Chapter 86: The Grand Arena
Since the official bidding wouldn’t start for another thirty minutes, the elite guests were currently mingling, networking, and sipping expensive champagne.
April completely ignored the social politics, not like she was on the hunt for new clients anyway. She walked straight to the catering spread, picking up a small porcelain plate and casually loading it with high-end gourmet snacks, savory pastries, and truffled tartlets.
With her plate in one hand and her smartphone tightly gripped in the other, she stood near a decorative marble pillar.
Her thumbs began lightly tapping the glass interface, checking her Winecraft progression to ensure her digital base hadn’t been raided while she was offline.
Xavier and Alexander were quickly swept into separate corners of the room, cornered by powerful land developers and logistics tycoons looking to gauge the fallout of yesterday’s massive market crash as well as congratulate Alexander for his success in eradicating the black seed in his family.
April was alone while all this was going on, but she wasn’t left alone for long.
Nat Collins and Samuel immediately flanked her sides. Samuel stood rigidly on her left, his eyes fixed on Nat with a silent grudge as he recalled it was this very man that had gotten her kidnapped the previous day.
But Nat couldn’t be bothered. It’s not like he isn’t used to threatening glares or silent grudges. His focus was on April. He slouched casually against the marble pillar on her right, constantly yapping away.
"You know, that black dress really suits you, little seer," Nat murmured, leaning in slightly as he watched her pop a savory pastry into her mouth. "But I still think you’re gonna look ten times better in that leather tactical gear I got you. It’s got real carbon plating. Perfect for a romantic stroll through a war zone."
"Mr. Collins, your voice is actively interfering with my cognitive processing," April replied flatly, her eyes never leaving her digital blocks. "Please, could you lower your volume by ninety nine point five percent? Thank you."
Nat merely burst into a delighted, rumbling chuckle, completely unbothered by her icy dismissal.
"And I don’t think having a romantic stroll through a war zone with a literal psychopath will do me any good." She mumbled.
"Really?" He leaned in just a fraction. "I think it’ll be hot," he rumbled and she rolled her eyes.
"I’m hot right now so keep your distance,"
"Don’t wanna,"
Her words were just a license for him to pester her more.
"By the way, aren’t you supposed to be dealing with the Scorpions? What are you doing here?" She asked and he pouted.
"Awn, you care about me now." He said and she looked at him with a dead pan expression.
"I just don’t want you messing up a perfect reading I gave you." She said and shrugged off that pout she just saw. "Jeez,"
"Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ve got it all under control." He stated.
"Don’t call me sweetheart," she said and he grinned.
"Alright, sweetheart."
Seriously, we’ve only known each other for like a day and he’s already actively calling me his sweetheart. A man with a lot of loose screws just can’t be understood. She thought while she tunned out the rest of what he had to say.
Their domestic, chaotic bubble around the catering table didn’t last. Suddenly, the ambient chatter of the high-society lounge sharply shifted, a heavy, suffocating wave of aristocratic tension approaching from the main entrance corridor.
April’s ears twitched. She slowly lowered her smartphone, her dark eyes narrowing as the crowd parted to reveal two figures walking onto the carpet.
It was Madam Morgan and Liora.
Madam Morgan was dressed in an incredibly loud, diamond-encrusted violet gown, her face heavily painted into its usual cold, elitist snobbishness.
Liora walked beside her, her sapphire blue dress trailing elegantly against the floor, though her expression carried a look of lingering, nervous anxiety.
Matilda had clearly spent the last two hours pouring poison into her Madam’s ear about the rat who had run away.
Of course, they did not expect to find that same rat in this event but April had an inkling that they would cross paths again.
That was why she said there was a bigger stage ahead. And the stage was set right around her feet.
The moment Madam Morgan’s sharp, haughty gaze locked onto the catering pillar, her eyes flared with an ugly, venomous recognition.
Her designer heels clicked aggressively against the stone floor as she marched straight toward them, her lips twisting into a sneer of pure disgust.
"I heard it from Matilda, and I heard the frantic stuttering from my daughter... but I truly didn’t think it was possible," Madam Morgan hissed, her sharp voice cutting through the local air like a rusty blade.
She stopped precisely three paces away, looking April up and down with absolute, scorching disdain. "You actually managed to claw your way into an elite venue like this? You stinking, ungrateful little wench. Who’s your sponsor?"
April stared silently at the woman she used to serve—the matriarch she had been forced to bow her head to for ten grueling years, and the monster who had spared no expense in making her believe that simply being pretty was the greatest offense she ever committed when coming into this world.
She let out a slow, quiet sigh, an involuntary tremor running down her spine. Even with her newly forged iron clad will and the cold detachment, the phantom ache of those old whippings and psychological torture couldn’t be entirely shaken off in a single second.
The conditioning of a decade was a stubborn ghost that still plagued her even now when she was free.
"Well?" Madam Morgan hissed, taking another aggressive step forward, her painted face twisting with absolute malice. "Who is it? Which fat old man have you been spreading your legs for just to get a ticket in here?"
April let out a sudden, sharp bark of a laugh, but she didn’t immediately speak. Right. If a penniless grunt like me starts doing well, it’s only because I’m sleeping around with high-society elite men. The typical, archaic, stereotypical thinking of the upper crust. It made her sick.
"Who’s this noisy old hag?" Nat spoke up.
The red-haired mafia lord stepped forward, tilting his head at an angle that made his massive shoulders look even broader.
The moment Madam Morgan’s eyes flicked to him—taking in the vibrant crimson hair, the dark shades, and the subtle, ink-black tail of the Golden Dragon tattoo peeking through his open-collared shirt—the words choked in her throat.
She knew exactly who he was. Every elite family in the city knew the terrifying features of Nat Collins. But what was a subterranean warlord doing at a legitimate corporate auction?
The high-society gossip channels always claimed he despised these stuffy events because they bored him to death.
Before she could process her panic, Samuel stepped up from the other side. His suit-clad frame moved like a solid wall of iron, completely blocking Madam Morgan’s view of April.
His dark eyes briefly flicked to Liora before locking onto the matriarch with a freezing, unyielding disgust. He tilted his glasses up for a bit and then narrowed his eyes.
