Chapter 231: Need Pass To An Auction

I placed a firm, reassuring hand on Mia’s shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Hey, take a breath, Mia. We all make mistakes. The important thing is that yours is completely fixable. Just leave Sterling Co. to me."

Mia looked up at me, letting out a long, shuddering sigh of relief as the tension drained right out of her posture. "Really? You’re not... super furious at me? Because my brain was literally spinning like a broken mainspring..."

"Not even a little bit," I smiled warmly.

Chloe stepped forward, pulling up a legal database on her tablet as her sharp eyes flicked over the patent filings. "In fact, Mia, while Ethan handles the physical watch at the auction, I’m already drafting an injunction. The blueprint theft was sloppy on their end. I’ll find a loophole in Sterling’s filing to exploit, clear the path, and ensure your original patent gets registered under your name where it belongs."

"Wait, really?!" Mia gasped, her eyes wide as saucers. "Chloe, you’re like... an actual superhero in a blazer!"

"I’m just protecting our investments," Chloe replied with a smooth, dangerous little smirk. "And I don’t like thieves."

"That’s settled then. Brilliant work, Chloe," I nodded.

Sarah tapped her tablet screen, looking up at us with a slight grimace. "That takes care of the legal side, boss, but we still have one immediate hurdle. The Bellevue Auction House is hyper-exclusive tonight. The guest list was fully finalized days ago, locked strictly to pre-approved high-net-worth attendees. We can’t just barge in—it’s packed with billionaires and top industry titans. Getting us through those doors on two hours’ notice is the real problem."

I chuckled softly, leaning back against the glass display case. "I don’t think that’s going to be a problem at all, Sarah. Pull up the guest list right now. Find me the least wealthy person on that invite sheet—the small fish—and I’ll take care of the rest."

Sarah’s fingers flew across her tablet, filtering the guest profile data by confirmed net worth.

"Alright," Sarah said after a moment. "Lowest on the verified list is a guy named Cornell. He’s an independent watchmaker who recently launched a boutique brand. He barely scraped past the financial threshold to get a seat in the gallery."

As Sarah scrolled through his public social feeds and industry profile notes, her eyebrows suddenly knitted together in confusion. "Hmm..."

"What happened?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Well..." Sarah looked up from her screen with a dry, amused smile. "According to his recent posts, interview clips, and brand activity... this Cornell guy seems to be completely, utterly obsessed with Sterling Co. He practically worships the ground their executives walk on, constantly begging for an official partnership or acquisition."

A slow, scheming grin spread across my face as I looked over at Chloe, who was already smirking right back at me.

"An ambitious small-time watchmaker who craves Sterling’s validation..." I murmured, pulling my phone out. "Sarah, get me Cornell’s direct line. It’s time to make him an offer he can’t resist."

---

Inside the dimly lit study of a modest suburban home, paper schematics and financial ledgers were scattered across every flat surface like fallen leaves.

Cornell sat hunched over his oak desk, glaring through heavy-rimmed glasses at a set of intricate blueprinted gears. His hair was a chaotic mess, his tie pulled loose, and his eyes bloodshot from hours of desperate calculations.

The door clicked open, and Morin walked in carrying two steaming mugs of black coffee. Sleek, sharp, and intensely pragmatic, Morin wasn’t just Cornell’s PA—she was his girlfriend, his business manager, and the only anchor holding his runaway mind to reality.

She set the mugs down on the desk with a sharp clatter, clearing a space among the messy invoices before perching herself on the edge of the wooden table, crossing her legs.

"Cornell," Morin said, her tone smooth but completely unyielding. "I just went over our liquid assets again. We don’t have the capital for the Bellevue Auction tonight. Period."

"We have to go, Morin!" Cornell blurted out, his voice rising with a childish, reckless intensity as he grabbed a stack of blueprint sheets and shoved them toward her face. "You don’t understand! I finished my independent multi-axis tourbillon prototype! Sterling Co. is going to be in that gallery tonight. If I can just get into the room, present my tourbillon directly to their board, and show them what my brand is capable of, they’ll have to acquire us! They’ll fund us! It’s our leverage!"

Morin looked at the blueprints, then looked back at him, her dark eyes completely flat. "Leverage? Cornell, listen to yourself. You’re talking about going to an elite bidding war against a multi-billion dollar conglomerate with barely enough cash in our account to cover the entry deposit! They will swallow you whole and spit out your little boutique brand before the second bid is even placed."

"I can win them over!" Cornell insisted, his hands flailing as his obsessive passion took complete control. "I just need to bid on that horologist piece to get their attention, show them I’m a serious player, and then—"

SLAP!

The sharp crack echoed through the quiet room.

Cornell’s head snapped to the side, his cheek stinging as he froze in dead silence. He slowly turned back, looking up at Morin with wide, shocked eyes.

Morin withdrew her hand, leaning down until her face was inches from his, her gaze commanding and utterly bossy.

"Snap out of it, you absolute idiot," Morin growled softly, poking him hard in the chest with a manicured nail. "You are acting like a desperate child throwing his savings into a pit! If you go in there with your delusional little dream and try to outbid Sterling, you will bankrupt us by midnight. We will lose the workshop. We will lose the apartment. We will lose everything."

Cornell stared at her, the frantic, manic energy draining out of his posture all at once. The harsh truth crashed down on his shoulders, crushing his spirit into total defeat.

"I just... I just wanted to make my brand big..." he mumbled softly, his voice trembling like a disappointed kid whose toy had been taken away.

Morin’s rigid expression softened. She let out a quiet, affectionate sigh, shaking her head as she slid off the desk and sat down in the leather chair beside him.

"I know, babe. I know," she whispered softly, her tone shifting from a strict boss to a gentle partner. She pulled his head down into her lap.

Cornell immediately buried his face against her thigh, resting his heavy head on her lap like a gloomy, defeated puppy, letting out a long, shuddering sigh. Morin ran her fingers gently through his messy hair, stroking his scalp with calm, rhythmic motions to soothe his bruised pride.

"We step back for tonight," Morin murmured softly, petting his head. "We build slowly. We don’t ruin ourselves for a corporation that doesn’t even know your name yet."

"Okay..." Cornell muttered gloomily from her lap. "Okay..."

Right at that exact moment, the sudden, loud ring of Cornell’s smartphone blared across the silent desk, vibration rattling against the wooden surface.

Morin reached over, picking up the device. An unlisted, high-priority private number flashed brightly on the screen.