The Villains Must Win-Chapter 71: Alexander Vale 21

Alexander raised his number, and said in a bored voice. "Four million."

He then threw a smirk in Ethan’s direction, a silent challenge flashing in his eyes—go on, bid higher, and I’ll raise it even more.

Let’s see who had the deeper pockets.

So this was how it was going to be? Celeste thought already having a migraine.

A battle of power.

A battle of control.

Between two men who never liked to lose.

Celeste’s pulse quickened, but she kept her expression unreadable, masking the turmoil beneath her calm facade. She flicked a sharp glare in Ethan’s direction, her lips parting slightly as she mouthed, What the hell are you doing?

But Ethan ignored her. His gaze remained fixed on the auctioneer as he raised his paddle once more.

And, of course, Alexander Vale would never back down. Not against Ethan Carter.

A grin played on Alexander’s lips, sharp and taunting. He tilted his head slightly, silently daring Ethan to go higher. The message in his eyes was unmistakable—bid again, and I’ll outbid you just for the fun of it.

And so, the bidding war raged on.

45 million.

48 million.

50 million.

Celeste clenched her fists under the table, her mind spinning. That was the exact price Elizaire’s final painting had reached before his death. A price that had marked the tragic end of an era. And now, here it was, reaching that same amount—but in a reckless battle of pride and ego.

How the hell am I supposed to sell it now?

Her heart pounded, a headache brewing at the base of her skull. The painting—the masterpiece she had once sought—felt like it had lost all meaning to her in this moment.

Then, just as Ethan was about to raise his paddle again, a hand shot out, gripping his wrist.

Riley.

Her voice was firm, almost scolding. "What are you doing? That painting isn’t worth that much."

Ethan exhaled slowly, frustration evident in the way his fingers tensed around the bidding paddle. "It’s an Elizaire painting."

"I know that." Riley’s eyes narrowed, her tone laced with disbelief. "And I know how much it’s actually worth. That’s not the real price, and you know it. What exactly are you planning to do with it? Gift it to Celeste?"

Ethan’s head snapped toward her. "What?"

Riley’s expression darkened. "You don’t even like Elizaire’s work," she accused, her voice dropping an octave. She then nodded toward Celeste. "You didn’t care when Alexander bid millions on jewelry, but now—now—you’re suddenly throwing money at a painting just because she bid for it? Don’t tell me you’re trying to win her back."

A tense silence settled between them.

Ethan’s grip on the paddle tightened before he let out a sharp breath, irritation flashing across his face. "Will you stop it?" His voice was edged with frustration. "What does it matter to you what I do with the damn painting? Who the hell are you to question me? It’s not like we’re in a relationship."

Riley’s lips parted slightly, but no words came out.

Ethan was right.

She was just his secretary.

The one who had set the boundaries between them. The one who had kept him at arm’s length. But still . . .

Her throat tightened. Why does it hurt so much to hear him say it out loud?

She had told herself it didn’t matter. That their history—what they once were in college—was nothing more than a fleeting phase of youth. Even without a label, they had been something once. But now, in moments like this, she couldn’t help but compare Ethan to Alexander.

Alexander was possessive—obsessive, even—but he was sweet in ways he didn’t even realize. Even in his arrogance, he had a way of making a woman feel like she was the only thing that mattered.

Ethan was different. He was indifferent on the outside, unreadable, detached. Even back then, he had never been comfortable with public displays of affection. He didn’t like it when she pointed things out, didn’t appreciate being questioned. He was cool, distant—sometimes infuriatingly so.

It was one of the things she had always admired about him—the independent kind of love he offered. But when she got together with Alexander, it was a completely different experience. It was an obsessive kind of love, overwhelming in its intensity.

And now, as she reflected on Ethan’s love, she realized something unexpected: she missed the suffocating, all-encompassing love Alexander gave her. There was no other love quite like it.

And yet . . . why did it feel like he was the only one who had ever truly gotten under her skin?

Riley swallowed hard, forcing down the emotions rising in her chest.

Ethan didn’t look at her again. Instead, he focused on the auctioneer, his expression unreadable. But for the first time, she wasn’t sure whether his silence meant he didn’t care—

—or if he was pissed more than he was willing to admit.

Ethan shut his mouth, lowering his paddle as the weight of Riley’s silence. She wasn’t saying anything, but her expression said it all—lips pressed into a firm pout, arms crossed tightly over her chest, gaze stubbornly turned away from him.

Her bad mood was rubbing off on him, and for some reason, it irritated him more than usual. With a sigh, he leaned closer, voice dropping to a quieter tone.

"Alright, I’m sorry. Are you going to sulk all night?"

Riley didn’t budge. She simply huffed, shifting in her seat, her eyes still fixed stubbornly elsewhere.

Ethan exhaled sharply, rubbing his temple. He was getting tired of her nonsense.

Since when did he start feeling exhausted around her?

He used to find her little moods endearing—even those childish pouts had once made him chuckle. But now? Now, they just grated on his nerves. Maybe because he knew that if the situation were reversed, Celeste would never act this way.

No—Celeste knew how to hold herself in public.

Even when she was furious, she carried herself with poise, her anger sharp and measured, never slipping into petulance. She was vulgar at times, yes, sharp-tongued and cutting when she wanted to be. But she never embarrassed him. She never let emotions cloud her control. She knew her place—even in fury, she knew how to wear it like a crown.

And now, as Ethan’s gaze drifted across the room, landing on the elegant woman beside Alexander Vale, something inside his chest constricted.