The Rejected Principessa Returns novel Chapter 123

Chapter 2

When that number left my lips, the onlookers downstairs froze. Everyone had assumed I would follow up

with thirty-four-point-four million to continue messing with Ethan.

But surprisingly, I didn’t.

“What’s that supposed to mean? She finally figured out who Ethan is and got scared?”

Someone cupped their hands around their mouth and shouted up toward my private box.

“If you’re scared, get down here and kneel to Mr. Grant! Maybe if we’ve had enough fun watching, we’ll even

put in a good word for you!”

Laughter rippled through the hall, until someone finally sensed something was off.

“Why do I feel like that’s not it? If she’s scared, then why is she still raising the bid? Does she want to offend

him or not?”

A crowd of people whispered and speculated endlessly-until the auctioneer’s voice broke through the noise.

“This round of bidding ends in three minutes. We now await a bid from Guest Suite Eight.”

Suite Eight. That was Ethan’s box.

At that moment, the crowd realized what was wrong. The man who’d been shouting ‘top it’ just a minute ago

-Ethan hadn’t placed a bid yet.

Earlier, even when he got upset by those ‘four’ numbers, he still responded quickly.

But this time… nothing. Somebody whispered under their breath.

“Don’t tell me… he’s out of cash?”

The words had barely left their mouth when someone shot back mockingly.

“You think this is about you? If a penny fell through the seams of the Grant family’s couch, it’d feed your

entire bloodline for three generations!”

“Exactly. Mr. Grant is probably too busy flirting with his little girlfriend to remember he

bidding.”

A round of greasy chuckles followed, full of lewd implication and smugness.

From above, I watched it all unfold, my fingers tapping the railing in rhythm, slow and steady.

osed to be

To the crowd, Ethan was basking in the sweetness of his mistress’s affections. But I could see it clearly-his eyes had gone cold, a storm gathering in his gaze.

As for the ever-coy Roxie, she was now hunched over, barely breathing.

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The saccharine air of whispering and cuddling from moments ago had been wiped clean.

I waited, calm and composed, to see what he would do next.

The auctioneer wiped the sweat from his forehead and began counting down. “Ten… three, two-”

And just before the final second ticked away, Ethan’s assistant finally shouted from Box Eight.

“Forty-four-point-four million…”

His voice cracked like a whipped mutt-pitiful and shaky. After blurting that out, he went dead silent.

The entire hall went dead quiet. People exchanged uneasy glances.

That’s when someone finally realized-I’d just bid 42.3 million, and with Ethan’s dramatic 2.14 million torch-lighting stunt, the total came out to exactly 44.44 million..

The number he hated most. The one I made sure he had to say himself.

This time, no one dared to make another joke.

I heard someone murmur quietly. “What did Ethan do to her? That woman just stomped his face into the

floor.”

What did he do?

I curled my lip and looked at the files my executive assistant had just sent through.

While I’d been immersed in work these past few years, Ethan had been busy keeping a mistress-the whole

social circle knew about it.

No wonder whenever we posted cute couple photos online, those heiresses who didn’t even like me would

rush to hit ‘like.’

They weren’t supporting me-they were watching the show.

I scrolled down and my blood pressure surged. The last couture dress he gave me? Roxie wore it first.

I had even wondered why the waist felt too loose. And Ethan, that actor, had stroked my back and said it was because I’d been working too hard and lost weight.

Turns out that wasn’t concern. That was guilt.

My fury roared inside me. I forwarded the documents to Maya Patel, my lawyer. “Draft the divorce papers. I want them ready in one hour.”

Then I called the board and finance department.

Ethan had been living the good life for too long. He’d clearly forgotten how he got there in the first place.

Once all arrangements were in place, I casually raised my paddle again. “5.23 million.”

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The crowd had long grown numb to the string of eight-figure bids, but this one still made them glance back toward Suite Eight.

Was Ethan really going to counter with fifty-four-point-four million this time?

He pressed his lips into a thin line. His chest heaved once-visibly.

Inside his booth, no one dared breathe. No one even dared ask if he planned to keep bidding.

Just as the auctioneer prepared to begin another countdown, Ethan’s voice rang out from behind the soundproof glass, his tone like steel under pressure.

“I want proof of funds verification.”

Chapter 2

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