She smoothed the crease of her dress as she spoke, eyes flicking briefly toward Sophia. “She’s always busy, selling expensive items on stage… sometimes even dealing with rich men in private rooms.”
She let out a soft sigh, as if impressed. “You know how demanding that job is. Being an auctioneer is practically sales work—constantly persuading people, keeping bidders interested, almost begging them to buy.” She gave a small, sympathetic smile. “It takes an incredible amount of time and effort.”
Violet tilted her head, expression innocent. “So after all that… how could Sophia possibly have time for anything else?”
Sophia stared at her, anger flashing in her eyes, her jaw tightening.
When Violet finished, her gaze drifted around the room, satisfaction gleaming faintly in her eyes.
Hannah stiffened with every word. Her lips pressed together, unease creeping across her face. She leaned closer to Camila, lowering her voice as she whispered urgently.
“How can someone fromourfamily be involved in high-society auctions?” Hannah murmured, fingers twisting in her lap. “Haven’t you heard the rumors about auctioneers? I’ve heard many of them are involved in escorting and… other kinds of services.” She glanced at Camila nervously. “Isn’t that dangerous?”
Her frown deepened.
“You married Magnus to an auctioneer,” she whispered, incredulous. “We don’t even associate with auctioneers at events, Camila. How could you allow this? Couldn’t you have found someone of our level to marry Magnus?”
Sophia opened her mouth, anger rising, an accusatory glare turning toward Violet—
But before she could speak, Magnus did.
“Are you jealous of my wife’s achievements and hobbies?” he asked calmly.
The room fell silent.
His arm rested lazily along the back of Sophia’s seat, his body angled toward her despite the space between them. One leg was crossed over the other, posture relaxed—almost careless. But his expression had hardened completely.
His gaze locked onto Violet, cold and piercing.
“You seem to remember every detail of my wife’s life so clearly,” he said evenly. “I doubt even she remembers it all herself.”
His eyes didn’t leave Violet’s face.
“Ms. King,” he said coolly, “doyouknow how to do any of those things?”
Violet froze for just a fraction of a second.
Then she recovered, lowering her lashes and slipping effortlessly into a fragile, delicate expression.
“No, Mr. Graves… how could I?” she said softly. “I could never do such dangerous things. I’m afraid of all that.”
She lifted a hand and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, her voice trembling just enough to sound sincere.
“I can’t even step onto a stage. All those eyes on me—it frightens me. And wearing tiny bikinis in front of strangers…” She shook her head faintly. “That would make me extremely uncomfortable. I don’t like being so exposed.”
Her tone softened further, careful and measured. “After all, I come from a respectable family. What if someone took photos of me and they ended up in the news?” A faint smile touched her lips. “I don’t want to become an object on everyone’s screen.”
Sophia let out a quiet snicker.
She kept her eyes on Violet, watching the excuses spill from her mouth—each one carefully dressed as modesty, yet so obviously hollow that nearly everyone in the room could see through them. Everyone except Violet herself, who still seemed convinced she was performing flawlessly.
Magnus shared the same look as Sophia.
A short, humorless laugh left him. His arm, which had been draped casually along the back of the couch, slid down and around Sophia’s shoulders, pulling her closer until she rested against his side.
Then he looked back at Violet.
“Since you can’t do suchdangerousthings,” he said calmly, one brow lifting slightly, “whatcanyou do?”
