Left at the Altar with His Triplets: The Billionaire Begs for Forgiveness - Chapter 63: Chapter 63
You are reading Left at the Altar with His Triplets: The Billionaire Begs for Forgiveness, Chapter 63: Chapter 63. Read more chapters of Left at the Altar with His Triplets: The Billionaire Begs for Forgiveness.
Early the next morning, after sending the three children to school, I went directly to the auction house.
Tomorrow was the auction—there was still much work to do.
I brought Emily to the warehouse to start checking the items that would go on stage tomorrow.
I walked quickly with determined strides, while Emily practically had to jog to keep up behind me.
She probably hadn't expected me to have this kind of presence.
I knew there had been much discussion outside these days—some saying I got in through connections, others saying I was just lucky.
And some said—I was actually hideous.
Emily secretly observed me. She couldn't see my face; I always wore a mask.
But I could tell she was also guessing.
Even if she couldn't see my true appearance, she couldn't deny—
I was the most suitable person here to stand on that stage.
I entered the password, and the warehouse door opened.
Tonight's auction items were displayed here. Every time I saw them, I felt a wonderful calm and excitement. The air was filled with the aged fragrance of antiques, time settled in the textures of these objects.
I walked over, carefully examining each piece.
Victorian silver candlesticks, Baroque porcelain sculptures, even a gilded frame from the Renaissance period.
All carefully arranged, with lighting from above casting warm reflections on the silver patterns.
I put on white gloves and carefully picked up an extremely intricate silver wine pot, weighing it in my hands while closely observing the engravings and patterns on the bottom. Emily handed me the organized materials.
The item documentation was extremely detailed—provenance, estimates, consignor's target prices... all crystal clear. I could remember everything with just a glance.
I never took these things lightly. After one round of inspection, I had memorized the starting prices and historical origins of every item for tonight.
Just as I was about to leave, I paused, my gaze falling on a transparent display case in the far corner.
Inside was an antique perfume bottle, a work from the Louis XV period of France. The bottle was cut crystal with gold inlay, the stopper in typical Rococo rose style.
I crouched down and squinted at it for a long time.
This thing looked perfect, but I sensed something was off.
I turned to Emily: "Open this display case."
She was startled but complied. I picked up the perfume bottle, examining the details even more carefully, my brow gradually furrow.
"Were all these auction items sent to the authentication department?" I asked.
"All authenticated."
"Any problems?"
"None." She answered decisively.
I shook my head, handing her the perfume bottle. "This bottle has problems. Contact the consignor immediately."
"Ah?" Emily was stunned. "Lacey, but these were all authenticated. The authentication department confirmed no problems..."
I removed my white gloves, my tone calm but firm: "This bottle is indeed hard to judge—you'd hardly notice without close examination. But I remember clearly—only three bottles of this style exist worldwide. This isn't one of those three."
Just as I finished speaking, cold laughter came from behind.
"Ha, Lacey, you say this bottle is fake and it's fake? Do you know the consequences of speaking carelessly?"
I turned around to see Heatherine slowly walking in with two people.
I frowned—I'd been trying to avoid direct confrontation with her, but she insisted on coming at me.
I didn't speak, just quietly watched her.
She sneered and stepped closer: "Emily, don't listen to her nonsense. I also checked this perfume bottle—no problems. Put it back, don't make a fool of yourself."
Emily looked at me, then at her, clearly conflicted.
I said indifferently: "Take it as I said, contact the consignor."
"Wait!" Heatherine blocked me, arms crossed, staring at me. "Didn't you hear what I just said?"
"I heard." I looked up at her. "But authentication means it can't be wrong? No one dares say that."
She laughed coldly: "So you're saying you're better than those professionals in authentication? They couldn't see problems, but you can spot them at a glance?"
I answered unhurriedly: "If you don't believe it, we can re-authenticate."
I didn't want to waste time with her and turned to leave, but she blocked me again.
"Wait." She raised an eyebrow at me. "You're certain this item has problems?"
"I'm certain." My voice was calm but unyielding.
I had seen one of the three real perfume bottles in someone's collection display case. Elodie had even played with it. This wasn't one of those three.
"Very good." She suddenly smiled, her gaze challenging. "Since you're so sure, do you dare make a bet with me?"
Tomorrow was the auction—there was still much work to do.
I brought Emily to the warehouse to start checking the items that would go on stage tomorrow.
I walked quickly with determined strides, while Emily practically had to jog to keep up behind me.
She probably hadn't expected me to have this kind of presence.
I knew there had been much discussion outside these days—some saying I got in through connections, others saying I was just lucky.
And some said—I was actually hideous.
Emily secretly observed me. She couldn't see my face; I always wore a mask.
But I could tell she was also guessing.
Even if she couldn't see my true appearance, she couldn't deny—
I was the most suitable person here to stand on that stage.
I entered the password, and the warehouse door opened.
Tonight's auction items were displayed here. Every time I saw them, I felt a wonderful calm and excitement. The air was filled with the aged fragrance of antiques, time settled in the textures of these objects.
I walked over, carefully examining each piece.
Victorian silver candlesticks, Baroque porcelain sculptures, even a gilded frame from the Renaissance period.
All carefully arranged, with lighting from above casting warm reflections on the silver patterns.
I put on white gloves and carefully picked up an extremely intricate silver wine pot, weighing it in my hands while closely observing the engravings and patterns on the bottom. Emily handed me the organized materials.
The item documentation was extremely detailed—provenance, estimates, consignor's target prices... all crystal clear. I could remember everything with just a glance.
I never took these things lightly. After one round of inspection, I had memorized the starting prices and historical origins of every item for tonight.
Just as I was about to leave, I paused, my gaze falling on a transparent display case in the far corner.
Inside was an antique perfume bottle, a work from the Louis XV period of France. The bottle was cut crystal with gold inlay, the stopper in typical Rococo rose style.
I crouched down and squinted at it for a long time.
This thing looked perfect, but I sensed something was off.
I turned to Emily: "Open this display case."
She was startled but complied. I picked up the perfume bottle, examining the details even more carefully, my brow gradually furrow.
"Were all these auction items sent to the authentication department?" I asked.
"All authenticated."
"Any problems?"
"None." She answered decisively.
I shook my head, handing her the perfume bottle. "This bottle has problems. Contact the consignor immediately."
"Ah?" Emily was stunned. "Lacey, but these were all authenticated. The authentication department confirmed no problems..."
I removed my white gloves, my tone calm but firm: "This bottle is indeed hard to judge—you'd hardly notice without close examination. But I remember clearly—only three bottles of this style exist worldwide. This isn't one of those three."
Just as I finished speaking, cold laughter came from behind.
"Ha, Lacey, you say this bottle is fake and it's fake? Do you know the consequences of speaking carelessly?"
I turned around to see Heatherine slowly walking in with two people.
I frowned—I'd been trying to avoid direct confrontation with her, but she insisted on coming at me.
I didn't speak, just quietly watched her.
She sneered and stepped closer: "Emily, don't listen to her nonsense. I also checked this perfume bottle—no problems. Put it back, don't make a fool of yourself."
Emily looked at me, then at her, clearly conflicted.
I said indifferently: "Take it as I said, contact the consignor."
"Wait!" Heatherine blocked me, arms crossed, staring at me. "Didn't you hear what I just said?"
"I heard." I looked up at her. "But authentication means it can't be wrong? No one dares say that."
She laughed coldly: "So you're saying you're better than those professionals in authentication? They couldn't see problems, but you can spot them at a glance?"
I answered unhurriedly: "If you don't believe it, we can re-authenticate."
I didn't want to waste time with her and turned to leave, but she blocked me again.
"Wait." She raised an eyebrow at me. "You're certain this item has problems?"
"I'm certain." My voice was calm but unyielding.
I had seen one of the three real perfume bottles in someone's collection display case. Elodie had even played with it. This wasn't one of those three.
"Very good." She suddenly smiled, her gaze challenging. "Since you're so sure, do you dare make a bet with me?"
End of Left at the Altar with His Triplets: The Billionaire Begs for Forgiveness Chapter 63. Continue reading Chapter 64 or return to Left at the Altar with His Triplets: The Billionaire Begs for Forgiveness book page.