Chapter 7: Auction
1184 Words
I felt a stabbing pain in my chest. Picturing both of them together in my head, knowing it would be a reality later on, made me feel suffocated.
“A plus-one…” I mumbled, masking the pain with ignorance. “I did not invite Elizabeth.”
“Your father did.” Alicia handed me the pad, where the list of the guests, special attendees, hosts, and organizers were listed. Elizabeth and Damian’s names were highlighted yellow— an indication that they were invited from my father’s end.
Seeing it with my own two eyes, I was speechless. Nagging what-ifs filled my mind, and I could only draw a deep breath as I tried not to show how I felt. There was a big lump in my throat, and I was a ball of trepidation as I handed the pad back to Alicia.
Agitation colored my eyes. My heart ached in despair. The event hadn't even started, but my energy was already drained.
“Let’s put your dress on, Mrs. Alistair.” My stylist spoke, nudging me back to reality.
But it was nothing compared to the weight of the fact that the two of them would be coming to the auction I set up. Not minding the people— not fearing my presence.
Are they finally crossing out the idea of being together in private?
Had Damian really made his mind? What about Elon? The last time we talked, he said we’d wait until he'd recovered. Would that mean his feelings for Elizabeth were strong enough to disregard our son?
I shut my eyes tight.
I wore the dress and paired it with a few pieces of jewelry. Before I left, I called Elon’s private nurse to check on him, and hopefully, ease the discomfort I was feeling, but even after the call ended, or even when I arrived at the venue, surrounded by business people, models, and fellow artists, I couldn’t shake off the distraction.
It clung to me like a shadow, and all I could do was stand near the entrance, inattentively trace the details of my ring with my fingers, as I scanned the whole place searching for their presence.
“Good Evening, Mrs. Alistair.” One of the special guests, Mrs. Jim, greeted me as she entered the hall. “The venue speaks so much about you. I’m even more excited about your paintings— and portraits!”
“Good Evening, Mrs. Jim.” I swallowed hard, and tried to keep my eyes on her. “T-thank you for coming.” I forced a smile, and made an effort to open a conversation. “I... see you don’t have Mr. Jim by your side…”
“He’s on a business trip. But worry not, I’m not here to simply fill a spot. I’m a fan, and my will to support this event is firm.” Mrs. Jim mischievously smiled, giving me light tap on my arm, before sending a meaningful glance. “I’m heading in, Mrs. Alistair.”
I nodded, and immediately attempted to return the energy. “Please enjoy.”
The joy in my eyes dropped as she walked past me. But Mrs. Jim wasn’t the first and last to approach me. Many engaged me in a conversation and each passing second weighed on me— more so when I finally spotted Damian, together with Elizabeth.
It was t*****e to try not to look their way. But as the party started, I had no choice but to walk all over the place, put in my best efforts to fulfill my role in this auction, drown in the feeling of taking a step closer to my grave with each forced smile, and in every feigned sense of gratitude.
It was almost as if my soul was quivering in agony of being in the same place as my husband's mistress, who also happened to be my sister.
“I’m just curious to know, Mrs. Alistair. I have seen your husband a while ago, but why are you not together?” Ms. Lima, an owner of a big cosmetic brand in town asked, her brows protruding. “And I’ve been hearing the same thing from the guests. Why is she with Elizabeth?”
I was caught off guard. “My…”
And in the face of confusion, why, out of all people, do I have to go through it alone?
“My husband and sister are working together. Their collaboration is to be released, and I’ve been informed it’s a part of their marketing.” I lied in a heartbeat, my hands clamped tight together. It was the same excuse I kept telling people.
I was faltering on the inside, but something’s telling me that everything depends on what I answer now. With the three of us in the same place, if I shed a tear at this very moment, it would be the same as admitting our crumbling marriage.
Ms. Lima raised her brows and nodded in agreement with what I said. She bought it. “I see. I’ll surely look forward to that.”
Our conversation was disrupted when the host spoke, putting the auction in place. The guests gradually made their way to their designated table, and it was my cue to excuse myself and head up to the stage.
The organizers started lining up the pieces about to be sold tonight in the backstage, meanwhile my father and I were given a short time to make a speech before the bidding.
A hundred and sixty seconds on the stage, knowing all eyes were on me, including theirs, I felt like a sore thumb. Though I managed to deliver my speech right, I was so nervous I went straight to the bathroom to calm myself right after.
I washed my hands, looked at my pale face in the mirror, inwardly battling the unsettling feeling residing in my chest. Should I just go, and look after Elon? Everything’s set. No one would look for me— beside my father.
“I’ve never seen you lose your cool…”
A familiar voice coming from the doorway brought me back to reality.
My body tensed, going completely rigid. “Elizabeth…” I muttered under my breath.
Elizabeth made a sly, taunting chuckle, walking straight towards me. “I’ve been dreaming for this day to come, Eleanor. The moment you find out about me and Damian. But I never thought you would be this stupid.”
“Not here, Elizabeth.” My eyes were a pool of hatred and betrayal when I turned to her. Her eyes were mocking, confident and in high spirits. The same pair of eyes that would drown me in misery whenever she achieved something she knew I longed for.
Now, I know what those looks were all about.
“Damian told me about your separation.” She closed the distance, leaving only tension in between us. “You know what’s next?”
I breathed hard enough for my shoulders to move.
“Stop.” I shook my head, and brought my eyes down.
“Elon..”
- Writer
