Left at the Altar with His Triplets: The Billionaire Begs for Forgiveness - Chapter 46: Chapter 46
You are reading Left at the Altar with His Triplets: The Billionaire Begs for Forgiveness, Chapter 46: Chapter 46. Read more chapters of Left at the Altar with His Triplets: The Billionaire Begs for Forgiveness.
I almost choked on my own saliva, patting my chest and coughing several times.
"Don't scare me." I rolled my eyes, "That's not what I meant. I mean you sent the children over without a word, and now Arnold has discovered them—what do you think we should do?"
"How do you want me to take responsibility?"
I thought about it and decided to put him to use.
"Help me investigate what Arnold's been up to lately. His behavior last night seemed like he discovered the children's existence but wasn't entirely sure, otherwise he wouldn't have left without asking anything. I feel uneasy, like something's not right."
"Fine."
"Also." I lowered my voice, leaning closer to the camera with a smile, "I remember you have an auction house in New York too, right?"
He leaned back on the sofa, raising an eyebrow, "Mm."
"Can I work there?"
"Love work that much?"
I pressed my lips together, not wanting to explain too much.
"Can't return to England for now, and I can't just idle around. I need to earn money to support the children."
And if it really came to fighting for custody, I couldn't be left without any cards to play.
"I'll arrange it."
"Thanks, boss."
He chuckled, his low husky voice carrying an enigmatic note: "This is the fourth time you've asked me for help. The fifth time I'll give you a surprise."
I smiled without warmth, "Can we... not?"
"No." His tone was deep, carrying his usual dominance and control.
I asked for nothing, rolling my eyes, "Fine, send me the address. I'll report in when I have time. Hanging up now."
After ending the call, I walked to the window, parted the curtains to look out—those two men were still at the door, motionless.
I frowned at my phone. It was about time—Clara should have boarded, and by my calculation, she'd arrive around noon.
I had to go pick her up.
"Ding." A new message popped up.
[Ravencourt Auctions, look for Ryan Smith when you get there.]
That was efficient.
I casually replied with an OK emoji.
If I remembered correctly, Ravencourt Auctions was currently New York's largest auction house, with extensive business covering jewelry, antiques, paintings, real estate...
But the current problem was: I couldn't get out.
Arnold's men were guarding the door—definitely couldn't leave through the front entrance.
I turned around, scanning the room, my gaze finally settling on—the window.
Walking to the window and pushing it open to look down, second floor, grass lawn below—fortunately not too high.
I bit my lip.
Perhaps... I could try escaping through the window.
I thought briefly, then changed into comfortable clothing and went downstairs to make a simple breakfast, taking it to the two children's room.
They were still fast asleep, their eyelashes fluttering, sleeping soundly like two little cats. I placed the breakfast on the nightstand, left a note, and didn't wake them.
Today I was just going to the auction house to report in, familiarize myself with the environment, then pick up Clara to discuss getting Elodie.
Go early, return early—wouldn't take too long.
Back in my room, I stared at the window contemplatively for two seconds, found a rope to tie to the bed leg, and threw the other end out the window. Standing at the window looking down, it was grass—no danger.
I took a deep breath and climbed out in one go.
Sigh, thinking about it made me feel pitiful—in my own home, having to climb through windows just to go out.
After landing safely, I dusted off my hands, straightened my clothes, and quickly left.
—
Ravencourt Auctions
I approached the front desk, speaking politely: "Hello, I'm Lacey, looking for Ryan Smith."
The receptionist was startled, "Do you have an appointment?"
"No, but you can call him. Just say Lacey is here, and he'll see me."
Her gaze lingered on the mask on my face for a few extra seconds, her expression slightly wary.
I was used to it—wearing a mask while working at auction houses, especially in unfamiliar settings, made me feel more secure.
She shook her head with a professional smile, "I'm sorry, please make an appointment first."
I patiently repeated, "Just tell him I'm the new auctioneer Lacey, and he really will see me."
Just as I finished speaking, a woman in high heels stopped nearby.
I turned to look, somewhat surprised.
It was Heatherin, my cousin. After five years, I hadn't expected to encounter her here.
Seeing her appear, the receptionist immediately became respectful: "Sister Heatherin, this lady claims to be a new auctioneer and insists on seeing Mr. Smith."
Heatherin raised an eyebrow, approached me, looked me up and down, her tone full of contempt, "You? A new auctioneer? Our company isn't even hiring. You're wearing a mask trying to sneak in—are you here to rob us? What are you waiting for? Kick her out."
"Don't scare me." I rolled my eyes, "That's not what I meant. I mean you sent the children over without a word, and now Arnold has discovered them—what do you think we should do?"
"How do you want me to take responsibility?"
I thought about it and decided to put him to use.
"Help me investigate what Arnold's been up to lately. His behavior last night seemed like he discovered the children's existence but wasn't entirely sure, otherwise he wouldn't have left without asking anything. I feel uneasy, like something's not right."
"Fine."
"Also." I lowered my voice, leaning closer to the camera with a smile, "I remember you have an auction house in New York too, right?"
He leaned back on the sofa, raising an eyebrow, "Mm."
"Can I work there?"
"Love work that much?"
I pressed my lips together, not wanting to explain too much.
"Can't return to England for now, and I can't just idle around. I need to earn money to support the children."
And if it really came to fighting for custody, I couldn't be left without any cards to play.
"I'll arrange it."
"Thanks, boss."
He chuckled, his low husky voice carrying an enigmatic note: "This is the fourth time you've asked me for help. The fifth time I'll give you a surprise."
I smiled without warmth, "Can we... not?"
"No." His tone was deep, carrying his usual dominance and control.
I asked for nothing, rolling my eyes, "Fine, send me the address. I'll report in when I have time. Hanging up now."
After ending the call, I walked to the window, parted the curtains to look out—those two men were still at the door, motionless.
I frowned at my phone. It was about time—Clara should have boarded, and by my calculation, she'd arrive around noon.
I had to go pick her up.
"Ding." A new message popped up.
[Ravencourt Auctions, look for Ryan Smith when you get there.]
That was efficient.
I casually replied with an OK emoji.
If I remembered correctly, Ravencourt Auctions was currently New York's largest auction house, with extensive business covering jewelry, antiques, paintings, real estate...
But the current problem was: I couldn't get out.
Arnold's men were guarding the door—definitely couldn't leave through the front entrance.
I turned around, scanning the room, my gaze finally settling on—the window.
Walking to the window and pushing it open to look down, second floor, grass lawn below—fortunately not too high.
I bit my lip.
Perhaps... I could try escaping through the window.
I thought briefly, then changed into comfortable clothing and went downstairs to make a simple breakfast, taking it to the two children's room.
They were still fast asleep, their eyelashes fluttering, sleeping soundly like two little cats. I placed the breakfast on the nightstand, left a note, and didn't wake them.
Today I was just going to the auction house to report in, familiarize myself with the environment, then pick up Clara to discuss getting Elodie.
Go early, return early—wouldn't take too long.
Back in my room, I stared at the window contemplatively for two seconds, found a rope to tie to the bed leg, and threw the other end out the window. Standing at the window looking down, it was grass—no danger.
I took a deep breath and climbed out in one go.
Sigh, thinking about it made me feel pitiful—in my own home, having to climb through windows just to go out.
After landing safely, I dusted off my hands, straightened my clothes, and quickly left.
—
Ravencourt Auctions
I approached the front desk, speaking politely: "Hello, I'm Lacey, looking for Ryan Smith."
The receptionist was startled, "Do you have an appointment?"
"No, but you can call him. Just say Lacey is here, and he'll see me."
Her gaze lingered on the mask on my face for a few extra seconds, her expression slightly wary.
I was used to it—wearing a mask while working at auction houses, especially in unfamiliar settings, made me feel more secure.
She shook her head with a professional smile, "I'm sorry, please make an appointment first."
I patiently repeated, "Just tell him I'm the new auctioneer Lacey, and he really will see me."
Just as I finished speaking, a woman in high heels stopped nearby.
I turned to look, somewhat surprised.
It was Heatherin, my cousin. After five years, I hadn't expected to encounter her here.
Seeing her appear, the receptionist immediately became respectful: "Sister Heatherin, this lady claims to be a new auctioneer and insists on seeing Mr. Smith."
Heatherin raised an eyebrow, approached me, looked me up and down, her tone full of contempt, "You? A new auctioneer? Our company isn't even hiring. You're wearing a mask trying to sneak in—are you here to rob us? What are you waiting for? Kick her out."
End of Left at the Altar with His Triplets: The Billionaire Begs for Forgiveness Chapter 46. Continue reading Chapter 47 or return to Left at the Altar with His Triplets: The Billionaire Begs for Forgiveness book page.