THEY LAUGHED AT HIS WHEELCHAIR—UNTIL HE STOOD UP AND BOUGHT THE ENTIRE ROOM!

"What is the meaning of this?!" Chad roared, his face contorting into an ugly mask of rage. He pointed violently at the back of the room. "Croft! Why is a waitress holding paddle number one?! She’s a paid servant! Security, tackle that fraud and throw her out!"

Two burly security guards in dark suits moved toward Isabella, but before they could take three steps, four towering men dressed in tactical black bespoke suits emerged from the VIP wing. Their earpieces were linked, their hands held close to concealed holsters, their presence exuding lethal military precision.

They stood in front of Isabella and Ethan like an impenetrable iron wall.

"Step back," the lead operative, a scarred man named Briggs, growled. The venue security froze, instantly recognizing former tier-one military contractors.

Julian Croft stared at his digital console on the podium. His hands began to shake violently. The numbers on his terminal had turned gold.

"The... the bid is valid," Croft stammered into the microphone, his aristocratic composure shattering into panic. "The funds... five hundred million dollars in certified liquid treasury notes have just cleared the escrow account. Paddle 001 is active."

"That’s impossible!" Brooke shrieked, clutching Chad’s lapel. "She doesn't have five hundred dollars, let alone five hundred million! Who is funding that paddle?!"

"Paddle 001," Croft read from the encrypted display, his voice cracking, "belongs to the primary sovereign shareholder of Vance Enterprises. Known only as... 'Mr. V'."

A suffocating tension descended upon the Grand Ballroom. The air felt thick, heavy with impending doom. Chad’s heart pounded against his ribs. He turned his gaze slowly toward the back of the room.

Ethan Vance sat quietly in his wheelchair beneath the shadow of the velvet curtains.

"Ethan?" Brooke muttered, her voice dropping into a pit of cold dread. "No. No, he's ruined. Chad, tell me he's ruined! You said you bought his debt! You said his doctors declared his spine destroyed!"

"He is ruined!" Chad snarled, though a cold bead of sweat was now sliding down his neck. "He’s a helpless cripple! He couldn't even stand up to stop me from taking his woman or his money!"

At that exact moment, the grand clock in the foyer began to chime.

*Bong.*

Midnight had arrived.

Ethan looked down at his watch, clicked the chronograph reset button, and sighed softly. He looked up at Isabella, who was standing beside him, wide-eyed but calm.

"Isabella," Ethan said softly. "Would you be kind enough to step back just a few inches?"

"Of course, Mr. Vance," she whispered.