Love Drug Chapter 362: Charity or Combat

Summer gave a small nod.

"If I’d been there that night, I would’ve ripped that woman’s mouth apart before she even had the chance to cause trouble," Yvette muttered, shooting a dagger of a glare in Morgan’s direction. "Just wait. By the time we’re done, this entire ballroom will be watching her break down. Let’s see if her mommy can still cover for her. This is for my goddaughter!"

Summer’s hand drifted down, gently resting on her belly.

Just then, the emcee introduced the first auction item of the night.

Inside a crystal display case stood a jade necklace, gleaming a vivid emerald green under the spotlight. It sparkled like a drop of spring water, flawless and luminous.

Summer turned to Yvette. "Didn’t you wear something like that during a film shoot once? You loved it."

Yvette gave it a glance, admiring it for a moment—until her eyes landed on the price tag.

She liked it, sure. But the price? That was a whole other story.

There was still a world of difference between actresses and capitalists. Every dollar she had came from long, grueling days on set. Even now that she was dating Xavier, their finances weren’t exactly entangled.

Someone in the crowd called out a starting bid—eight million.

Summer lifted her paddle slowly. "Ten million."

"Twelve million!"

"Thirteen million!"

Summer raised her paddle again, voice calm. "Seventeen million."

The emcee lit up. "Seventeen million once, seventeen million twice… sold for seventeen million!"

"Congratulations to Mrs. Graham for winning the first featured piece of tonight’s auction!"

Yvette blinked. "Wait… is that for me?"

Summer smiled and nodded.

If they hadn’t been in public, Yvette might have jumped up and kissed her on the spot.

"Oh my god, baby girl, you’re gonna make me cry!"

Summer watched her gush with delight, then added offhandedly, "It’s Fraser’s money."

"Oh." Yvette’s excitement dimmed just a notch.

"So," Summer continued, "think you could delete that little recording from earlier?"

Yvette’s expression froze. "…"

Damn it!

Here she was, getting all emotional, and it was just a bribe from her bestie—on behalf of that smug man.

Traitor. Sellout. Shameless.

The charity auction rolled on, the atmosphere heating up with each item. The next one was unveiled with a sweep of red velvet, traditional landscape painting, intricately detailed and elegantly framed.

This painting had significant collector value—subtle brushwork, rich texture, and an unmistakable depth.

It was the exact piece Emelia had come for.

She leaned in and told Morgan, "Your grandfather’s had his eye on this for years. If we bring it home and you give it to him yourself, he’ll be touched. He’ll think you’re thoughtful and filial."

The emcee cleared his throat and called out, "Starting bid—five million."

Emelia didn’t hesitate. Paddle up. "Six million."

Almost immediately, someone called out, "Seven million."

Emelia raised again. "Eight million."

Most of the crowd wasn’t too interested—traditional scroll paintings usually appealed to older collectors, and tonight’s attendees skewed young and glamorous.

Just when Emelia thought the piece was hers…

Summer raised her paddle, calm and steady. "Ten million."

Emelia frowned. She calculated what she could afford, gritted her teeth, and raised again. "Eleven million."

Without skipping a beat, Summer went to twenty million.

Gasps rippled through the room.

People began to turn in their seats, murmuring with interest as the bidding war clearly turned personal.

Morgan’s eyes narrowed, rage churning in her chest. She could tell Summer was doing this on purpose, and that smug little look on her face made Morgan want to scream.

She yanked up her paddle. "Thirty million!"

Emelia nearly had a heart attack. "Morgan!"

Summer smiled faintly, raised her paddle again. "Fifty million."

This b*tch.

Morgan’s pride snapped like a rubber band. Her temper flared, her blood boiled.

She bit down her fury and shouted, "Sixty million!"

The emcee nearly bounced off the stage with excitement.

"Sixty million! Miss Morgan Harper has bid sixty million!"

Then, without even looking up, Summer’s voice rang out again—smooth, unfazed.

"Eighty million."

Eighty. Million.

The whole ballroom shifted in an instant. Everyone knew the painting wasn’t worth even a third of that.

Whispers exploded across the tables. Guests turned to one another in disbelief.

The auction had officially turned into a battle. And it was getting bloody.