Chapter 225

Serena's POV

I walked with Atticus toward the exit, trying not to show how relieved I was that my ankle felt better. Lucas might be infuriating sometimes, but I had to admit his impromptu physical therapy had worked - the sharp pain had dulled to a manageable ache.

"Look who's taking doctor's orders for once," Atticus said with that trademark smirk. He was referring to my surprisingly cooperative response to Lucas's *medical advice*, but it wasn't about following orders. I just knew when it was time to make a strategic retreat.

We'd made it halfway across the hall when one of the event coordinators intercepted us, tablet in hand. "Sir? Sorry to interrupt, but Mr. Thorne asking for you in the VIP lounge. Says it's urgent."

*Clarence Thorne.* I caught the slight tightening around Atticus's eyes.

"I can handle getting out of here," I said, keeping my voice casual. "Just have driver bring the car around."

He hesitated for a split second. "You sure?"

"Of course."

"I'll text driver to meet you out front," he said, already pulling out his phone. "Watch your step in those Louboutins."

"Always do."

As Atticus headed for the VIP section, I made my way to the entrance. But before I could reach the revolving doors, two security guards in tailored suits stepped forward.

"I apologize, Miss, but we have strict instructions. No guests are to leave until the conclusion of the evening's program."

I arched an eyebrow. I'd never encountered this kind of lockdown. Even for the Thornes, this was pushing it.

"All guests must remain until the formal closing," the guard continued smoothly. "House rules."

"Since when?" I kept my tone professionally neutral, though my patience was wearing thin.

"Tonight's announcements include market-sensitive information. Standard protocol requires all attendees remain present until the embargo lifts."

His corporate-speak didn't tell me whether this was legitimate or not. What it did tell me was that without Atticus's direct intervention, I was stuck here.

I retreated to the ballroom, where the charity auction was still going strong. Finding a quiet spot near a sculpture, I texted Atticus: "Security's got the place locked down. No early exits allowed."

Ten minutes and three ignored champagne trays later, he responded: "Give me 15."

"Copy that."

I settled in for the wait, maintaining my carefully cultivated expression of polite interest while watching the auction.

On stage, the auctioneer is showcasing a medieval ruby ring, his polished accent emphasizing its provenance and investment potential. The bidding starts rapid-fire, paddles rising across the room.

"Three hundred thousand."

"Three twenty-five."

"Three fifty."

"Half a million."

"Six hundred."

"Six twenty-five."

The elite's finest are out in force tonight, their competitive spirit rising with each bid.

"Eight hundred thousand!"

I don't need to look to recognize Lucas's voice cutting through the crowd.

"One million."

"One point two."

"One point three."

"One point five million," Lucas states with characteristic finality.

The room breaks into hushed murmurs. Even in Portland, where billion-dollar deals happen daily, no one wants to antagonize Lucas Harrington over a piece of jewelry. His reputation ensures that.

"One point five million going once!"

"Going twice!"

"Sold to Mr. Harrington! Please come forward to claim your winning piece."

I watch Lucas stride to the stage, his tuxedo impeccable as always. He accepts the ring with his usual grace, but before he can step away, the auctioneer clears his throat.

"Just a moment, Mr. Harrington." His eyes sparkle with rehearsed excitement. "I believe we have a special moment planned with Miss Thorne?"

Lucas's gaze finds Rachel in the crowd, her crimson gown catching the light. Her expression is pure anticipation.

I take another sip of champagne. *A proposal must be coming.* I thought with a wry smile.

"Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Miss Rachel Thorne to the stage." The auctioneer smoothly covers Lucas's silence.

Rachel ascends the stage with practiced poise and her captivating smile. "Don't keep us in suspense, Lucas," she says, her voice carrying just the right note of affectionate teasing.

Unconsciously, my nails press slightly harder against the crystal stem of my glass. Anxiety creeps in as my heart plummets.

But Lucas remains still, silent.

The uncomfortable pause stretches. I catch snippets of whispers from nearby socialites. Rachel's media-trained smile begins to waver.

"Lucas?" Her voice carries a hint of concern now, reminding him of their audience and the headlines that would follow any public rejection.

He finally seems to snap back to the present, turning to face her as he holds out the ring.

"Rachel..."

Rachel's eyes shimmer with tears - the perfect photo op for tomorrow's social columns.

"I..." Lucas starts, then falls into another lengthy silence.

"Yes." Rachel steps forward to embrace him, her movements graceful despite their suddenness. "We've known each other since high school and Harvard. All those summers in Edinburgh, winter breaks in London... Being together just makes sense. You don't need to say anything else. This is exactly what everyone's been hoping for."

I have to admire her crisis management skills. She's reframed his hesitation as emotional overwhelm, turning an awkward moment into romantic nostalgia.

Applause erupts as rose petals drift down from the ornate ceiling. It's strange - I was initially afraid of facing this situation, but now that I'm here, I feel surprisingly calm, just like any other day.

After their embrace, Lucas slides the ring onto Rachel's finger and addresses the crowd, "We'll be married on Valentine's Day at St. Patrick's Cathedral. You're all invited to celebrate with us."

The room explodes in congratulations, glasses raised in celebration.

Atticus appears suddenly at my elbow, blocking my view of the stage. "I'm sorry you had to witness that proposal, Serena."