Chapter 19: The French Rival

The launch party for "Vera's Spring Collection" was the talk of the town.

The grand ballroom was decorated with thousands of white lilies. Serenity stood in the center, wearing a shimmering silver gown that she designed herself. She looked ethereal, like a goddess descended from the moon.

Jackson stood beside her, his hand firmly placed on the small of her back. He was acting as her shield, glaring at any man who dared to stare at his wife for too long.

"Relax, Jackson," Serenity whispered, pinching his arm. "You look like you want to murder the guests."

"I'm just guarding my treasure," Jackson muttered, sipping his champagne.

Suddenly, a commotion broke out near the entrance.

"Mon Dieu! It's Ryan Laurent!"
"The Prince of Paris fashion is here?"

The crowd parted. A man walked in.

He was the complete opposite of Jackson. While Jackson was dark and dangerous, Ryan was like sunlight. He had golden-brown hair, gentle blue eyes, and wore a white tuxedo. He carried himself with an effortless, aristocratic elegance.

Serenity's eyes widened. "Ryan!"

Ryan saw her. His face lit up with a tender smile.

"Ma chérie! My Muse!" Ryan opened his arms and walked towards her, ignoring everyone else.

He stepped right into Jackson's territory.

Ryan took Serenity's hand and leaned in to kiss her cheeks—a standard French greeting.

But before his lips could touch her skin, a large hand grabbed his shoulder.

Jackson yanked Ryan back, forcefully but with a fake smile.

"Mr. Laurent," Jackson said, his voice cold as ice. "In America, we don't touch other people's wives."

Ryan straightened his suit, not intimidated. He looked at Jackson calmly. "And in France, we greet friends with warmth, Mr. Sterling. You must be the... ex-husband?"

"Current husband," Jackson corrected sharply, pulling Serenity against his chest. "We never signed the divorce papers."

Sparks flew between the two men. One was fire, the other was water.

"Is that so?" Ryan smiled faintly, turning his gaze back to Serenity. "Serenity, I'm so proud of you. Your designs are magnificent. Just like you."

"Thank you for coming, Ryan," Serenity said awkwardly, feeling Jackson's grip tighten on her waist.

"I am here to support you," Ryan said softy. "Whatever you need, I am here."

"She needs nothing from you," Jackson interrupted.

The tension was broken by the host announcing the start of the Charity Auction. The highlight of the night was Serenity's masterpiece: The Tear of the Ocean necklace.

The auction began.

"Starting bid: One million dollars!"

"Two million!"
"Three million!"

The guests were excited. But suddenly, a gentle voice silenced the room.

"Ten million dollars," Ryan Laurent raised his paddle. He looked at Serenity. "I want to buy this to commemorate our time in Paris."

The crowd gasped. Ten million! That was way above the market value.

Serenity was touched. Ryan was trying to boost her reputation.

"Eleven million," a dark voice spoke next to her. Jackson didn't even raise his paddle. He just spoke.

Ryan looked at Jackson. "Twelve million."

"Twenty million," Jackson countered instantly.

The room went dead silent. Everyone looked back and forth between the two men. This wasn't an auction anymore. It was a war.

"Twenty-five million," Ryan frowned slightly. "Mr. Sterling, are you trying to sabotage the auction? Serenity needs real supporters."

"Thirty million," Jackson smirked, arrogant and dominant. "I am her biggest supporter. I don't need another man paying for my wife's success."

Ryan hesitated. Thirty million was an irrational price for a necklace. As a businessman, he couldn't justify it.

"Fifty million dollars!" Jackson shouted the final number.

Boom.

The crowd exploded. Fifty million!

Jackson looked at Ryan's defeated expression with satisfaction. He leaned over to the microphone on the stage.

"Sold. To Mr. Jackson Sterling."

He picked up the necklace from the display case. He didn't put it in a box. Instead, he walked behind Serenity and fastened it around her neck.

The cold sapphires rested against her warm skin.

"It looks better on you than in a box," Jackson whispered in her ear, loud enough for Ryan to hear. "Everything you make, I will buy. Every dream you have, I will fund. You don't need a French Prince, Serenity. You have a King."

Serenity touched the necklace, her heart racing.

She looked at Ryan, who gave her a sad, resigned smile. He knew he had lost. Not because he had less money, but because he saw the way Serenity looked at Jackson.

Even though she was angry, even though she was blushing... her eyes were only on Jackson.