?Chapter 89:


    Rosa’s paintings were the stuff of legend—exceptionally rare and fiercely coveted. Besides two early pieces floating around, there was nothing else out there. Her focus had long shifted to jewelry and fashion, leaving the art world starving for her canvas pieces. That scarcity drove collectors wild.


    Lonely Sunset was a jewel in its own right. Still, since Elliana had painted it quickly during a livestream workshop, some collectors assumed itcked the refined depth of her earlier masterpieces. The man who opened the bidding thought thirty million was a fair starting point.


    But before the offer could hang too long in the air, Clement spoke up with a polite but pointed correction. “Sir, just for context—the museum currently holds Spring Goddess, one of Rosa’s early works. It sold at auction for one hundred million.”


    The implicationnded with weight. If an early Rosa piece couldmand nine figures, what made anyone think hertest, painted with honed skill and confidence, was worth less? Put inly: thirty million wasn’t going to cut it.


    The original bidder blinked, momentarily stunned. He’d watched Elliana’s livestream—seen her paint Lonely Sunset with effortless grace, like it was just another day in the studio. Could it really surpass Spring Goddess?


    He wasn’t the only one wondering. Other collectors, on the verge of jumping in, hesitated. Was thistest piece truly that valuable?


    Luca rose from his seat, his expression warm but authoritative. “Lonely Sunset is a leap beyond Spring Goddess. The brushwork, the ideorealm—it’s on another level entirely.”


    The judges around him nodded in quick agreement.


    “No doubt about it,” one judge added. “This piece elevates Rosa to a new tier in the art world.”


    “She’s continued to grow, even without releasing anything new for years. This proves it—Rosa’s untouchable now.”


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    “Collectors, take note—Lonely Sunset is a stronger acquisition than Spring Goddess.”


    With Ublento’s top art authorities backing the painting, the room shifted. The bidders finally grasped what they were looking at—not just a painting dashed off on a whim, but a masterwork that marked the evolution of a legend. And Elliana—


    Rosa—had conjured it like it was nothing. A few strokes. A live demo. And she’d shaken the entire art world.


    A voice rang out from the crowd, loud and clear. “I’m bidding one hundred twenty million!”


    With Spring Goddess having fetched one hundred million, and Lonely Sunset being deemed an even greater work, the opening volley had tond high.


    The sheer number was enough to thin the herd. Most collectors, no matter how desperate to own a Rosa original, knew their bank ounts couldn’t keep up. Now, it was a high-stakes duel between the deep-pocketed elite.


    “One hundred thirty million!”


    “One forty!”


    “One fifty!”


    Thatst bid hit the room like a gong. The crowd fell still. For most here, one hundred fifty million wasn’t just steep—it was astronomical. After all, the Starry Oil Painting Competition was meant to spotlight emerging artists, not trigger bidding wars for icons. Rosa’s presence had upended expectations. And most collectors here weren’t as deep-pocketed as Cole—they had limits. One fifty was already jaw-dropping.


    Clement turned toward Elliana, about to ask if she was ready to part with the piece, when another voice boomed from the back. “I’m going one eighty!”


    Exmations tore through the hall. “Is this for real?”


    Heads whipped toward the man who’d casually tossed in an extra thirty million like he was paying for lunch.


    The way he smirked, it was as if Lonely Sunset was already hanging in his private gallery.


    For a moment, it looked like no one could touch him. Then came a low, gravel-edged voice—tight with resolve. “Two hundred million.”


    Gasps rippled through the crowd as they turned again. The bidder’s tone was fierce, all-in, like he’d just wagered his entire empire on Rosa’s genius.


    “I’ll go two-twenty!” The one-eighty bidder fired back, refusing to blink. His face was flushed, jaw tight—he was clearly at his ceiling.


    The room buzzed with whispers, the tension thick. Was that the final blow?


    And then, a voice floated from the back—smooth, assured, and devastatingly calm. “One billion.”


    Silence mmed down like a hammer. Time seemed to stop. Hearts pounded. One billion. Who was this person? What kind of titan casually dropped a billion like pocket change? No one couldpete with that.


    Slowly, almost reverently, every head turned to glimpse the man who’d just nuked the bidding war in one sentence.


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