The 24th Century Warrior Became a Fake Heiress novel Chapter 358

Chapter 358 Trapped in the Bidding War

He quickly tried to reassure himself that it was nothing catastrophic.

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Fuished

Landing the mandrake root wasn’t a total loss, even if the price tag was absurdly bloated.

Gritting his teeth, Preston felt an uneasy prickle of suspicion that he had walked into a trap.

Yet reviewing his moves, his logic seemed sound.

Did that five–hundred–million–dollar bid really bleed their liquidity dry?

Leaving them unable to scrape together another eight million?

A wave of annoyance washed over him, kicking himself for not raising by just one million instead.

Grinding his teeth, he fought to steady his breathing.

Aside from overpaying, there was no structural harm done.

At the very least, presenting this rare botanical at Steven Wayne’s birthday gala would be an impressive tribute.

Meanwhile, in her private booth, Isabella smiled with serene amusement.

She had examined the specimen earlier, scanning it with psionic perception to find that beneath its pristine surface, the active medicinal essence had largely degraded.

Whether through decades of improper preservation or botanical decay, its therapeutic value was practically negligible.

Preston had vastly overpaid for what was essentially an empty trophy.

Naturally, keeping it on a mantle for show was harmless enough.

Provided he never displayed it before genuine botanists, lest an expert expose the degraded root and humiliate him publicly.

A subtle smirk touched Isabella’s lips.

After watching Preston swallow the bitter pill, she used Box 57 to run up his bids on several subsequent items, making him waste millions of dollars before finally letting him off the hook.

Preston sat fuming with dark rage.

He had later targeted a raw emerald rough, only for phantom bidders to drive the price through the roof, forcing him to spend far beyond his budget and souring his mood entirely.

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10:31 Fri, 11 Sep 0

Chapter 358 Trapped in the Bidding War

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Finished

Leaving the underground salon in utter disgust, Preston departed while Isabella slipped backstage, handing the dispatch officer an alternate delivery address, “Deliver the items here.”

She chose not to provide Summit Manor’s coordinates.

There was no need for that.

Picking up the parcels from an anonymous drop point was far more secure.

“Right away, miss,” the intake steward who had served her earlier answered with profound deference.

Having handled her intake, he continued overseeing her dispatch personally.

“Thank you for the coat.”

Isabella returned the attendant garment to his hands.

Borrowing the jacket was merely a precaution to conceal her silhouette from passing guests in the gallery.

“You are far too kind, miss,” the steward replied with a bow.

With logistics arranged, Isabella returned to Box 57 just as Noah stepped out from Box 56 next door.

“Bella, come on, let’s head to the vault to claim the small lots.”

The salon operated with flexible protocols, allowing buyers to take custody of compact valuables immediately while coordinating private transport for heavier consignments.

Familiar with the layout, Noah guided Isabella down the corridor carrying her smaller parcels, whispering, “Did you recognize the bidder in Box 78? It felt like you were deliberately squeezing his prices.”

Isabella had utilized Box 57 to box Preston in multiple times.

Noah hadn’t pieced it together initially, but reflecting on the pacing, her counter–bids were undeniably intentional.

“I don’t know him,” Isabella replied, shaking her head with a subtle smile, “I just found him obnoxious for constantly crowding other people’s bids.”

Noah nodded in agreement, “Good, as long as he’s a stranger. If he knew you, we’d have to watch our backs so he wouldn’t dig up your identity and cause trouble.”

A cold glint flickered in Noah’s eyes.

While the salon guaranteed buyer confidentiality, dishonorable sore losers occasionally staked

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