—a shot of me in the auction room, my face a mask of stress and anxiety.
The text was short, just three words:
Last chance, Serena.
“Fifty-one million,” Miles said.
I shot him a sharp look. My heart raced as I raised my paddle again. “Fifty-three million.”
I could feel my composure slipping like sand through my fingers, but I forced a smile, as if I were still in control.
Another buzz.
Your sisters like to hang out at Café L’Amour, right? Do they know about me?
The sound of bidders around me faded, drowned out by the pounding in my ears. I shot to my feet so fast my chair scraped against the floor. “Sixty million.”
Gasps rippled through the room. Miles’s smirk faltered for a fraction of a second, his brows lifting in disbelief.
The auctioneer hesitated, his gavel poised midair. “Uh… Sixty million from Ms. King. Going once…”
My vision tunneled on the auctioneer, willing him to bring the gavel down.
“Going twice… Sold!”
Without waiting for the crowd’s reaction, I grabbed my bag and stormed out, my heels clicking hard against the polished floor, I was nearly running out the building. My phone buzzed again, and I nearly crushed it in my grip.
I shoved through the doors, my mind racing. I needed to figure out what the hell I was going to do next.
“Sunny!” Miles’s voice sliced through the hallway, startling me. I turned.
I can’t with this shit.Not now.
“Don’t call me that!” I snapped. “I don’t have time for this right now.”
“Sunny—”
“Goodbye, Miles.” My voice was cold. “Let’s not meet again.”
I pushed through the front doors of the auction hall, into the bright daylight.
I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself, but then I saw her—Jenese.
She was leaning against a sleek black car at the curb.
People walking by slowed, staring at her curiously in her burgundy leather trench coat that hugged her frame, the hem just brushing the tops of her knee-high snakeskin boots. Her Afro was an impressive halo, the salt-and-pepper curls catching the sunlight. A gold chain glinted against her collarbone, and a cigar rested between her fingers.
I tried to steady myself as I descended down the steps. “Jenese.”
“Serena.” Her voice was smooth, and she tilted her head. “You look nice, sugar. Love what you’re doing with the short hair.”
“Why are you here?”
Jenese took a slow drag of her cigar. “Can’t I drop by to see my number-one prodigy?”
