Chapter 239
Angela frowned, about to speak, when a group of men in tailored suits appeared behind them.
“Excuse me,” one of them said politely, though his tone carried unmistakable authority. “Could you step aside for a moment?”
Trey’s expression darkened immediately.
“What’s going on?”
But before he could get an answer, the men gestured toward the corridor. There was no aggression in their movements—only certainty. Still, it left no room for refusal.
Trey and Angela exchanged a glance and followed.
Once in the corridor, one of the men held out a hand.
“May we see your invitation, please?”
“I don’t have one,” Trey replied coldly. “I purchased tickets.”
He handed them over with restrained irritation.
The man only glanced at them briefly.
“I’m afraid these are general admission passes. You are not on the invitation list for tonight’s private selection segment.”
Angela frowned. “Private selection?”
The man maintained his professional tone. “Certain high-value pieces are reserved for guests. Participation without an invitation is against auction protocol. We will process a refund for your tickets. Please cooperate and leave.”
Angela froze. “Leave? Are you serious? It’s an auction, not a private club!”
Trey’s expression tightened, his patience thinning. “On what grounds are you removing us? We’ve done nothing wrong.”
The man answered evenly, as if reciting policy.
“Your tickets do not grant access to the VIP bidding tier. That is clearly stated in the terms.”
Trey’s jaw flexed.
In theory, the rule existed—but it was rarely enforced so bluntly. Ordinary attendees were usually allowed to remain as observers even if they couldn’t participate in certain bids.
This was deliberate.
And humiliating.
Angela’s face flushed with anger. “Do you even know who we are? He’s the CEO of Fox Group. We’ve just received investment backing from Morrison Group. If you offend us, you’re offending Morrison Group itself!”
At that, a few of the staff exchanged brief looks.
The Morrison Group.
Coincidentally, the very name of the VIP guest seated tonight in the private box.
One of them suppressed a reaction. So they were using the Morrison name here—without realizing who they were speaking about.
The irony was almost impossible to ignore.
Angela, misreading their silence as intimidation, lifted her chin with renewed confidence.
“What? Speechless now?”
Trey, however, was not as easily convinced. His expression remained dark, his pride clearly bruised.
“This is an insult,” he said coldly. “I will be lodging a formal complaint.”
“Of course,” the lead staff member replied smoothly. “You are welcome to do so.”
A faint pause.
“And you may also raise it directly with the Morrison Group.”
His tone remained professional, but the last words carried the slightest tremor—like someone biting back amusement.
Trey’s expression turned even colder.
Angela stepped forward, anger overtaking caution. “Just wait. Once the Morrison Group officially confirms their collaboration with us, you’ll regret how you treated us today.”
The staff member nodded politely, already stepping aside.
“Understood. The exit is this way.”
He gestured with precision—helpful, but final.
Trey’s face was stone-gray. He said nothing more, but the tension in his jaw suggested he was barely holding back his temper.
Angela felt equally humiliated. Dressed carefully for the night, expecting connections and opportunities, they were instead being escorted out like uninvited guests.
Neither spoke again as they turned toward the exit.
The corridor opened into the underground garage.
And there—at the private elevator exit—Khloe was just stepping out.
She was surrounded by venue security, calm and composed. A car waited beside her, doors already open.