# He Auctioned My Wedding Gown in Front of Manhattan. By Midnight, I Owned Everything He Thought Was His.

a crystal gavel.

“Two hundred and fifty thousand,” she announced. “Do I hear three?”

A hand rose near the back of the ballroom.

“Three hundred thousand.”

The voice belonged to Adrian Cross.

He sat alone beneath the balcony, dressed in a black suit with no tie. He was not a donor. He was not a socialite. He did not belong to the polished tribe that filled continue reading …