Revenge of the Billionaire Heiress

Arabella

"Tell me you've spiked your champagne," Ava whispered from behind her glass, eyes sparkling.

Arabella didn't turn around.

"I haven't needed to. This room is drunk on itself."

Emily slid into the seat beside her, her gown shimmering like ocean glass. "And yet you're still the sharpest thing in it."

Arabella gave a small smile, though her eyes stayed on the crowd.

Her girls had arrived late, deliberately. Fashionably chaotic in color, sound, and charm. Dorothy waved from across the room, already deep in conversation with one of the trustfund babies.

Her girls were her oxygen. Her anchor in rooms that felt so tight she found it hard to breath. Lately the lifestyle of a princess felt more like a chore to her.

"Well," Ava leaned in. "Did your date say anything tonight that didn't sound pre-approved by his PR rep?"

Arabella laughed under her breath. "He tried. Failed."

Emily tilted her head. "He's watching you, you know. The whole night."

"I know."

"And not like a man in love," Ava added. "Like a man afraid of losing leverage."

Arabella's expression didn't change. But her fingers tightened slightly around her glass.

The Wintour ballroom hummed with orchestral jazz and high-stakes conversation. Her father, Leonard Sinclair, stood near the central bar surrounded by diplomats and old family allies. Her brothers Hudson, Grant and Parker, mingled with controlled ease, looking like a walking Ralph Lauren spread.

In the course of the night, Preston had found his way back to her, he sat beside her trying to make meaningless conversations but she everything just seemed to bounce in her ears.

Arabella felt it before she saw it.

The air had changed tightened like an inhale that wasn't hers. Conversations faltered, laughter turned quieter. Eyes, even the most jaded ones in the room, shifted in his direction.

He didn't walk in like he belonged. He walked in like he didn't care if he did.

Dressed in an immaculately cut black Tom Ford suit, his presence was precise, minimalist, and cold. no tie, no visible emotion, no need for performance.

He didn't smile. He didn't look around.

He simply existed in his own orbit aloof and deliberate.

Preston visibly tensed beside her. Arabella could feel the shift in his posture, the flare of competitive discomfort. Ashton walked past their table paying them no mind.

"I didn't think he'd come," Preston muttered.

Sure knows how to make an entrance," Arabella murmured, eyes still scanning the crowd.

Her friends were already buzzing.

Ava leaned across the table, eyes wide. "Okay, so that's what quiet power looks like."

Emily smirked. "He didn't even glance our way. That's either incredibly rude or incredibly hot."

Dorothy appeared with a flute of champagne. "Ashton Kingsley just ignored me mid-sentence. I've never been more aroused."

Arabella didn't laugh.

Preston scoffed.

She watched him and observed the way he barely acknowledged anyone. A nod to Grant, a quiet toast with her father. Polite short conversations with few people.

But her? Not even a glance.

She didn't know why it always irked her the way he ignored her and never made a conversation with her,

He always treated her like she was invisible and she knew she was not.

Maybe that's why she was always drawn to his presence in a room.

She decided not to ponder on any member of the Kingsley family but instead enjoy her night.

The night had been flawless so far. The Wintour Fundraiser glowed in candlelight and wealth, every inch of the Metropolitan Club polished to perfection. The silent auction was well underway bids climbing on everything from original sketches from legendary designers, first-edition art books, custom gowns sewn live during Fashion Week, and an antique piano once played by a royal mistress.

Arabella watched it unfold with detached amusement, fingers lightly tracing the stem of her glass.

Anna Wintour sat at the front of the room, dressed in pewter-gray Dior, surrounded by hand-picked elite. Her diamond collar shimmered beneath the soft lighting like a crown.

Arabella had already greeted her earlier, kissing both cheeks like a niece greeting an aunt.

The auction kept on going more items were being bidded on

A jeweled Fabergé brooch from 1898, once owned by a Romanian countess.

a gold-leafed medical ledger from 1712, the earliest known collection of obstetric diagrams in Europe.

a set of Venetian crystal perfume bottles from the 1800s, each hand-blown and sealed with rubies.

Arabella watched as paddles rose and fell, her gaze cool and assessing.

She bid once on a French writing desk but let it go. No point buying what she wouldn't even use.

Until Lot 18 was unveiled.

A velvet tray held a Cartier choker—circa 1926. Rose-gold latticework, rimmed in obsidian and moonstone, said to have been a secret commission for a Parisian mistress of a British king. One-of-a-kind. Power in gemstone form.

Arabella sat forward, eyes catching the light.

"Starting bid: $100,000."

Her paddle rose immediately. "One hundred."

Across the room: "One-twenty."

Serena. Her rival as usual wanting to play tug of war with her, she had ignored her presence all night, but it seemed Serena was hell bent on making sure arabella noticed her tonight.

Arabella didn't hesitate. "One-fifty."

"Two hundred," Serena countered, voice light and lazy.

"Two-fifty," Arabella replied, smiling thinly.

Gasps and murmurs swept the room. The crowd was invested now not in the necklace, but in the showdown. Everyone in their circles knew about the rivalry between the two of them.

"Three hundred," Serena said, slowly raising her paddle.

Arabella's voice rang like crystal. "Three-fifty."

Serena lifted her glass, raising her brow. "Four."

The room was electric. Arabella didn't blink. "Four-fifty."

Before Serena could speak—

"One million," Preston called from beside Arabella.

Silence.

The auctioneer, stunned, looked around. "One million confirmed. Going once... twice... sold."

Applause erupted.

Arabella's blood turned to ice.

Preston turned to her, grinning like a fool. "Didn't want things to get messy. Figured I'd settle it for you."

Her stare could have turned water to ice . "You just embarrassed me."

"What?"

"That was my moment. You took it from me. Like I needed you to save me."

"I was trying to end the drama," he said, voice lower. "It's just a necklace."

"No," Arabella snapped. "It's power. Something you clearly don't understand how to handle."

Preston stepped back, flustered. "You're being overdramatic."

Arabella didn't answer. She turned her head just in time to see Serena blowing her a mocking kiss.