Chapter 15

Emma blinked at Eleanor's comeback, caught off guard for just a moment.

Lose? The idea seemed absurd. But with so many eyes on her, retreat wasn't an option.

Grinding her teeth, she puffed herself up and announced loudly, "Fine! If I lose, I'll apologize to you in front of everyone. And more than that-I'll cover the cost of every guest's minor purchases tonight. All of them, on me!"

Gasps rippled through the onlookers, their eyes gleaming with sudden interest.

Each individual purchase might have been capped at a hundred thousand, but taken together, the total could easily skyrocket into a staggering sum. The Todd girl was indeed rolling in money. Eleanor arched a brow, amused by Emma's recklessness. With the faintest smirk tugging at her lips, she answered coolly, "Deal."

Wasting no time, she motioned toward the staff member who had argued with her earlier.

"Open the case," she instructed.

The man hesitated only briefly before producing a key and unlocking the display. If Emma was willing to shoulder the consequences, why should he be the one to worry?

From her bag, Eleanor took out a pair of immaculate silk gloves, slipping them on with practiced ease.

After sliding the gloves snugly onto her hands,Eleanor reached into the display case with deliberate care, lifting Roses in Bloom under the unblinking stares of the onlookers.

She took a closer look at the painting, and a faint crease formed between her brows.

Her suspicion deepened-it wasn't linen canvas. To confirm, she took off one of her gloves and touched the canvas.

A wave of gasps broke through the hall. Was she insane? Who dared touch a Rafael Turner piece so boldly?

Emma's jaw dropped at first, but her shock quickly twisted into smug delight. "You've just sealed your fate, Eleanor," she sneered. "That painting is worth $2 billion. You couldn't afford it. And don't even think about crawling to Jonny for help. Our family doesn't bankroll fools who overreach."

Eleanor didn't flinch. Her gaze cut to Emma for a brief moment before sweeping past her to address the watching crowd.

"You might want to reconsider your words," Eleanor said evenly. "Anyone familiar with Rafael Turner knows he swore by linen canvas. The line canvas is famous for its strength and ability to withstand wear and tear. Its smooth surface allows for detailed brushwork. But this piece? The surface is rough, the weave loose. It's definitely not linen canvas." The audience instinctively leaned closer, eyes narrowing to study the canvas for themselves.

Sure enough, the surface looked coarse.

Everyone knew-even the most celebrated painters-reserved linen canvas for their creations.

The thought of Rafael, a man of such stature, using cheap canvas for a masterpiece was laughable.

Emma's smug expression faltered as she caught the murmurs, but she quickly forced herself into composure.

"Perhaps Rafael was struck with sudden inspiration,"she insisted, lifting her chin. "Maybe he grabbed whatever canvas was within reach. Genius doesn't wait for perfect tools."

Eleanor gave Emma a look so dismissive it was as if she were humoring a child. Then, with calm authority she addressed the crowd instead.

"Historical records show that Rafael's wife adored green roses, and he painted countless masterpieces of them for her. Yet look closely: this work depicts a red rose. More importantly, see the date inscribed in the corner? According to every biography, Rafael's wife had already passed away by then. He was so consumed with grief that he never painted roses again. He laid down his brush forever."

At her words, the crowd surged closer, necks straining to catch a glimpse of the small inscription in the corner.

Those standing nearest squinted, then straightened in shock.

"She's right-it's there!"

"The date doesn't line up at all!"