“At this point,” Zoe whispered, her gaze fixed on the stage where an emerald necklace gleamed beneath the lights, “we can only pray Emma doesn’t start bidding again.”
I thought the same thing. But deep down, I already knew better.
The necklace wasn’t just any accessory; it was one of my family’s most treasured heirlooms, the kind that carried stories and pride. The starting bid was ten million Moon Coins.
“Fifteen million,” someone called.
I raised my paddle, keeping my voice steady. “Eighteen million.”
“Twenty.”
“Twenty-five.”
Emma stayed silent, and I felt a small wave of relief washing over me. Zoe exhaled too, the tension in her shoulders easing. Maybe, for once, Emma would sit this one out. But then her calm, melodic voice sliced through the air—
“Fifty million.”
The hall eru
