Chapter 3

The auctioneer's voice, amplified and distorted, echoed through the room. "One dollar is the opening bid for Miss Winston's collection! Do I hear two?"

A greasy-looking man with a lecherous grin yelled, "Ten thousand! A little appetizer!"

Another voice, a young trust-fund brat I recognized from a Hamptons party, shouted, "One million! Don't be cheap, Leo!"

The bids climbed, fueled by booze and bravado. They weren't bidding on photos; they were bidding on a piece of my humiliation.

Then Ashley raised her hand, a diamond braceletід Caleb's latest "gift"ід sparkling under the dim lights.

"I can't bear to see Isabella's pictures fall into such awful hands," she said, her voice dripping with fake concern. "I'll bid fifty million dollars. To protect her, of course."

The room fell silent for a beat, then erupted in murmurs. Fifty million. She was serious. Or rather, Caleb was.

I saw their strategy clearly. Bleed me dry. Force me to empty my accounts, just like before.

But this time, I was ready.

I stood up, my voice clear and carrying over the renewed buzz.

"Interesting strategy, Ashley. But let's not waste time with pocket change."

I looked directly at Caleb. "I'm going all in."

The murmurs stopped. All eyes were on me.

"My personal trust fund. All my real estate holdings – the penthouse, the Hamptons estate, the Aspen condo. My shares in Winston Industries. My stock options. Everything."

I paused for effect. "Total estimated value: one billion dollars."

A collective gasp sucked the air from the room.

Caleb's jaw tightened. His eyes, which had been alight with cruel amusement, now flashed with anger. "Are you insane, Isabella? For a few photos?"

"Are they just a few photos, Caleb?" I shot back. "Or are they your ticket to destroying me?"

I turned to Ashley, whose face had gone pale. "Well, Ashley? Your bid. Or are you all talk and Caleb's money?"

She stammered, looking desperately at Caleb. Her family were new money, barely clinging to the fringes of our world. A billion dollars was beyond their wildest dreams.

Caleb started to speak, "A billion and one..."

"Hold on," I interrupted, my voice like ice. "Are you bidding, Caleb? The auctioneer can't also be a bidder. That's a clear conflict of interest, wouldn't you say?"

His face contorted in a snarl. He knew I was right. The system, whatever it was, likely had rules against that.

He was trapped, for a moment. And I relished it.