The Breaking Point of Mate: Giving Up on My Alpha novel Chapter 86

Melanie’s POV

The crystal chandeliers suspended from the auction hall’s dome resembled constellations scattered across a night sky, their cold light cascading downward and flooding the venue with an almost blinding brilliance. Dozens of pheromones mingled in the air, like a silent yet volatile territorial clash.

The bidding had already reached ninety–five million.

Evander rubbed his temples, as though suppressing a rising Alpha instinct. He turned toward the impassive Archer beside him, his tone half playful, half probing.

“Alpha Archer, care to?”

His voice wasn’t loud, yet it sliced cleanly through the surrounding clamor.

Archer offered a faint smile.

Polite. Distant. Like a brief crack in solid ice.

“Sorry.”

Evander fell silent for a moment.

His pheromones stirred faintly in the air, like the restrained rustle of wind moving through dry leaves.

Then he raised his bidding paddle with crisp precision, driving the price straight to-

“One hundred and twenty million.”

A low murmur rippled through the hall.

Before the reaction could fully spread, however, a soft yet razor–sharp female voice cut in.

“One hundred fifty million.”

Camille raised her paddle slowly.

The sweet scent of orange drifted from her body, weaving through the light and the aroma of wine. Gentle yet unmistakably aggressive, it spread like a delicate but dangerous claim, quietly pressing against the edges of Archer’s patchouli scent.

Evander’s Adam’s apple bobbed slightly.

He lowered his paddle.

He did not continue.

Gillian, seated beside me, leaned closer, her voice hushed.

“First time I’ve ever seen Alpha Evander outplayed.”

I didn’t respond.

Yet my gaze drifted uncontrollably toward the front row.

Evander and Archer both came from premier Alpha bloodlines. Evander had never lacked money. Unlike certain Alphas, however, he preferred to measure a target’s value through calculated reason rather than overwhelming it with raw possessiveness.

Archer, on the other hand-

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He never bid to win.

He bid to declare.

No further bids followed.

When the auction hammer fell, the oil painting became Camille’s without dispute.

Archer turned toward Evander, his voice steady.

“Alpha Evander, thank you.”

Evander’s lips curved upward, his gaze unreadable.

“Alpha Archer, you’re welcome.”

Gillian exhaled softly, muttering under her breath through clenched teeth.

“Let’s just hope Camille doesn’t bid on that emerald jewelry set.”

I found myself thinking the same.

But the moment the thought surfaced, it carried a faint, almost ironic sense of foreboding.

The emerald jewelry set was soon presented on the podium.

Under the spotlight, the gems resembled a frozen stretch of deep ocean–icy, yet breathtakingly elegant.

Starting bid: ten million.

Someone called fifteen million.

I raised my paddle.

“Eighteen million.”

The instant the words left my mouth, I felt Frost stir faintly in the depths of my mind. It wasn’t excitement–only a cautious lifting of its head, as though scenting hidden danger in the air.

“Twenty million.”

“Twenty–five million.”

The bidding climbed steadily.

Strangely, Camille remained silent.

Gillian visibly relaxed, and the invisible tension coiled around my chest loosened slightly.

But just as I prepared to raise my paddle again-

Camille lifted her hand.

The movement was as graceful as raising a glass of red wine.

“Fifty million.”

A brief silence fell across the room.

Then murmurs of astonishment erupted.

My fingertips tightened.

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Frost released a suppressed growl deep within my consciousness.

I raised my paddle anyway.

“Sixty million.”

“Sixty–five million.”

The auctioneer barely paused before the next call.

“Seventy–five million.”

The price leapt into an entirely new territory.

My chest tightened.

My grandmother’s seventieth birthday banquet was approaching. That emerald set was meant to be her gift.

If it reached eighty million-

The thought hadn’t even fully formed.

Camille raised her paddle again.

“One hundred and twenty million.”

Her tone was matter–of–fact.

Yet it sliced through every lingering hesitation like a blade.

My chest seized.

My breath caught, heavy and uneven.

Frost paced restlessly in the depths of my mind but didn’t break free. It seemed to understand before I did that this was no longer a contest over jewelry.

It was a declaration–of scent and of power.

Slowly, I lowered my paddle.

The gavel struck.

The emerald jewelry was claimed under Camille’s name.

The remaining lots held no interest for me.

Yet auction house protocol forbade leaving before the closing.

So I remained seated.

The hall stayed glaringly bright. The air thickened with an invisible web of patchouli and sweet orange, layered so densely it became almost impossible to tell whose breath belonged to whom.

Gillian glanced at the auction ledger and murmured,

“Archer’s already spent over three hundred million tonight… He won’t bid again, will he? Even for an Alpha, that’s excessive.”

I didn’t answer.

The answer revealed itself soon enough.

Archer made no further bids.

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