My Husband Is a Million Years Old Vampire-Chapter 63

At that moment The auctioneer cleared his throat and raised his voice, "Thirty-five million dollars! Do we have anyone willing to bid higher?"

The moment those words left his lips, the entire hall erupted into laughter. It wasn’t just a few chuckles—it was an outright mockery of the very idea that someone could go beyond J12’s bid.

"Ah, come on! Just say sold already!" one man called out, shaking his head.

Another laughed, nudging his friend, "Who in their right mind would challenge the J12? That’s suicide!"

"Exactly," a woman whispered, her lips curving into an amused smirk. "The auctioneer should stop pretending. Everyone here knows it’s over!"

The room buzzed with murmurs and knowing glances. People were already accepting J12’s victory, some even applauding lightly, as if sealing the deal themselves.

Even the auctioneer, unable to hide his grin, nodded.

"Well then, since there are no further—"

Before he could finish, a voice sliced through the noise like a blade.

"Forty million dollars."

At that moment the hall went dead silent.

Eyes widened. Mouths hung open. Some people froze mid-clap.

The auctioneer’s hand, which had been gesturing toward J12, halted in midair.

A few people gasped audibly, their heads whipping toward the source of the impossible bid.

Raymond.

Seated calmly, his expression unreadable, he tilted his head slightly, as if his bid was the most natural thing in the world. His hand rested lightly on Valentina’s, as if reassuring her—or challenging the entire room. freёwebnoѵel.com

"Did... did he just say forty million?"

"I—I think he did," someone stammered.

"Impossible."

"Who the hell is this guy?"

People turned to each other, whispering frantically, their amusement instantly replaced by shock and unease.

One man who had mocked the idea of anyone bidding higher suddenly fell silent, his face twisting in confusion.

Even some J12’s representatives stiffened, their gaze narrowing toward Raymond.

Demian, who had been sulking in his seat, suddenly straightened up, his eyes darting between Raymond and the auctioneer. He looked sick.

Valentina, whose grip on Raymond’s hand had been gentle before, suddenly tightened.

Her heart pounded against her ribs.

"Raymond... what are you doing?" she whispered, her voice barely audible.

"Forty million?!"

Then Raymond turned his head slightly, meeting her gaze. His eyes held no hesitation.

He leaned in closer, his voice calm and deliberate.

"Keeping my promise."

The room felt like it had just been hit by a sudden storm—a silent yet devastating wave of disbelief. Forty million.

Eyes darted from Raymond to the auctioneer, then to Dorian Lancaster, as if expecting him to strike down this madness with a single word.

The silence was thick, stretching uncomfortably long, until whispers started rising from every corner of the room again.

"Did he just—"

"He really said forty?"

"Who the hell is this guy?"

"That’s more than most second -class families make in a year!"

Murmurs of speculation turned into hushed arguments, some skeptical, others genuinely entertained by the sheer absurdity of the situation.

At that moment Dorian Lancaster, a man who had barely acknowledged anyone all evening, finally tilted his head slightly, his gaze settling on Raymond with faint curiosity—nothing more, nothing less. A predator sizing up prey.

But that alone was enough to unnerve the room.

Damien, who had been grinding his teeth in frustration, suddenly smirked. The moment was golden.

He straightened his suit and stood up deliberately slow, making sure all eyes were on him.

His voice, calm yet laced with amusement, cut through the noise.

"Alright, that’s enough. Let’s all calm down, shall we?"

His tone was condescending—like an older brother scolding a reckless child.

Then he turned to Raymond, his expression one of forced patience, though the flicker of malice in his eyes was impossible to miss.

"Raymond, my friend... do you actually know what you’re doing?"

The crowd hushed, some exchanging eager glances.

Damien took another step forward, as if the distance between them alone would make his words hit harder.

"You see, I get it. We all do. You’re trying to prove something. Trying to make yourself look important. Maybe even impress your wife. But let me ask you... are you sure you can afford this?"

Then he chuckled softly, shaking his head.

"Because I’d hate to see this turn into an embarrassment. Not just for you, but for your wife as well. Poor Valentina... she already had enough to deal with before, and now she has to watch you dig a hole even deeper?"

Immediately gasps rippled through the crowd. Some started nodding in agreement, others simply enjoyed the show, waiting for Raymond’s reaction.

"Look around you," Damien gestured toward the J12 representatives. "They’re not even bothering to argue with you. Do you know why?"

He smirked.

"Because you’re beneath them."

At that moment Laughter erupted from certain sections of the room—low, knowing laughter.

Damien wasn’t just trying to shame Raymond—he was trying to paint him as a fool, a joke, a man who didn’t know his place.

And if Valentina saw that, she might finally see reason to leave.

The perfect opportunity to break Raymond’s image had arrived.

He then moved some step closer his movements was slow and calculated, his smirk stretching wider as he took in the expressions around him.

"Raymond," he called out, voice laced with ridicule, "do you even know what you’re talking about?"

A few chuckles followed, some from those who already knew where this was headed, others simply eager for the unfolding drama.

Damien took another step forward, closer now, his sharp gaze locking onto Raymond.

"Forty million?" He scoffed. "Are you forgetting the rules of this country? Or are you just playing dumb for effect?"

The room quieted slightly, curiosity piqued.

"For anyone to pay over thirty-five million in a single transaction, their company or family must own a bank. A. Bank."

His voice stressed the last word, as if Raymond was too slow to comprehend it.

"And you—" Demian gestured toward Raymond, his smirk growing sharper, "you don’t even dream of having one. Hell, nobody even knows where you’re from or what you really do."

At that moment the murmurs returned, this time sharper, more accusing.

Then Damien turned slightly, addressing the audience now, feeding into their growing skepticism.

"See, it’s all part of his little game. He wants to make it seem like he tried. Like he actually put up a fight for Valentina."

He shook his head, chuckling.

"But the truth is, he’s bluffing. We all know he can’t pay that amount. He just wants Valentina to think he did his best."

Then his gaze returned to Raymond, challenging him, daring him to react.

"Tell me, Raymond..." his smirk deepened, "do you really have forty million?"

The room went still.

All eyes were on Raymond.