"A masterpiece!" The shout broke the spell.
A businessman leaped to his feet. "Three million dollars for that!"
The floodgates opened.
"Five million!"
"Six million!"
"Seven million!"
"Thirty million!"
Gasps rippled through the crowd at the jump. Velora's ears perked up at "thirty million." Her interest in the bidding evaporated instantly. Mission accomplished. Time to collect on Henry's promise.
From his perch in the VIP suite's balcony—the perfect vantage point for watching the show—Henry had an unobstructed view of the bidding frenzy below, as buyers scrambled to outdo each other.
The door burst open with a bang.
"Henry!" Velora bounded in and wrapped her arms around his neck from behind—a gesture that should have been intimate but landed somewhere between a chokehold and a child's enthusiastic tackle.
"Target hit! Spill your secrets," she demanded.
Her warmth pressed against his back, and he suppressed a sigh.
The girl had absolutely no concept of personal space or male–female boundaries. Thank goodness she only acted this way with him—anyone else might have taken advantage of her innocence.
He gently untangled her arms and turned to face her. "Want to know what your painting's going for now?"
"Don't care." Her nose scrunched in annoyance. "Just tell me why everyone respects you so much."
"It's at a hundred million dollars," he said.
"Cool, new record!" She barely registered the astronomical sum. "Now talk."
"Care to guess who made that bid?" Henry asked, fighting back a smile.
"Why should I care about that?" Velora's pretty face scrunched in irritation. She narrowed her eyes at him. "Are you trying to wriggle out of our deal about telling me your other identity? If you won't spill, I'll investigate myself!"
"What's there to investigate?" He couldn't help but chuckle. "It's all public knowledge—just Google me."
That caught her off guard. He's that famous? she couldn't help but wonder.
On the ride home, Velora did exactly that. Her eyes widened at what she found.
Henry wasn't just Deputy Director of the Special Operations Division—he was the treasured third son of the Barton family, one of Moonhuntland's most powerful business empires.
He was doted on by his father to the point where the old man was ready to hand him the keys to the kingdom.
Instead, Henry had blazed his own trail: academic prodigy turned decorated military officer turned high-ranking government official.
Due to his political position, he'd left all business operations to his two older brothers, but even so, he still controlled 40% of the Barton family's core shares. No wonder everyone showed so much respect to him, calling him "Mr. Barton."
"Okay, but why stay in the Special Operations Division when you've got all that waiting?" She gestured vaguely at the concept of vast wealth.
"Because I choose to." He left it at that. The complexities of family business politics would be lost on her.
Velora studied him with newfound fascination. His government salary was probably around $10,000 a month. Running the family business, he could make that in minutes. But he still wanted to stay in the Special Operations Division.
After careful consideration, she could only reach one conclusion: the man must be an absolute idiot.
Henry caught her look and felt a flicker of indignation at being judged by someone so endearingly clueless. But he was mature. Dignified. He wouldn't stoop to trading barbs with a naive girl.
At least, not directly.
When they reached the Carson residence, Velora hopped out with a cheerful, "See ya!"
"Wait." His voice stopped her mid-bounce.
"Yeah?" She glanced back.
"You did well today. Here's a little reward," he said with a smile.
Her eyes lit up as she bounded back to the car window. "What kind of reward?"
"Hold out your hand," he said with a sketchy grin.
She complied eagerly.
He placed his closed fist in her palm and slowly opened it. Something small and hard dropped into her hand—a fruit candy wrapped in plastic film.
Before recognition could dawn, his car began pulling away.
His amused voice drifted back. "You asked me to hold onto that earlier, remember? Just returning what's yours."
As the realization hit that this was the same candy she'd passed to him by mouth, creative curses filled her mind.
"The absolute nerve of him! Keeping that used candy just to—Disgusting!"
"Henry!" she yelled, but his car was already disappearing around the corner.
She stared after him, torn between outrage and reluctant admiration. Never in her life had she met anyone quite so infuriatingly clever.
Velora slipped through the front door to find a cozy family scene. Her father and Ace had returned, with Susan and Leila clustered around Darrell, chatting cheerfully.
"Look who's trying to sneak upstairs." Ace's voice caught her mid–tiptoe. "Perfect timing—come say hello to Dad."
"Great," Velora thought. "Since when did Ace grow eyes in the back of his head?"
She dragged her feet over to the living room where the man sat on the sofa with his back to her. "Hi, Dad," she muttered, the formal greeting falling flat.
Darrell set down the painting he'd been examining. The faint smile he'd worn moments before frosted over as he glanced at the daughter he hadn't seen in more than a decade. The temperature in the room seemed to plummet.
"So. You're back." His voice was glacial.
Velora's heart twinged. All smiles until I show up, huh? Fine. She could play Ice Queen too.
She lifted her chin, matching his frost with frost. "Uh–huh."
His eyes hardened at her tone. Just as Susan and Leila had warned him—nothing like her gentle, refined mother. And Ace actually claimed this girl was charming. How laughable.
"Care to explain why you injured Leila's leg?" Darrell tried to steady his voice.
Now that her father was fighting her battle, Leila shot Velora another one of her provocative, triumphant smirks. Finally, daddy dearest was stepping in.
"Now, dear," Susan's voice dripped honey. "We must make allowances. She was raised in the sticks—certain… roughness is only natural. Let her learn proper manners from Leila. A simple apology should suffice."
"An apology?" Leila's voice scaled up in outrage as she turned to her mother. "That's what police are for! She injured my leg. And I'm being generous here—all I'm asking is for her to wait on me hand and foot for a month!"
Ace's eyes glittered dangerously as he turned to Leila. "A month of servitude? I'm impressed you even dared to say that out loud."
Leila wilted like week–old flowers, caught between fear and indignation.
"Ace." Darrell's voice cut like steel. "Watch your tone with your sister. Velora was in the wrong. What's the problem with having her help?"
"The problem, Dad, is your obvious bias." Ace's smile never wavered. "Quick to condemn Velora for the injury, but not interested in why it happened?"
A flicker of unease crossed Leila's face.
"Children quarrel—it's perfectly normal at their age." Susan rushed to smooth things over. "I'm sure Velora didn't mean harm. Perhaps… one week of assistance would be more appropriate?"
Leila? The ice in Darrell's voice melted as he turned to his favorite. "What do you think?"
Under Ace's steady gaze, Leila mumbled, "One week is fine."
Darrell turned back to Velora, frost returning full force. "You hurt your sister. You'll care for her for a week. Any objections?"
"Actually, yeah." Velora remembered Henry's advice about not letting herself be pushed around. True to her nature, she decided to let her actions do the talking.
Without hesitation, her foot connected hard with the coffee table, sending it skating across the floor. Leila, triggered by her old fears, let out a series of glass–shattering shrieks.
"Velora!" Darrell's roar filled the room.
Velora stopped the table with her foot a breath before impact. "Here's my objection: not happening. I won't play nurse, and I won't apologize. Deal with it."
"How dare you!" Darrell surged to his feet, rage blazing in his eyes.
Velora's nose wrinkled at his naked hostility. Father of the Year material, he was not—he couldn't even manage the basics of parenting.
"Check your bias before you check my attitude," she snapped. "I'm done arguing with a brick wall. Peace out."
As she pulled back her foot, a soft ripping sound made her pause.
Looking down, she noticed the painting on the coffee table—specifically, the part extending past the edge. The very spot where her foot had landed during her show of defiance to Leila, and with just that little bit of extra pressure, she'd stepped right through it.
"Wait a second… isn't that my chicken–foot masterpiece from the auction?" She was shocked by the realization. The irony was that her father was the one who'd dropped a hundred million on it. Perfect.
"Oh, how terrible!" Susan's gasp pierced the air. "Velora, that painting cost your dad a hundred million dollars! Just look what you've done!"
Her face screamed distress, but her eyes danced with malicious delight. This was Darrell's precious Ms. Morisot original—priceless and irreplaceable. He already disliked Velora, and now this? The foolish girl had just imploded her own position.
"You ruined Dad's new painting!" Leila pounced on the opportunity.
"He absolutely loved it. Paid a fortune! You're like a walking disaster—everything goes wrong the moment you show up. How could you possibly make this right? You can't afford to replace it and there will never be another one exactly like it."
Velora weathered their verbal assault with bemused detachment. They're really making this much fuss? she thought. It was just something I dashed off—and they're treating it like the Mona Lisa.
"Guys, it's just a painting." She shrugged, meeting Darrell's thunderous silence. "If you're that into the style, I'll paint you an even better one. No big deal."