Ten million!
Ten times the original value!
Everyone was absolutely floored. The room went dead silent for two seconds, then exploded into complete mayhem.
“She’s still fucking going!”
“823 is seriously trying to nuke Nathan’s no limit bid!”
“This is insane! She’s got massive balls!”
“Am I about to witness some legendary shit?!”
“Nobody’s ever had the guts to go toe–to–toe with Nathan like this!”
The noise was so loud it could’ve blown the roof off.
Vivian shot a look at seat 823, her jaw clenched so tight she was about to crack her teeth.
She had zero clue what that Elena bitch was playing at..
Pure calculation flashed in her eyes.
She turned away, grabbed her phone where Nathan couldn’t see, and quickly texted someone.
Meanwhile, Nathan raised his hand again.
“Bidder 888 follows! Twelve million!”
The auctioneer was practically screaming.
“Twelve million! That’s twelve times the value!”
“Twelve fucking times! How high is this gonna go? Will 823 keep pushing?!”
Just a piece of tanzanite, but it had hit twelve million!
The whole venue was losing its mind, lights strobing as everyone laser–focused on those two second–floor seats.
While everyone was going absolutely wild, suddenly-
“This is bid manipulation! This whole auction is fucking rigged!”
Someone in the crowd shouted.
Bid manipulation meant: During auctions, bidders conspire with each other or the auctioneer, using shady tactics to artificially inflate prices for illegal gain or to screw over others.
The room went silent for a beat, then erupted again as people frantically looked around for whoever yelled, but they’d already bailed.
No idea who it was.
Some people agreed-
“No shit! 823’s been bidding this whole time but never went no–limit. Is she deliberately making Nathan blow stupid money on that rock?”
But most were just there for the drama and didn’t give a damn-
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Mr. Harrison, Wake Up Your Wife’s Gone
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“Nathan’s not some moron. If he went no limit on that tanzanite, he saw this caning.”
“Exactly. Nathan lit his own fuse–he’s not sweating some price inflation. This pocket change for him anyway.”
As the chatter got louder, the auctioneer tried damage control: “Please settle down, distinguished guests. Cavendish Group auctions don’t tolerate bid manipulation.”
But absolutely nobody was listening. Everyone at this charity gala was serious hicking money.
As the noise kept building and people started pulling out phones to leak to the press-
“CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG…”
Loud, urgent banging grabbed everyone’s attention.
Spotlights hit a platform between floors.
A wheelchair slowly rolled out.
Everyone saw Grandpa Cavendish–Percival–sitting there.
He grabbed the microphone.
“Listen up, everyone. Let me say something,” Percival’s aged but commanding voice filled the room.
The chaos temporarily died down.
“Bidder 888,” Percival called out.
Nathan looked up at the old man and nodded acknowledgment.
“Bidder 823,” Percival continued.
Hearing her number, Amelia slowly stood.
Then, under every single person’s stare, she stepped out of the shadows and, just like Nathan, moved to the second–floor railing.
Spotlights bathed her, making the woman in that silver gown absolutely breathtaking.
She looked toward Percival and gave a respectful bow.
“For this tanzanite, are there any other bidders?” Percival announced.
Dead silence. Nobody stepped up.
After waiting about thirty seconds, Percival nodded: “Good. Now I’m asking you both–are you bidding of your own free will?
Both raised their hands to confirm.
Percival raised his hand and the lighting went dramatic.
As epic drumbeats filled the air, the old man spoke again: “Everyone, I know both parties‘ situations. I, Percival Cavendish, and Cavendish Group personally guarantee that today’s bidding involves zero manipulation.”
People were looking around at each other like “what the fuck?”
This was getting even more bizarre.
No manipulation, no marketing bullshit–two people genuinely wanted this damn tanzanite!
So every single bid from 823 was real, heartfelt, no bullshit money!
My Harrison Wake UnYour Wife’s Gone
21.7
Chapter 50
What the actual hell was happening?!
Obviously the crowd had no clue, and Nathan’s frown deepened as he studied the woman standing calmly across from him.
Amelia wasn’t looking at Nathan, just keeping her gaze slightly lowered.
Percival knew who she really was. She’d had Louie bury the real seller info for this tanzanite, but none of that could fool Percival.
Louie was his fucking grandson, after all.
Percival probably even knew this tanzanite was the birthstone she’d picked for her baby..
A wife not wanting her husband’s mistress–or the husband helping his side piece–to buy her dead child’s birthstone? That was completely legitimate, urgent bidding with zero manipulation involved.
Take that story anywhere and nobody would question her motives.
But was that really the whole story?
Dark amusement flickered in Amelia’s eyes.
Knowing something was impossible, would she really force a hopeless bid?
She wasn’t that fucking stupid.
Looking up, Amelia locked eyes with Nathan across the room, her lips curving slightly.
He was staring right back.
In that moment, some invisible force field seemed to wrap around them both.
Everything else faded–just the two of them.
This was pure psychological warfare.
One had money and power, the other was mysterious as hell and impossible to read.
Nathan’s jaw was tight as steel.
Who the fuck was this woman?
After years crushing it in business, this was the first time he’d met someone completely unreadable.
“Perfect.” Right then, Percival’s voice cut through everything. “I, Perfival Cavendish, will personally run this auction.”
The room, which had just started to chill, went nuclear again.
“Grandpa Cavendish is taking over! Holy shit, how many years since he came out of retirement? And now he’s personally running this for these two!”
“This is actually historic!”
“Are we about to see Percival Cavendish dominate like he did twenty years ago?!”
“CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG…”
More intense banging as the crowd slowly quieted down.
Everyone’s eyes were glued to three spots: the platform, seat 888, seat 823.
“Bidding resumes. Bidder 888 stands at twelve million. Do I hear higher?” Percival’s voice reached every corner of the venue.
Wake Up Your Wife’s Gone
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