The bubbly Tom I've met was long gone, leaving behind a beast raging at his mouth.
Mark chuckled. While retreating with his overly stuffed plate of staring seafood on a secluded couch in the back of the room, his voice echoed:
"I am out. See you at the after party!"
Claus cleared his throat and banged his hammer once again as if it would break the mockery of reality:
"Ten billion from Caleb Plutus. Does anyone want to give more?"
The crowd mumbled disapprovingly, amplifying the entitled smirk of Plutus's bank nepo baby.
"Aren't you gonna bid anymore?" I asked Tom.
I found a guilty pleasure in making his forehead vein pulse so clearly. I doubt he found my remark funny.
I shook my head disappointed. Amateurs.
Claus sighed before attempting to close the bid.
"Ten billion, once, twice-"
"Twenty."
"Huh?"
"Twenty billion."
Despite my initial plan being just to observe, what kind of husband would I be if I let my wife fall victim to a spoiled punctured idiot?
