The Jilted Heiress' Return to the High Life - Chapter 449

Chapter 449:

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Rita’s manicured nails bit deeper into her palms, the pain lost beneath waves of mounting fury. Unable to bear the spectacle any longer, she rose abruptly to flee.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Bruce’s question followed her like a shadow.

Rita spun around with an exaggerated eye roll.

“To the ladies’ room!” she snapped, stalking away.

The auction proceeded undisturbed by her dramatic exit. Nate studied Corrine’s delicate profile, leaning close enough that his breath tickled her ear.

“Do you enjoy being addressed that way?”

Corrine met his playful gaze with a sidelong glance, understanding the meaning behind his question.

“It’s merely a title,” she replied softly.

The formality of “Mrs. Hopkins” held no special significance for her—she recognized that Moses’ deference stemmed not from her Ford family heritage, but from the man at her side.

“You were the one who instructed him to use that title,” she reminded him, toying with the auction paddle as her lips curved into a knowing smile.

“My preferences hardly matter, do they? Perhaps it’s all part of some masculine power play. For all I know, I’m just one of many Mrs. Hopkins in your collection.”

Nate’s low chuckle resonated through her as his elegant fingers tilted her chin upward.

“You’re the only one,” he murmured, his words carrying the weight of both declaration and vow.

Lɒtєѕτ cнαρτєrs ιn g𝓪l𝑛ovєl𝑆.𝑐oм

Corrine’s lashes fluttered downward, suddenly unable to meet the intensity of his gaze. Her earlier words had been childish, tinged with an inexplicable jealousy. Yet they masked a deeper regret—if only their paths had crossed sooner. How different things might have been.

Chelsea observed their intimate exchange with growing concern. Her intuition whispered that their connection ran deeper than a casual dalliance.

While she wanted Corrine to move past Bruce’s betrayal and open her heart again, Nate’s presence in that equation troubled her. Her brow furrowed as she resolved to have a serious conversation with Corrine before the night ended.

As the auction concluded, the evening transformed into an elegant soirée. A symphony orchestra filled the air with refined melodies while guests mingled beneath crystal chandeliers—the very picture of high society excess. After several glasses of champagne, Corrine sought refuge in a quiet corner. A man’s voice interrupted her solitude.

“Miss Holland? Might I have the pleasure of this dance?”

She regarded him with barely concealed distaste, her eyes flickering with disdain.

“Allow me to introduce myself.” He adjusted his tie with affected sophistication.

“Rolf Archer—Calan’s younger brother.”

A cold smile ghosted across Corrine’s lips. She knew of him—a notorious name-dropper who had long traded on his brother’s reputation to stir up trouble.

“I must decline,” she replied, her voice sharp as frost.

Rolf’s face tightened at her dismissal.

“Many would jump at the chance to gain my favor. I’m offering you respect—don’t make me regret such generosity!”

“Leave.” The single word fell from Corrine’s lips like an icicle.

Her frigid disdain only inflamed his interest. Emboldened by alcohol, he stepped forward to seize her arm.

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