Chapter 6

Stella POV

I saw the press release from Serena's PR team. The headline was eye-catching: "Socialite Serena to Host Charity Gala: Speaking for Love, Invites Industry Friends, Stella Also Among Guests."

This announcement was meant to force my appearance.

Serena had calculated correctly. If I didn't show, it would look like I had something to hide to outsiders.

At the charity gala, guests mingled, wine glasses in hand. The lights were bright, the attire dazzling.

Serena, in a white custom gown, was surrounded by a crowd, basking in undisguised admiration.

When I walked into the venue wearing the gown sponsored by my company, I almost instantly attracted everyone's attention.

Most of those gazes were scrutinizing, even dismissive.

As the auction segment began, Serena smiled and raised the microphone, her voice perfectly soft.

"Tonight, we've also invited Ms. Stella, who has been quite the topic of conversation lately."

She looked at me, deliberately slowing her speech.

"Stella, I wonder what special item you've prepared for charity?"

She emphasized the word "special."

Under everyone's watchful eyes, I walked onto the stage, carrying only a rusty old medical kit.

I placed it on a display stand draped in red velvet.

A few muffled chuckles rippled through the audience.

Serena wore a perfectly inquisitive expression.

"This box looks quite vintage. It must have a heartbreaking story behind it, wouldn't you say?"

Her gaze subtly, almost imperceptibly, swept towards where Julian was standing, then she softly added,

"I guess it might be related to a certain friend's severe stomach hemorrhage three years ago. At the time, I was overseas, so worried. All I could do was send emergency medication. Unfortunately, I still couldn't get there immediately..."

She painted herself as a woman devotedly watching over him from afar.

I stood before the display, waiting for her performance to end, before finally speaking.

"Ms. Thompson certainly has a good memory."

My voice was steady, devoid of any warmth.

"However, you've mistaken the main character."

I opened the box right there, in front of everyone.

Inside were some cheap over-the-counter medicines and a few yellowed receipts.

"Three years ago, Mr. Vance was rushed to the hospital with a severe stomach hemorrhage."

I stated, word by word.

"The person he couldn't reach that day was overseas. And I, his nominal wife, had no authority to access any of his funds."

"I worked three jobs simultaneously and visited over a dozen pharmacies to gather these medicines."

Serena's face instantly crumpled. She cried out, "You're lying! These medicines were clearly from me-"

"From you?"

I interrupted her, pulling a small recording device from my clutch and pressing play.

A clear conversation filled the hall.

"'Doctor, if I adjust my nose a bit here, do you think I'll look better on camera?... Location? Don't be ridiculous, I'm right here, in the VIP room of Vance Group's aesthetic clinic. As for social media, isn't it normal to set your location to overseas?'"

The timestamp on the recording matched the day she claimed to have "mailed medicine across the ocean," down to the second.

The entire hall fell silent.

Julian, standing in the audience, his body visibly stiffened.

He finally realized that the person who truly saved him at his bedside wasn't the one he'd been pining for all along.

He abruptly shoved his chair back and rushed toward the stage.

"Stella, I'm sorry, I-"

I didn't even glance at him.

I picked up the microphone again, my gaze falling on the old box, a cold smile curving on my lips.

"This box contains my cheap and superfluous efforts."

"The auction begins now."

"Starting bid: one dollar."

As my words faded, a man who had been silently sitting in the front row slowly stood up.

He shed the familiar stagehand's jacket, revealing a meticulously tailored custom suit underneath.

Under the spotlight, he looked at me, his expression unreadable.

"I bid one hundred million."

A collective gasp swept through the hall.

He picked up a name card from the table, letting the simple text speak for itself: Stone Group. Alex Stone.

"And," he continued, turning to meet my gaze directly, his own steady and intent, "as the majority shareholder of Stone Group, I will personally design and fund a global stand-up tour for Ms. Reed"

Julian was held back by security below the stage.

I didn't look back.

I placed my hand in Alex's outstretched palm, and together we walked toward the VIP exit backstage, leaving the clamor behind us in the dark beyond the spotlight.

Just before the door closed, from the direction of the underground garage, came the sudden, furious roar of an engine starting.

The sound echoed, sharp and endless, in the cavernous space.