Left at the Altar with His Triplets: The Billionaire Begs for Forgiveness - Chapter 9: Chapter 9

I slowly looked up in that direction.
—It was her.
Victoria.
The woman I had tried not to mention.
Back then, Arnold loved her, and if I stepped aside, they could naturally be together.
Now that she'd become Mrs. Cavendish, it wasn't surprising.
I thought I wouldn't have any emotions about this, but seeing her familiar yet strange face, my chest still tightened.
Victoria was well-dressed with exquisite makeup. She gently set down her coffee, her gaze coldly sweeping over me.
She looked me up and down, her eyes showing undisguised disdain.
She spoke, her voice carrying a trace of condescending contempt: "You're Lacey? I heard you're not only an auctioneer but also appraise antiques? We want to hire you for a few days to come back to New York with us to examine some treasures. Name your price."
Victoria was confident that no one could refuse the five words "name your price," especially with the Cavendish family name—who hadn't heard of it?
She calmly picked up her coffee, waiting for me to flatter her.
But a cold feeling passed through my heart.
I did appraise antiques, but no matter what price they offered, I couldn't possibly agree.
I had left precisely to avoid any further contact with them—how could I possibly go back?
I looked at the manager. "I'm sorry, my profession is auctioneer. You can find someone else for antique appraisal—I can't do it. Manager, I have other matters to attend to."
I turned to leave.
Victoria clearly hadn't expected my refusal and stood there momentarily stunned.
"Wait!" She suddenly raised her voice. "Do you know who I am? You'd better think carefully before answering."
I stopped and looked back at her, my tone calm. "I'm very clear about who you are. My answer remains unchanged—I refuse."
"What's your attitude?" Victoria's tone became more aggressive. "I'm paying you to come back—what right do you have to refuse?"
As she spoke, she quickly walked over and grabbed my arm.
I frowned, looking down at the hand gripping me.
Then my pupils suddenly contracted.
Her wrist drooped slightly, and on her finger was an antique diamond ring—platinum setting, old European cut, a style no longer in production.
I would never mistake this diamond.
It was my family's heirloom ring.
It had belonged to my great-grandmother, passed down through generations, personally given to me by my mother.
When I left hastily, I couldn't take many things with me. I had thought that ring was put away safely, but now it was on Victoria's finger.
Arnold had given it to her?
What right did he have?
I stared at the ring, feeling ice-cold inside.
I grabbed her hand in return. "This diamond ring—is it yours?"
Victoria looked at me impatiently. "Of course it's mine. My husband gave it to me—who else's could it be?"
So Arnold had indeed given it to her.
I felt my chest constrict painfully, even breathing hurt.
That was something my mother left me, a token passed down through my family for generations.
How dare Arnold give it to another woman?
Before I could say more, a low, cold voice spoke:
"Let go."
I jerked my head up, my hand freezing, my breathing stopping.
—It was him.
Arnold!
I didn't know when he'd appeared in the office doorway, standing there with his gaze pinning me like nails.
He was tall with an intimidating presence, his face expressionless, but his eyes seemed to see through everything behind my mask.
My heart jolted.
Elodie hadn't been wrong—it was him.
If Victoria was here, Arnold would definitely be here too.
I should have realized.
I just hadn't expected to face him directly in this situation.
Five years.
I had left with three children precisely to avoid seeing him again.
But I had underestimated fate.
I knew the Cavendish family would never allow their bloodline to remain outside their control.
If Arnold discovered the children's existence, he would do everything possible to take them away.
And I absolutely could not be separated from my children.
So all these years, I had always worn a mask, avoiding all cameras and social occasions.
I lowered my head, trying to calm myself.
Victoria, however, adopted an innocent and aggrieved tone: "Arnold, I spoke nicely with this Miss Lacey, but she just won't come to New York—as if she looks down on us."
She turned to me, her tone colder: "You're the first person who dares to speak to the Cavendish family this way."
Arnold ignored her.
His gaze remained fixed on my face, his brow slightly furrowed.
He seemed to want to see my face clearly.
Then he suddenly spoke, his voice low and pressuring: "Name your price."