Chapter 6: The Pre-auction Gala

Isabella's POV

Ethan—the man as cold and unyielding as stone, the same man who would one day ignite chaos among the great families—was embarrassed? The thought struck me like a curious revelation, a rare glimpse behind the armor he wore so well. But the novelty of it didn’t last long, as the looming auction quickly pulled my attention back to reality.

As we settled into the car and began the long journey to the auction, a familiar weight settled over me—an uneasy blend of anxiety, fear, and nostalgia. It stirred memories I wasn’t ready to face. The thought of my mother’s necklace going under the hammer—it was like a final blow. That necklace wasn’t just jewelry; it had been a symbol of everything my family once stood for, before it all fell apart.

Ethan glanced at me from the driver’s seat, his expression unreadable, like always. Then, with that same detached tone he always used, he spoke.

“As the daughter of the Gloria family, this should be second nature to you by now. People have always admired you.”

It sounded more like a subtle jab than a compliment. ‘Admired’—back when the Gloria name still carried weight. Now, it felt like a burden, a relic of a time that had already begun to crack beneath the surface. Ethan must have realized his misstep because his grip tightened on the wheel, and silence fell between us, tense and uncomfortable.

I turned to the window, watching the city blur by, and let my thoughts drift. My mother’s necklace had been her favorite, gleaming against her skin at every gala where the Glorias had once ruled. Back then, we were untouchable. Or so we thought.

Now, everything was being sold, piece by piece, and all I could do was watch it happen. I exhaled slowly, trying to brace myself for the auction, though the ache in my chest refused to ease.

Ethan pressed his lips together, as if already bracing himself for what he expected would follow—a never-ending spiral of hysterical arguments and accusations. In my past life, 'Gloria' had been a forbidden word for me, a painful reminder of everything I had lost. And I had always blamed Ethan for that loss, believing he was the one who destroyed it all. Every time he mentioned my family, I took it as a provocation, or worse, as a way for him to gloat over his victory—the victory of ruining everything I once held dear, leaving me with no choice but to rely on him.

That kind of thinking fueled my rage. I would lash out at him, letting all my resentment pour out uncontrollably. But after that strange dream, something shifted. I began to notice changes in Ethan—or maybe I was finally seeing what had been there all along, the things I had stubbornly ignored. Beneath his icy exterior, there was something softer, more vulnerable. It wasn’t obvious, but once I saw it, I couldn’t unsee it.

The silence between us grew heavy, and I decided to break it. I leaned over with a playful smirk, eyes glinting with mischief. “You know,” I teased, “if you wanted to finish that hug from yesterday, I wouldn’t mind.”

Ethan flushed, quickly looking away, his grip tightening on the wheel like it was the only thing grounding him. The blush creeping up his neck was almost endearing, and I had to suppress a laugh. Watching him squirm was strangely satisfying, though I didn’t want to push too hard. I leaned back, letting the moment hang between us.

As we arrived at the venue, that familiar wave of anxiety tightened its grip on me. I reached for the car door, bracing myself for the evening ahead. As I was about to step out, Ethan's voice cut through the tension. "Wait."

I turned to look at him. There was a hesitation in his eyes, as though he was wrestling with some inner turmoil. Confused, I started to push the door open, ready to ignore whatever was brewing in his mind. But before I could, Ethan seemed to make a split-second decision.

In a swift, almost desperate motion, he pulled me into a hug. It was brief, lasting less than a second, and felt more like an impulsive leap than a gesture of comfort, as if he wasn’t sure whether I’d accept it.

Then, just as quickly, he pulled back. “Ahem... nothing. Let’s go,” he muttered, turning his head to the side, his expression once again cold and indifferent. For a moment, I almost believed the fleeting embrace had been a figment of my imagination, some trick my mind had played on me. But the telltale redness on the tips of his ears betrayed him, exposing emotions he’d never willingly show.

For a heartbeat, I found myself at a loss, unsure how to respond. Ethan's unexpected display of vulnerability had thrown me off balance. His sudden awkwardness—the way his hardened exterior momentarily cracked—sent a strange warmth rushing to my face. Surely, it was just a trick of the moment. This has to be an illusion, I firmly told myself.

We entered the pre-auction gala together, the kind of event where the air hung heavy with old money and older grudges. The room was crowded with familiar faces—the elite, each one wearing their family name like a badge of honor, or in some cases, a shield.

As soon as we stepped inside, the attention shifted toward us, the weight of their gazes pressing down on me. I didn’t have to guess what they were thinking. I was a living reminder of how quickly fortunes could crumble. The fall of the Gloria family had been prime gossip, fueling countless whispered conversations in drawing rooms.

A year ago, those stares would have burned, every smirk and whisper cutting deep. I would have felt exposed, the walls closing in. But today was different. Maybe it was the lingering warmth from Ethan’s hug or the slow realization that I no longer needed their approval. Whatever the reason, I found myself almost amused. Their stares didn’t sting the way they used to. Instead, they confirmed what I had come to understand: their power, like mine once was, was fragile.

As we moved through the crowd, I recognized most of the faces—people I’d seen at dozens of these events. But something had changed. The smiles were the same, the champagne glasses clinking just as they always had, but beneath the surface, I could sense the cracks. Their foundations were shifting, teetering. Many of them were on the edge of disaster, their fortunes threatened by forces they couldn’t control. The political landscape was shifting, and soon enough, the rug would be pulled from under them too.

The irony wasn’t lost on me. They’d once relished gossiping about my family’s fall from grace, but soon they’d be the ones scrambling. I wasn’t bothered by their stares anymore. They were all just one bad investment, one scandal, or one stroke of bad luck away from being in my position.

Ethan moved subtly closer, positioning himself between me and the most piercing stares. His presence, though silent, was unmistakably protective. It was a small gesture, but it hit me in an unexpected way. Beneath all his calm and restraint, there was this side of him—quiet, steady, and fiercely protective.

I looked up at him, a warmth spreading through my chest. "I'm fine, Ethan," I whispered softly, placing a hand gently on his arm. "Go, take care of what you need to."

With memories from my past life, I knew what this auction held—a land rights deal that was crucial for Ethan’s future strategic plans.

He hesitated, scanning the room before looking back at me. “If you’re sure,” he said, though his doubt showed. After one last glance around, he nodded and moved toward the crowd, instantly drawing attention. Wherever Ethan went, people followed, always hoping to benefit from being near him.

As he mingled with the key players, I took a deep breath and turned away. I headed to the refreshment table, where the auction items were displayed. My heart raced as I searched the list for my mother’s necklace.

There it was, listed between paintings and antiques. Relief and anxiety hit me at once. The necklace was here and soon up for bidding. My chest tightened. I didn’t have the wealth most of these people did, but I had saved a little.

I calculated quickly. If the bidding stayed manageable, I could perhaps afford my mother's necklace. It was more than just jewelry to me—it was a connection to a better past and one of the few things I had left of her. I couldn't let it fall into the hands of a stranger.

As I flipped through the auction catalog, a familiar, chilly voice interrupted. "Isabella, darling, what a... quaint dress."

I turned to see Chloe, smug smile and champagne in hand, her other arm linked with Alex. My stomach knotted at the sight.

"Oh, I was just so worried about you," she cooed insincerely. "All alone here, dear? I thought I'd bring someone to keep you company." She gestured towards Alex, whose smirk brought back bad memories.

Years ago, after I rejected his advances, he tried to ruin my reputation. Seeing him again revived those old wounds.

“Isabella,” he sneered, his voice dripping with mockery. “The once unreachable beauty, now clinging to the son of her family’s enemy just to survive.” His eyes gleamed, waiting for his words to sting.

And they did, but I refused to show it. I straightened, meeting his gaze with a calm smile. “Alex, your ability to flaunt your lack of character is as impressive as ever.”

Chloe laughed. “No need to be bitter, Isabella. We’re just worried about you, aren’t we, Alex?”

“Absolutely,” he drawled, relishing the moment. “It’s quite the spectacle, seeing how far you’ve fallen.”

I refused to let them get to me. “Chloe,” I said coolly, “I’m perfectly capable of managing on my own, as always.”

Her smile tightened. “Of course, darling. But if you need anything, we’re here. It’s tragic, seeing you cling to a marriage that’s clearly just for show. Who knows how long before you’re... available again? Right, Alex?”

“Always here to help,” Alex said, his smirk turning predatory. He stepped in front of me as I tried to leave, pulling out a business card and pressing it into my hand. “If you ever find yourself in need, remember, I’m available... financially.”

The arrogance in his gesture made my blood boil. I stared at the card, disgusted, but knew causing a scene would only give them what they wanted.

I was ready to toss the card in the trash, but seeing the smug satisfaction on his face made me pause. Maybe it was defiance, a need to show him his arrogance didn’t affect me. Or perhaps, I wanted him to know I wasn’t a broken woman in need of saving.

I slipped the card into my pocket, watching Alex’s smirk widen. Let him think what he wanted—I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of throwing it away in front of him.

"Of course you took it," Alex sneered, his voice dripping with venom. “I guess even the high and mighty Isabella has to beg for scraps now. You’re no different from—”

Before he could finish, something happened so fast that I barely registered it. Alex lurched forward, stumbling like a ragdoll, nearly crashing into a nearby table. The room gasped in unison, the hum of the gala falling into shocked silence. My heart pounded as I turned to see what had caused the chaos.

Ethan.

He stood behind Alex, his body tense with rage that radiated off him like heat from a furnace. The calm, controlled exterior he usually wore had shattered, and what I saw in his eyes was more than just anger—it was a deadly, cold fury. His hand, now claw-like, pressed hard against the fragile skin of Alex’s throat, a silent promise of violence.

The room fell into an icy silence. Every whisper had evaporated, every gaze locked on the scene unfolding before them.

“Apologize to her,” Ethan’s voice was low, dangerously calm, every word dripping with menace. The icy threat in his tone sent a shiver down my spine, rooting me to the spot.

“Now,” he added, his grip tightening ever so slightly. “Or you’ll regret every word that just came out of your mouth.”