The Return of the Cannon Fodder Trillion Heiress - Chapter 834

Chapter 834: Chapter 834 Fate
The highest amount she offered was $300,000—for a hauntingly beautiful painting of a blind folded angel with six wings, its hand delicately holding a red thread that resembled flowing blood more than mere string.

Not long after the silent auction concluded, the staff collected all the bidding boxes to tally the results. About an hour later, just after sunset, they returned holding the final list of winners and handed it to the MC. Standing beside the MC was Andrew, and in that moment, Hera finally realized the truth. Andrew was the artist behind this incredible art gallery.

She was stunned.

Her mind immediately replayed every interaction she’d had with him, anxiously wondering if she had ever said anything embarrassing or offensive. When she was certain she hadn’t, she let out a quiet sigh of relief.

Then the MC began announcing the winners, reading out the names alongside the artwork each person had won and the final bidding prices.

Athena managed to win two of the paintings she liked and nodded happily as she followed one of the staff members to complete the payment process. One by one, four or five more winners were announced. Despite the large number of participants in the silent auction, it quickly became clear that only a select few had actually secured the pieces they wanted—some even winning multiple paintings. It didn’t take long for everyone to realize that these individuals were the true elite among the crowd.

Finally, Hera’s name was called.

Her total bid? No less than ten million dollars.

The room erupted in polite applause, drawing everyone’s attention to her. Hera instantly felt self-conscious as she became the center of attention. She could feel the weight of dozens of gazes—some filled with awe and admiration, others laced with curiosity, envy, or subtle suspicion.

When it was finally Hera’s turn, something unexpected happened. Instead of a staff member coming forward to guide her through the payment process like they had with everyone else, Andrew himself stepped up.

“Let’s go, Hera,” he said casually, as if they were already close.

Then, without giving her a chance to respond, he gently led her away in front of the entire crowd.

To the onlookers, it immediately appeared as though Hera hadn’t come just to bid on artwork—she had come to support Andrew personally. An unspoken understanding passed through the room. The subtle looks and whispers that followed said it all, though Hera remained blissfully unaware, already being whisked away by Andrew.

Had Leo, Luke, Dave, Zhane, Rafael, or Xavier been there, the situation would’ve taken a very different turn. They definitely would’ve misunderstood the scene and rushed after her, demanding an explanation from Andrew.

But since none of them were present, they would only hear about it later—and when they did, there was no doubt they’d be squirming with jealousy. After all, in their minds, the idea of bees and butterflies swarming around Hera while they weren’t around was absolutely unforgivable.

“So you really are the artist, huh? You weren’t lying,” Hera murmured as Andrew led her away.

“I never lie,” Andrew replied with a casual shrug.

Hera couldn’t help but find him a little eccentric—abrupt, even—but strangely sincere. There was no trace of hidden agenda in his demeanor, so she allowed him to lead her without protest, quietly following his pace.

Before long, they arrived at a private VIP lounge tucked away behind the gallery. To her surprise, Andrew personally brewed a cup of hibiscus tea, added a generous spoonful of honey, and set it down in front of her.

“Please, have a taste,” he said. “While you enjoy that, let’s go over the list of your bids. I’ll give you the chance to inspect each piece more closely to confirm their quality. Then we’ll make sure everything is packaged and delivered safely to your address.”

His tone had shifted completely—gone was the casual eccentric, replaced by a focused and professional demeanor. Hera blinked at the sudden change, caught a little off guard by how smoothly he transitioned into business mode.

“The ‘Ragnarok’ was sold to you for $2.5 million. Then ‘The Eclipse’ went for $800,000, ‘Achilles’ for $670,000, and so on—bringing the total to $12.3 million,” Andrew listed with a slight smile. “That’s quite a sum. You practically ransacked all my artwork in this exhibition.”

He chuckled, but Hera frowned slightly. ‘Ransacked?’ It sounded like she’d stolen something instead of participating in an auction, and the word choice didn’t sit well with her. She opened her mouth to object, but before she could speak, Andrew continued.

“But since you bought so many of my paintings—and, by the way, half of the proceeds go to a charity foundation supporting orphaned children’s education—you’ve shown just how generous you are. So, as a gesture of gratitude, I’m gifting you Ragnarok.”

Hera blinked in surprise, but Andrew wasn’t done.

“My mother once told me that people and things each have their own fate. When I saw you looking at that painting, I felt it—it wasn’t just admiration. It was like you were spiritually connected to it. Not emotionally, but on a deeper level.”

“So I followed you around—not to be creepy—but because I wanted to see if you were just casually browsing. But then I got curious. I noticed that you had a sharp eye for art. You managed to bid the exact amounts the appraisers had valued the pieces at. That’s not something a casual visitor would do, so I started wondering if maybe you were an appraiser… or even an artist yourself.”

“Then there was the way you moved through the gallery—calm, confident, just jotting down numbers without a hint of hesitation or concern about the price. That’s when I started thinking… maybe you’re a wealthy heiress or someone with a deeper connection to the art world. That curiosity, combined with my mother’s words—’people and things have their fate’—led me to bring you here.”

“Meeting you today felt a little like fate. And because of that, I decided to gift you the Ragnarok painting. I truly believe it was meant to be yours.”

“Why would you give me such a painting? Do you want something from me?” Hera asked cautiously, her voice calm but guarded. In her experience, nothing ever came without strings attached.

There was no such thing as a free lunch, especially from someone she barely knew. It was better to lay things out clearly than to let misunderstandings take root. She didn’t lack the money to pay for the artwork—and she certainly wouldn’t accept a gift that might carry hidden expectations.

Andrew gave a small, thoughtful smile. “No, I don’t want anything from you,” he replied simply. “I just want to see my creation go to the right hands—someone who truly appreciates it, or better yet, has a deeper connection with it. My paintings are like my children,” he added, glancing at the Ragnarok image on the nearby screen. “And when I painted that one… I was inspired by a dream. It came to me out of nowhere, vivid and haunting, and it stayed with me for years.”

As he took a sip of his tea, his expression shifted—eyes clouding slightly, as if reliving a distant memory. The sincerity in his voice caught Hera’s attention, and despite herself, she found her curiosity stirred.

“A dream? What kind?” Hera asked immediately, leaning in with interest. She, too, had felt a strange, almost spiritual pull toward the painting—as if it resonated with something deep inside her.

Andrew nodded slowly, his expression turning distant. “When I was five, I suddenly felt… aware, like I’d woken up from a fog I didn’t even know I was in. The world around me felt frozen, like time had paused. Then, a single drop of water landed on the crown of my head from the sky—and that night, I came down with a terrible fever. While I was delirious, I saw… angels. They circled around me, their wings glowing, their eyes filled with sorrow.”

He paused, his gaze lowering to the table as he recalled the memory. “And then I dreamed—again and again—of a world in ruin. Not because of war, but because people lost themselves. Blinded by greed, pride, and ignorance, they turned on one another. It was madness.”

His voice softened. “But the image that stayed with me the most… was a girl. She was beautiful, and she wept as she watched it all unfold. She was bound in chains—shackled by something or someone. I couldn’t tell if it was the gods or devils who did it. All I knew was that she was powerless, invisible to the six angels who hovered around her, meant to protect her… but they couldn’t see her suffering.”

He let out a slow breath. “That dream haunted me for years. It wouldn’t let go. So eventually, I painted it—every detail burned into my mind. I poured everything I had into that piece, hoping to understand it… or maybe, to let it go.”

“And over the years, I kept painting more and more images—visions that came to me in my dreams,” Andrew said with a soft sigh.

Hera’s brows rose slightly. “You mean… all the paintings in this exhibition came from your dreams?”

Andrew shook his head. “Not all of them. But the ones you chose? Every single one came from a dream.”

Hera’s heart skipped a beat, though she couldn’t quite explain why. There was a strange tug in her chest, like a thread being pulled from somewhere deep within her. She felt on the verge of understanding something—something important—but it remained just out of reach.

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Thank you, Carol_Ma, Shell_Rodriguez, and Cinparo, for the Golden Tickets!