She Was Never Just a Pretty Face novel Chapter 137

The entire room gasped.

The attendees were the absolute elite of Alpha City.

They had seen extravagant wealth.

But no one had ever witnessed an open-ended knockout bid for a single painting.

The Bibliophile wasn't even considered a master artist yet. Wasn't this an insane gamble?

All eyes turned to the middle-aged man who had spoken. He possessed a refined, scholarly aura. Smiling politely, he announced, "Two hundred million. If anyone would like to counter, be my guest. If not, I have a modest request. My employer would like to invite The Bibliophile—Ms. Cassidy—to dinner. Please rest assured, there are no ulterior motives. It is simply a dinner to discuss artistic creation."

The room erupted into murmurs again.

He was bidding on behalf of a shadow backer.

Who exactly was dropping two hundred million for The Bibliophile?

Everyone's gaze shifted to Harrell.

Was he secretly bankrolling this to artificially inflate her market value?

The middle-aged man immediately shut down the rumors. "It is not Mr. Judson."

Dead silence fell over the crowd.

The hammer struck at 200 million.

This explosive news instantly dominated the internet's trending lists—

The Bibliophile had officially become the first domestic artist to break the 200 million mark for a single piece, instantly eclipsing even her mentor, Zoltan Varga. Rampant speculation consumed the internet over the identity of the mysterious billionaire backer, but no one could figure it out.

The proxy buyer wrote a check on the spot.

The signature bore a corporate entity's name.

A company Hilda had never heard of.

Once the notary confirmed the funds were legitimate, Hilda took a photograph with the buyer and signed over the entire sum to the Project Hope Schools. As for the dinner invitation, she accepted gracefully. Exchanging one dinner for 200 million to help underprivileged children was a small price to pay.

The auction instantly launched The Bibliophile to legendary status.

Later that evening, there was a private reception.

—A victory lap of sorts.

Zoltan Varga hadn't been able to attend in person.

But he sent a heartfelt video message congratulating his favorite student on a flawless debut. And it truly was flawless—aside from 'First Love', every other painting had sold out, fetching between 8 and 12 million a piece. It was an absolutely staggering achievement.

That night, almost every media outlet was covering The Bibliophile.

—Everything was about Hilda.

Naturally, her identity as Luther Sanford's soon-to-be ex-wife was dragged into the spotlight.

Internally, he actually agreed with her.

If a woman could walk away from a divorce with billions, why would she bother catering to a man? But as Luther's oldest friend, he still hoped she would choose him, otherwise, the city was in for a brutal war. Harrell simply wasn't in Luther's weight class.

Right on cue, Harrell walked over.

Worried she might be tired, he placed a steadying hand on her lower back to support her weight.

The reception was being broadcast live.

Luther saw every second of it.

In the dim living room of the Century Villa.

He sat entirely motionless on the sofa, his face a block of ice.

He stared at the hand resting intimately on her waist. She didn't lean into Harrell, but she didn't step away either. The casual physical contact proved she was completely comfortable with him.

—They were already that close.

The phone on the coffee table buzzed.

Without taking his eyes off the screen, he picked it up. His voice was freezing. The man on the other end reported, "Mr. Sanford, it's done. The dinner with Mrs. Sanford is confirmed. I've sent the time and location to your phone."

Luther's expression didn't waver.

"Understood."