My Coldhearted Husband'S Regret novel Chapter 110

110 Whispers of Wealth and Neglect

Her words died as a noticeable hush fell over the room. All heads turned toward the

entrance,

“Do you think he even knows we’re here?” Chloe asked during a brief intermission, echoing my thoughts.

Chloe frowned. “You’re still Elara Vance, brilliant Al developer and co–founder of YodaVision. That’s who you are, not just someone’s wife.”

The usher led Damien and Vivienne to prime seats in the center of the front row. Vivienne’s laughter carried through the room as she settled beside him, her hand possessively on his arm. Damien’s lips curved in a smile I rarely saw directed at me. A murmur ran through the crowd. People were noticing our quiet battle now. Damien leaned closer to her, saying something I couldn’t hear. Vivienne laughed, placing her hand on his chest in a gesture of intimate familiarity.

“Let’s go,” I said to Chloe as the auctioneer announced the end of the evening. “I’ve got what I came for.”

“That was deliberate,” Chloe fumed. “She outbid you just because she could.”

Vivienne turned again, this time making deliberate eye contact before announcing, “Two hundred thousand dollars.”

He stood tall and commanding in his perfectly tailored tuxedo. But it wasn’t just his presence that silenced the crowd–it was the woman on his arm.

I shrugged, feigning indifference. “It doesn’t matter where we sìt.”

“He’s probably just wondering what Damien Thorne’s wife is doing in the cheap seats while her husband lavishes attention on another woman,” I said, unable to k the bitterness from my voice.

But it did matter. Not the books themselves, but what they represented. Vivienne had the means–Damien’s means–to take whatever she wanted, including things she knew I desired. The casual cruelty of it stung more than I cared to admit.

“I heard he bought her the matching earrings too,” her companion added.

110 Whispers of Wealth and Neglect

“Custom–designed by Cartier.”

The auction began with a series of exotic vacation packages. I half–listened as the auctioneer’s rapid–fire delivery drove up prices. Vivienne’s red dress remained a bright spot in my peripheral vision, impossible to ignore completely.

“Did you see that necklace?” a woman behind us whispered loudly. “Must have cost at least half a million.”

“You didn’t mention he would be here,” Chloe hissed.

The auctioneer announced a rare first–edition collection of classic literature. I sat straighter, my interest piqued. Clara had mentioned wanting to expand her antiquarian book collection. This could be perfect.

The auction continued. I bid on and won a vintage Art Deco jewelry box for Clara, though it lacked the significance of the books. Throughout the evening, I felt Damien’s absence of acknowledgment like a physical weight. Not once did he glance in my direction, not once did he seem aware of my presence.

Once, I had dreamed of being that woman beside him. Now, I just wanted to finish what I came for and leave.

I focused on my auction catalog, pretending not to hear as they continued discussing Damien’s extravagant gifts to Vivienne. I’d long ago stopped expecting such gestures for myself.

I hesitated, paddle halfway raised. She must have known I wanted this lot. But how? “The man two rows ahead keeps looking at you,” Chloe whispered.

I glanced around discreetly. Several guests were indeed watching us with curious eyes. Some recognized Chloe–her family name carried weight in these circles–but their gazes lingered on me with obvious question.

“That man is looking at you again,” Chloe noted, nodding discreetly toward the gentleman she’d pointed out earlier.

I was a ghost in my own marriage, and it was time to move on.

“Who is she?” I heard someone murmur. “Isn’t that Damien Thorne’s wife?”

Chloe squeezed my arm. “Elara, that’s getting steep for some books.”

110 Whispers of Wealth and Neglect

“Ex–wife soon,” another voice corrected.

I smiled at her loyalty but knew better. In gatherings like this, I was defined by my connection to Damien Thorne–a connection that was fraying with each passing day.

“One hundred thirty thousand,” I said, keeping my voice steady.

Chloe looked unconvinced but dropped the subject as the auctioneer approached the podium. My gaze drifted back to Damien and Vivienne. They made a striking couple- both beautiful, powerful, commanding attention without effort. The kind of couple people envied and aspired to be.

“Not for much longer,” I reminded her. “Besides, I’m only here to find something for

Clara.”

My fingers tightened around my clutch. “I didn’t know.”

“Or appreciating how gorgeous you look tonight,” Chloe countered.

“Next item: a complete first–edition set of Jane Austen novels, leather–bound and in pristine condition. We’ll start the bidding at fifty thousand dollars.”

As we stood to leave, I felt a peculiar sense of resolution washing over me. Seeing Damien and Vivienne together tonight–so openly, so naturally–made one thing abundantly clear: in Damien’s world, I had become invisible. Not even worth the courtesy of acknowledgment.

Vivienne looked stunning in a scarlet gown that clung to her curves before cascading to the floor in a dramatic train. Diamonds glittered at her throat and wrists, catching the light with every graceful movement. She was radiant, confident, everything I was

not.

“This is bullshit,” Chloe muttered. “We’re stuck in mediocre seats while they hold court like royalty.”

This time when our eyes met, he inclined his head slightly in greeting. I returned the gesture automatically, then turned away.

The jump was excessive, designed to intimidate. Around us, people murmured and stared. This was no longer about the books–it was a power play.

I watched as Damien bent to whisper something in Vivienne’s ear, his hand resting casually on her lower back. “If he does, he doesn’t care.”

110 Whispers of Wealth and Neglect

“Probably trying to place who I am,” I said.

“One hundred ten thousand,” I countered.

“They’re for Clara,” I explained. They were also now a matter of principle.

Chloe rolled her eyes. “We could have been front row if your husband had bothered to

“One hundred twenty thousand,” Vivienne responded immediately.

“Two hundred thousand going once, going twice…” The auctioneer’s gavel fell. “Sold to Ms. Dubois!”

I glanced up briefly, catching the eye of a distinguished–looking gentleman in his fifties. He smiled politely before turning back to the auction.

The St. Regis ballroom sparkled with crystal chandeliers and polished marble. I smoothed down my midnight blue gown, elegant but understated compared to the opulence surrounding us.

Vivienne’s triumphant smile burned into my vision as she accepted congratulations from those around her. Damien’s expression remained impassive, but he nodded approvingly at her victory.

Elara’s POV

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