?Chapter 1701:


    “So, how do you want to wager?” Christina said lightly, a yful curve on her lips and one brow tipped upward.


    Violette, already tasting triumph, shed a smug smile. “A painting duel. The piece that sells for more at auction decides the winner.”


    “And the terms?” When it came to contests she expected to dominate, Christina cared only about the payoff — everything else barely registered.


    “If I win,” Violette continued, confidence dripping from every word, “you’ll drop to your knees in front of everyone and clean my shoes spotless.”


    “And if you don’t?” Christina asked, her tone even.


    “Then I—” Violette started, only for La to cut in.


    “Don’t do it — she’s incredibly good at painting!” La clutched Christina’s arm, worry creasing her forehead. Christina couldn’t paint at all. What on earth was she thinking, agreeing to challenge Violette? Violette had hosted solo exhibitions and beenuded as a prodigy since childhood, earning praise from renowned masters.


    “It’s fine. I’m not terrible with a brush myself,” Christina said offhandedly.


    “But you don’t even—” La stopped toote, pping a hand over her mouth as her regretful gaze flicked toward Violette. Why had she let that slip? Now they were truly finished.


    Hearing it, Violette’s certainty only deepened. A clueless woman like Christina was bound to make a fool of herself. She was going to demolish her.


    “If by some miracle you win, this ruby ring is yours. It’s a top-tier stone — worth at least three hundred million.” As she spoke, Violette gave her hand a small shake, letting the gemstone catch the light. The ring zed under the chandeliers, casting a dangerously alluring shimmer.


    La and Irene stared despite themselves, throats bobbing as envy and greed flickered across their faces. On the international auction circuit, that ring could easily surpass three hundred million. Gillian froze for a beat — the figure hit her like a boulder dropping from the sky. She couldn’t even begin to imagine what three hundred million in cash would look like stacked together.


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    Coming back to herself, she seized Christina’s hand. “You can’t ept this. Don’t go up against her.”


    “This is between the two of us. Who asked for your opinion?” Violette shot Gillian an icy look.


    “Save your tricks. No one here is foolish enough to agree to this,” Gillian shot back, her voice steady. She knew she was overstepping, but she was terrified Christina would say yes out of sheer pride. La had just revealed the truth — Christina couldn’t paint. How could this end in anything but defeat? If Christina, the Jones family’s daughter, was forced to clean someone’s shoes in public, she would be mocked for the rest of her life.


    “You think you get to speak for your employer, you littleckey? Step aside,” Violette snapped with a sneer. Her eyes slid back to Christina, mockery curling her smile. “So? Are you brave enough to bet with me, or are you scared?”


    “I’m in. If someone’s handing out money, why wouldn’t I take it?” Christina replied, her smile faint but sharp.


    A shiver crawled down Violette’s spine. Why did it suddenly feel as though she were the one stepping into a trap? She brushed the unease aside, telling herself she was imagining things. Christina was bluffing, hoping to make her hesitate. What Violette failed to realize was just how badly she had misread the situation. When she thought of her own mastery with a brush, her confidence surged back. She was a professional artist, practically at master level. Even if Christina could paint, she would never measure up.


    This time, Violette meant to disgrace Christina, shame the entire Jones family, and force Alban to see her in an entirely new light.


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