Chapter 3Mending Gems Breaking Billionaires

Three days before we were supposed to sign our marriage license, the Caldwell family hosted a highly publicized charity gala. Lennon’s PR team made it clear that my attendance was mandatory—it was meant to build hype for the upcoming society wedding.

I arrived at the ballroom doors wearing a severe, unadorned black slip dress, my face entirely free of makeup.

When Lennon spotted me, his jaw tightened. He marched over and hissed in my ear.

"We are celebrating tonight. Why the hell are you dressed for a funeral? Go upstairs and change into something bright. Stop trying to embarrass me."

I met his gaze, my eyes completely hollow. "The only other dress I had was the one you used to polish your girlfriend's shoes. This is all that's left."

Lennon was momentarily speechless. Before he could formulate an excuse, Gia bounded over, poured into a siren-red couture gown.

"Lennon, do I look okay in this?" she beamed.

Lennon’s irritation vanished. He flashed his media-ready smile, wrapping his arm securely around her waist as he turned to the approaching investors. "Everyone, this is Gia. She’s our charity ambassador for the evening, and the new face of Caldwell Fine Jewelry."

He led her through the glittering crowd, soaking up the flattery, completely forgetting I existed.

Then, the auction began.

Gia’s eyes locked onto a piece on the velvet display stand. It was a vintage 1920s Art Deco pearl-and-diamond hair comb. The pearls were luminous, aged to a perfect creamy luster.

It was my late mother's heirloom. It had been lost to creditors years ago after her death.

"Lennon, look at that comb. It’s absolutely stunning. I want it," Gia purred, shaking his arm.

Lennon didn’t hesitate. He raised his paddle. "Five million."

No one in the room dared to bid against the CEO of Caldwell Enterprises. The gavel slammed down. The comb was delivered directly to his table.

I stepped forward immediately, my hand outstretched. "That was my mother’s comb. Please. Let me have it."

Lennon casually sidestepped my hand. With a slick, practiced motion, he slid the antique comb into the side of Gia’s blonde updo. He took a step back, admiring his work.

"Flawless," he murmured. "Beautiful jewels for a beautiful girl."

I held my hand out again, my voice trembling. "Give it back to me."

Lennon grabbed my wrist. His grip was bruisingly tight. He leaned in, his breath hot against my ear.

"I told you to stop being petty. She's just wearing it for the night. You'll get it back when we go home. I bought it to boost our philanthropic image. Stop acting like the whole world owes you a massive debt."

On stage, the auctioneer's voice boomed through the speakers.

"And now, for our next lot! A magnificent fifteenth-century Venetian gold chalice, miraculously restored by the world-renowned antiquities expert, Miss Camille Dubois! Bidding starts at eight million dollars!"

Lennon released my wrist and let out a derisive scoff. "Who would pay eight million for a glued-together piece of trash? The only reason anyone bids on her little arts and crafts is because she has my last name attached to her."

A man in the front row of the VIP section casually raised his paddle.

"Fifty million."

The entire ballroom went dead silent.

The man who stood up was dressed in a bespoke charcoal-grey suit that screamed quiet, unfathomable wealth. It was Gideon Roth, the notoriously elusive billionaire art collector who had just returned from Europe.

Lennon froze, his sneer faltering into a plastic smile as Gideon took the microphone.

Gideon’s dark, piercing gaze bypassed Lennon entirely and landed squarely on me.

"Miss Dubois's craftsmanship is nothing short of divine," Gideon’s voice was a low, magnetic baritone. "She is an artist who breathes second life into history. Fifty million is merely a starting point."

A wave of murmurs rippled through the elite crowd. Every eye turned to me.

Lennon’s smile looked painful. He raised his voice, attempting to reclaim the narrative. "Mr. Roth is too kind. My fiancée’s little hobby is just patching up broken garbage. It’s hardly worthy of this kind of stage."

Standing just behind Lennon, I let out a soft, genuine laugh.

I looked at the back of Lennon's neck and spoke, my voice carrying clearly. "Mr. Caldwell is right. I am an expert in fixing broken garbage. It's just a shame that some things are rotten all the way down to the core. Those things can never be fixed."

Lennon whipped around, genuine shock flashing in his eyes before it hardened into pure fury. He glanced around at the cameras, swallowed his rage, and reached out, patronizingly patting the top of my head.

"Always so defensive," he chuckled tightly. "Gia is staying over at the penthouse tonight. Make sure the guest room is ready. And be a good host."

I didn't flinch. I just let his hand fall.

Three days left.