Chapter 483 Mother's Relic
"I need to explain something to you," Willard said, wrapping his arms around her.
He lowered his head to whisper in her ear, like a deeply enamored lover.
"I won't make the same mistakes again. I've learned my lesson."
Anne shrank away, trying to escape the tickle of his warm breath against her ear. Though she couldn't break free from his embrace, she tried to create whatever distance she could.
"Let me go," she said firmly.
Willard responded by pressing his lips against her ear. "Since you're already here, you might as well help me see this through."
"Handle your own problems," Anne refused. "I'm not getting dragged into your romantic drama."
Willard studied her for a moment, then tightened his grip instead of releasing her.
"Rebecca already has it out for you," he said. "You're safer by my side." Then, as if it were an afterthought. "Oh, by the way, she happens to be a princess."
Anne's response was immediate. She slammed the cream cake she was holding directly into his face.
Fury blazed across her features, undisguised and raw. She looked like she wanted to tear him apart.
"You lying bastard!"
With remarkable composure, Willard accepted the napkin Quinton handed him and wiped the cream from his face. When he reached the corner of his mouth, he licked his lips, tasting the sweetness.
Under Anne's fiery glare, he smiled and said, "Quite sweet."
Quinton, sensing the tension, quietly made himself scarce.
Anne reluctantly stayed by Willard's side during the social event. She valued her life too much to do otherwise.
All she wanted was to return home safely, to enjoy life with her sister and watch her little nephew being born. If she couldn't fight this battle, she'd avoid it altogether.
The more she thought about it, the angrier she became.
She reached out and pinched Willard's waist hard.
"Ouch..." he hissed, capturing her hand and holding it in his palm. His gaze was indulgent yet tinged with resignation. "Behave now. I'll make it up to you when we get home."
The people nearby exchanged knowing looks.
One particularly forward foreigner remarked, "I had no idea Mr. Larson was so adventurous in private. You certainly hide it well in public."
Something flashed in Willard's eyes.
Anne felt his reaction most acutely. He clearly disliked such jokes, yet he'd started this charade himself. Why should he be angry? Classic case of double standards.
Willard made an excuse and led Anne toward the auction area.
Meanwhile, Quinton escorted those individuals to a private location and dealt with them severely.
Confused, they protested in their foreign tongues, asking what they'd done wrong.
Quinton's face remained expressionless as he explained, "The jokes between our master and mistress are not for you to join in on."
"But Mr. Larson started it," one protested. "We were just playing along."
"Yes, exactly," another added.
"Doesn't matter," Quinton replied flatly.
Willard's public display with Anne, including those suggestive comments, served a purpose: to make it clear to everyone that Anne was his only beloved.
Otherwise, these people would never have had the opportunity to meet someone of his stature.
They had misread the situation and dared to make vulgar jokes. They deserved what was coming.
Anne had barely taken her seat beside Willard when a distinctive perfume reached her nostrils.
Looking up, she saw Rebecca sitting on Willard's other side, smiling directly at her.
Anne could only return a strained smile to break the awkwardness.
Willard suddenly took her hand and placed it on his thigh.
His eyes were full of affection as he spoke in a rich, gentle voice, "If you see anything you like, bid on it."
"No limit," he added.
Anne had always known Willard was wealthy, but it had never bothered her before.
Since their relationship had soured, however, she'd developed a strange urge to challenge this rich man.
She pulled her hand away, gritting her teeth as she said, "Keep your distance. If I like something, I'll pay for it myself."
So what if he had money?
Oh God. Who was she kidding? It mattered a great deal.
Her hands slowly clenched into fists on her lap.
Willard observed her changing expressions with silent amusement.
Rebecca, having witnessed the entire exchange, asked Willard in a foreign language, "Your wife seems reluctant to engage with you. Have you hired an actress to reject me?"
Willard replied coolly, "If this were an act, wouldn't she be cooperating with me?"
"I upset her before we arrived, so her cold shoulder is expected. I brought her here to apologize and cheer her up," he added.
Anne couldn't understand their conversation and didn't care to. She was absorbed in the auction catalog.
An exquisite set of jewelry had caught her eye.
For reasons she couldn't explain, she felt an inexplicable connection to it.
If the set wasn't too expensive, she might bid on it.
Surely her entire savings would be enough?
Willard's gaze fell on her, noticing how her thumb caressed the image of the jewelry.
Something meaningful flickered in his eyes, but he remained silent.
Anne had been waiting for the jewelry, paying little attention to the earlier items.
At one point, Willard had taken her hand and raised her paddle to bid on a pair of rings.
These rings reportedly belonged to a deeply devoted couple who had defied the obstacles of wartime to marry for love.
They had remained faithful companions until their peaceful deaths in old age.
Childless, they had left this symbol of their enduring love for some fortunate soul.
Anne and Willard were married, but not out of mutual affection.
There had been no ceremony, no rings.
Now, however, she felt neither moved nor surprised by his gesture.
She had no emotional response to this symbol of love.
She just wanted to know: was a million dollars reasonable for these rings?
Despite their representation of a touching, lifelong love story, the price seemed excessive.
"We need to stop throwing money away like this," she muttered under her breath.
Willard leaned in, his lips nearly brushing her ear as he whispered, "Don't dwell on it too long, or I'll catch your worry like a cold."
Anne remained silent, her expression unreadable.
This man had skin thicker than the ancient walls of a fortress—utterly impenetrable.
Whatever retort crossed her mind would only circle back to haunt her, so she swallowed her words and the frustration that came with them.
Willard didn't mind her silence. He casually draped his arm behind her shoulders.
To onlookers, his protective posture was obvious.
Combined with how his assistant Quinton had disciplined those who spoke out of turn earlier, everyone now understood: Anne held significant importance in Willard's heart.
His bidding reflected careful consideration.
Otherwise, he wouldn't have secured those rings for a million dollars.
They were, after all, one of tonight's rare treasures, equal in value to the jewelry.
"And now, our final auction item, the much-anticipated jewelry set," the auctioneer announced. "Opening bid: one hundred million."
Anne shot to her feet.
She stared at the jewelry, her eyes nearly popping out of her head.
People in the back rows noticed her trembling body and tightly clenched fists.
They assumed she desperately wanted this set and would be heartbroken if someone else won it.
"Willard, did you hear how much?" Anne was so shocked she forgot her resolve not to speak to him.
"If you like it, bid on it." Willard pulled her back into her seat, tapping her forehead to bring her back to reality.
Anne opened her mouth but couldn't form words.
Though she had been drawn to the jewelry and expected it to be expensive, especially with competitive bidding driving up the price...
She never imagined her entire life savings wouldn't even come close.
"I don't want it," she said finally.
"Why not?" Willard poked her puffed-out cheek. "I thought you loved it."
"I don't." Anne tossed the paddle onto his lap and stood to leave.
Willard caught her wrist. "This was your mother's heirloom. Are you sure you don't want it?"
"What?" Anne's mind was reeling. Tonight had brought too many shocks.
She didn't even know who her mother was.
How could Willard know this was her mother's heirloom?
"Don't make things up. I don't like this..." she began.
Willard had no intention of revealing her heritage.
If Lyndon wanted to play this game of hidden identities, he would play along.
Besides, whether Anne was part of the Myles family or not made no difference to him.
As long as she was his, that was all that mattered.
"You'll regret not bidding," he said meaningfully, his tone subtly persuasive. "Are you sure you don't want it?"
He had already told her she could bid on anything she liked.
Why was she still so hesitant?
Anne stared at the jewelry on the stage, her face crumpled with indecision.
Her mother's heirloom...
Anne didn't want to believe it, yet she somehow felt the jewelry calling to her.
If it truly belonged to her mother, not reclaiming it would haunt her forever.
If Willard later found a way to acquire it, he would undoubtedly use it to manipulate her into feeling indebted to him.
But she didn't have that kind of money.
If she used Willard's money, he would still hold it over her head.
Most frustrating of all, she had no phone to contact her sister about this. Her sister could have confirmed if it was true and perhaps helped financially.
Anne could have repaid her later when she earned enough.
"Still undecided?" Willard raised her paddle for her. "The bidding has started."
"One billion," a voice rang out from the back of the auction hall.
Anne froze in shock.
Who would increase the bid so dramatically?
Others in the room were equally stunned. Even those who had resigned themselves to losing couldn't have matched such a price.
"Two billion," Willard called out.
Anne gasped.
She grabbed Willard's hand, trying to stop him from bidding further.
Even the wealthy shouldn't throw money around like this!
"Willard, don't—"
"Don't worry, I'll secure it for you," he assured her.
"Your mother's heirloom should be priceless. What's two billion compared to that?" he added.
Anne was speechless.
She couldn't argue with that logic.
In her heart, she felt the same way—her mother's heirloom was beyond price.
It was just being measured in monetary terms at the moment.
She too would have spent everything she had to obtain it.
But she didn't want Willard to spend his money on her.
Yet the fact that he understood this dimension touched something complicated within her.
"Two billion and one million," Rebecca called out.
As expected, she was at it again.
Anne gripped Willard's hand tighter, suddenly anxious.
Willard returned her grip and brought her hand to his lips for a kiss.
Then he turned slightly, his peripheral vision falling on Rebecca's face.
"Two billion and one million?" he repeated coldly.
Rebecca blinked her beautiful purple eyes, saying coquettishly, "Yes, Willard. Will you bid higher?"
She added, "If not, Mrs. Larson's desired jewelry will be mine. But remember, fair competition—no hard feelings."
Willard's lips curled into a smile heavy with obvious sarcasm. "I could give you..."
Anne jerked her head up, almost certain she'd misheard.
But then she remembered Willard's vengeful nature.
Perhaps his excessive bidding had been setting a trap for Rebecca all along.
Sure enough, his next words confirmed it as he said coldly, "Two billion and one million? With all due respect, you could produce one million immediately, but where would you get two billion?"
He pressed on, "Would you sell your family castle, or liquidate all your business investments?"
Rebecca wasn't stupid. Sensing something was wrong, she tried to get Willard to raise his paddle, but he remained motionless.
She attempted to incite others to bid, but no one could produce two billion in liquid assets on short notice.
Rebecca's expression changed. "Willard, you set me up."
Willard brushed off imaginary dust from his clothes and crossed his long legs casually. Even seated while facing Rebecca's standing figure, he exuded an intimidating presence.
"You were the one who upset my wife first."
The auctioneer's hammer came down.
Three strikes sealed the deal.
"Congratulations to Princess Rebecca on acquiring the complete jewelry set."
Rebecca collapsed into her seat.
Today's auction differed from others. After winning a bid, payment was due immediately, followed by collection of the item.
There was one uncompromising rule: an auction win could neither be transferred nor abandoned. Failure to pay on the spot meant punishment, swift and certain.
Even a princess dared not cross the estate's owner—he was untouchable, beyond any law, and not even of this land.
"Willard, you're not even a real man," she hissed.
Willard's voice stayed cold. "Whether I am or not isn't your concern. That's for my wife to decide."
"Save the insults," she shot back. "Try figuring out where to get two billion dollars."
The auction had ended. Willard took Anne's hand and led her away.
When Rebecca tried to leave, she found herself surrounded by men in black suits.
Despite her numerous bodyguards, they were outmatched.
She hurriedly called her father for help.
Meanwhile, Willard led Anne to the estate's main hall.
She watched as he moved around like he owned the place, heading straight to the kitchen to bring her some pastries and warm milk.
"You didn't eat properly earlier because of the interruptions. It's quiet here. Sit and enjoy."
Anne remained dazed.
Willard set down the refreshments and guided her to a seat.
"Eat," he encouraged.
He sat beside her, checking his phone.
Anne hesitated to touch anything.
Willard glanced up from his busy hands, then leaned forward to take a bite of pastry and a sip of milk.
"Not poisoned," he assured her.
After wrestling with her thoughts, Anne finally asked, "This estate isn't yours, is it?"
Willard looked up at her, saying matter-of-factly, "It's about to be yours."
"What?"
Anne clutched her chest, feeling her heart couldn't take any more surprises.
Just then, Quinton entered with a document.
He offered it to her, but she was afraid to accept it.
Quinton simply opened it for her to see.
As her eyes fell on the words, her breath caught in her throat.
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