Half an hour ago. A Cadillac V-16 entered the gates of Avenshill Street. Seeing its arrival, people instinctively stepped aside without being told. “Isn’t that Mr. Wellington’s car?” one of the antique shop owners murmured, neglecting the customer in front of him. Like everyone else, his gaze was fixed on the car. “What is he doing here?” As the owner of the largest auction house in Cammont, Arthur Wellington was famous for his close ties with the city’s elite. Not only was it common for him to lunch with the mayor during his free time, but he was also a close friend of Wesley—another prominent figure in the city. In truth, Arthur didn’t need to come in person if he wanted something from this place. Simply sending a representative would suffice; the sellers here would flock to his manor without hesitation. “Gentlemen, my apologies, but my shop will be closing temporarily,” the shop owner announced as he closed his store and followed Arthur, who had just stepped out of his car. Se

“It seems that the painting is authentic.” That single sentence escaped the lips of the head butler. Yet, it was enough to make Arthur, who had maintained his calm and composed demeanor, turn his head sharply. “Are you serious?” The people in the room may not have been too shocked by Lyman’s statement. However, upon seeing Arthur’s reaction, those who had been relaxed moments ago suddenly grew tense. In an instant, the main hall of the Gems store fell silent. Like Arthur, everyone now fixed their gaze on the head butler with complex expressions. “I believe so,” Lyman nodded weakly, his eyes still locked on the painting in Marc’s hands. People might assume Arthur was the sharpest eye in the room. What they didn’t know, however, was that in certain aspects, he could be considered a “student” of Lyman. Flashback to ten years ago, when Arthur’s love for art was merely a hobby. He traveled to many countries, attending antique exhibitions and auctions. During one of his visits to Eas

"To the ten registered participants, please make your way to the podium." The announcer's voice echoed throughout the restaurant hall, met with loud applause from the audience. As instructed, one by one, the contestants, all of whom were quite overweight, ascended the platform. Among them, Atticus, the heaviest contestant, received the warmest reception. "Atticus, my idol! You’re definitely going to win again this time!" Nine participants had already taken their places in front of the tables set up for them. Only the last table remained empty. "Mr. Augusto Blackwood, please make your way to the podium." The announcer called for Augusto a third time, awaiting his decision. "Since contestant number ten is absent, I have decided to..." But before he could finish his sentence, someone suddenly appeared from the crowd and climbed onto the stage. "Wait. I’m here to represent Augusto." As Marc stepped forward, the entire hall fell silent for a brief moment, before erupting in laughte

“Y-you…” The host clenched his fists, his face tense with frustration. How could the competition continue when it was clear to everyone that Atticus was at his limit? Granting Marc’s request would only guarantee the defeat of the overweight youth, something the host was desperate to avoid. “What is going on here? Why hasn’t he done anything yet?” Reed slammed the table, clearly dissatisfied with the host’s efforts. With a sharp gesture, he motioned for the host to follow him backstage. “What are you thinking? Aren’t you listening to me?” Reed barked, letting his anger explode. “I’m sorry, Mr. Kensington. It’s not that I haven’t done anything, but…” The host bowed his head deeply, his voice faltering. “I don’t want to hear any excuses!” Reed raised his hand to silence him. He had already contacted the television network and secured Atticus a spot in a larger-scale mukbang competition. Letting Atticus lose now, especially to someone as unknown and frail-looking as Marc, would be a

At the edge of a pool in the backyard of a luxurious mansion in the heart of the city, three young men were sitting on a bench by the pool, each holding a glass of drink. “Boss, we've sent a few people to accompany Atticus. They should have taken care of that bastard named Marc by now,” Rowan said confidently. He had personally selected the four trained bodyguards earlier. “And I’ve given them weapons,” Caspian chimed in. “Not that I doubt the skills of these bodyguards, but wouldn’t it be more fun if they had to shoot Marc as he tries to run away, terrified out of his mind?” Caspian couldn’t help but laugh at the thought. Reed remained silent. Lying on a lounge chair, his face showed he hadn’t been able to shake off the frustration in his heart. “No one should mess with the Kensington family, or they’ll be destroyed. This kid has surely messed everything up.” After witnessing Atticus lose in the competition in such a humiliating way, the only thing that could ease his anger w