Chapter 8: Rival

“Elon..”

My legs weakened. I propped my hand at the sink for support, and drew a deep breath as I tried to compose myself. “Elon is my son,” I countered, a bit firmly, meeting her scornful gaze. “I did not say anything about your relationship with Damian, but do not think you can take my son away from me.”

For twenty years, my goals revolved around achieving the same things Elizabeth did. I respected her a lot, envied her, made her my role model, even tried to follow her footsteps, except it wasn't very hard because she naturally had that star quality, and a mere imitation like me wouldn't be able to copy that. It wasn't until I was twenty-one that I realized our differences; appreciated who I grew up to be.

I started to feel less inferior. I began to have friends who thought I was amazing, and they made me believe I didn't have to be as good as anyone, because I had a great talent and other traits I should be more proud of. Maybe that was the starting point of this huge wall between us— I didn't even notice there was already a growing disparity deep enough for this to happen to us.

I didn't think Elizabeth would be able to do that to me.

"Elon's mine, too." Elizabeth took a stand at what she said, further provoking me.

"You only carried Elon for nine months. But he was mine— by genetic and legal arrangement." I swallowed hard. "I might have allowed Damian to slip away from me, but Elon is another story." I countered, firm enough to let her know I wasn't going to always let her have her way.

Elizabeth leered at me. “Eleanor... just wait and see."

My lips pursed. I wanted to say more, but I held back, and stood still as I watched her turn her back on me. My shoulders slumped down in angst. Her stilettos clicked on the floor, each step matching the loud beat of my heart. I gripped the sink tighter, and reached my face using my trembling hand.

Left with Elizabeth’s parting words sharply echoing in my head, I spent more than twenty minutes trying to recollect myself, before I walked out the comfort room to go back to the hall.

“Eleanor! I’ve been looking for you everywhere!”

I came across Mike on my way back. He was quick to approach me with a delightful smile, showing almost all of his upper teeth. I immediately smelled his warm, musky scent as his black suit brushed my arm.

“I was retouching my make-up.” I let out a fake smile and put my eyes in front, unable to match his energy. “How are the paintings? I hope there’s something that resonates with you.”

“A glance and I could tell they’re made by you. They are so you, Eleanor.”

“Hmm. What do you mean, they’re so me?”

“I don’t think you’d understand even if I tell you.”

I saw from my peripheral vision that he light shook his head, which what pulled my head to take a glimpse of him. “I created them like they’re a part of me, in every color and stroke. But I feel curious about what you mean.”

“The honesty, rawness. It’s like a replica of your soul—beautifully unguarded.” He looked at me, as if he wanted to know if I get it.

I nodded, and my fake smile slowly started to turn real. “What about giving you one for free? As my token of appreciation.”

“What do you take me for? I can buy it triple the price now, Eleanor. If you’re going to give me something, it has to be something that cannot be bought with money.” He chuckled, looking at me meaningfully as we got closer to the hall.

“So, you charge a high price.” My smile widened. “What do you want?”

He bit his lip and looked away. “Elon probably wouldn’t allow it, so just ask me again next time.”

I didn’t mind his vague response and just continued walking with him. When we got back, it was the fourth painting. Though still burdened with what Elizabeth told me, I did my best to compose myself by avoiding contact with them.

I brought Mike to the table where I was designated, even introduced him to some people I know. We shared a few topics about what happened to us after college, until the tenth painting; an artwork displaying chronic pain. It was a year-old painting that had won two awards.

I’d say this was the hardest to let go. It was one of my most significant paintings, a piece that absorbed what I didn’t have the chance to release—but that was the point of this auction. To show how genuine we were with the fundraiser to support my father’s charity.

“Fifty million.” Mike was the first to bid, but was immediately followed by another for two-hundred million.

“Three hundred and ten million.”

“Three hundred and fifty million.”

“Five hundred million.”

All eyes turned to Mike after his half-a-billion bid. Even my dad and I, were beside him. Muttering engulfed the whole area, definitely intrigued by Mike, and that caused a bit of an uproar.

“You didn’t have to do that,” I told Mike, still astounded by what he did.

“Going once…” the host announced in glee. “Going twice…”

Mike looked over me, his lip curling into a grin. “I told you, I can buy it triple his price.”

Is he showing off?

The painting was sold to Mike. The auction continued, but I was still caught off guard by Mike’s stunt. My dad, who rarely ever praised someone, called him a stand-up guy, and I honestly agreed.

After all the paintings were sold, I was asked to be on stage by the host. My dad made the closing remark, thanking all the guests, before the host took over to give the instructions about how they could claim their piece.

I didn’t wait further and bid goodbye to dad and Mike. It was already midnight. I didn’t even call Alicia to get changed and straight up removed my jewelry to put it inside my bag as I strode towards the parking lot.

Some were already leaving, too. But it was a bit dark, and I was almost certain I wouldn’t be recognized, so I didn’t mind them and just headed to my car.

To my surprise, he was there.

I was taken aback for a few seconds.

“How did you get in?” I tried to be as calm as possible.

“You brought Mike…” He spoke with a chilling edge, dodging my question.

I heaved a breath and hopped in the driver's seat. “He wanted to come.”

“And you couldn’t say no?” he spat back, piercing me with his warning eyes. “I was there, Eleanor. Did you not think of what others might say?”

“Why?” My brows furrowed. I looked back at him straight in the eye without the intention of backing down. It was a long night. Honestly, if it hadn’t for Mike, I wouldn’t have survived. “What is it to you, Damian?”