?Chapter 1713:


    Violette’s expression glowed with self-satisfied triumph as her eyes locked onto Ronald’s barely contained reaction.


    “Look at that. This is what you get when you challenge me.” She lifted her right hand deliberately, angling it so the enormous ruby zed inches from Christina’s view. “Well, well — seems like you’ll only ever see this ring in your dreams.”


    The message was unmistakable. She was savoring the moment, determined to grind her near-certain victory into Christina’s pride.


    Christina, however, did not rise to it. Her demeanor remained unshaken, a faint curve of amusement resting at her lips as she met Violette’s taunting stare. “I’d suggest you rein in that ego,” she said calmly. “The more you brag now, the louder you’ll cryter.”


    “Oh, really?” Violette scoffed, her gaze sliding over Christina with open contempt. “You’ll be the one sobbing when this is over, dropping to your knees to clean my shoes. Don’t you dare pull out now.”


    Christina folded her arms and answered without hesitation. “I won’t — and that ruby ring will end up on my finger.”


    “The nerve!” Violette snapped, anger ring across her face. “I will not lose to you — ever!”


    What grated on Violette more than anything was that no matter how fiercely she baited Christina, the woman refused to crack or even bristle. She stood there with absoluteposure, offering not the slightest hint of emotion.


    Many spectators had already written Christina off as a fraud, their looks toward her dripping with scorn. Daring to pass herself off as Wyvena, the greatest painter alive — what line wouldn’t she cross?


    “Why is Mr. Burton dragging this out? I’m desperate to hear the verdict,” someone muttered.


    “Why the impatience? A careful review avoids errors. Mr. Burton is meticulous and reliable,” another replied.


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    “It’s obvious how this ends. That woman is a fake — there’s no way she’s Wyvena.”


    As the low chatter rippled through the room, Ronald finally finished his verification. Every gaze snapped toward him, tight with anticipation.


    “Tell me — what was the highest offer ced on this painting?” Ronald asked abruptly, stunning the room into silence. No one had anticipated that money would be his opening point. Yet his grave expression only reinforced the belief that Christina had been exposed as a fraud.


    “One hundred million,” Violette replied, stepping forward with a victorious grin. She lifted a hand to hide herughter, sweeping her eyes across the crowd. “Some fool threw away a fortune on this — truly pitiful.”


    The middle-aged man who had secured the painting with that hundred-million bid clutched his stomach, utterly at a loss. Unable to withstand the derision pouring in from every direction, he dropped his head, his face burning. His chest tightened, the sting so sharp he nearly wanted to weep. He was exactly the fool Violette had ridiculed.


    “Sir, would you please step up here?” Ronald called out, deepening the man’s difort.


    Every head turned toward him, eyes gleaming with mockery. He felt like a spectacle dragged into the open — beingbeled a fool was bad enough, but now he was being summoned to stand beneath the spotlight as well. He searched his memory, certain he had never crossed Ronald in any way. What possible reason could he have for subjecting him to such public humiliation?


    “Well? Aren’t you moving? Mr. Burton is waiting,” someone prodded.


    “What a farce — a hundred million for a worthless forgery,” another sneered.


    “d I bowed out early. Otherwise, I’d be the punchline.”


    The man’s face felt as though it were on fire. He flicked a nce toward Ronald on the stage, then quickly looked away. Gathering what little resolve he had left, he shuffled forward with his head lowered. He had already humiliated himself — how much worse could it possibly be?


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