A wave of discomfort washed over Corrine as she absorbed their words. Her unease deepened when Carl turned to Quentin, his eyes gleaming with purpose.
“Do you have any promising candidates in mind?”
The two men exchanged knowing looks, years of friendship allowing for wordless communication.
“As a matter of fact,” Quentin began, “I believe I do.” Before he could elaborate, his trusted butler burst into the room, face flushed with urgency as he whispered something crucial in Quentin’s ear.
Quentin’s normally composed demeanor shifted instantly to one of alertness.
“Are you certain of what you saw?”
The butler’s grave expression left no room for doubt.
“Without question, sir!”
Rising swiftly, Quentin adjusted his already immaculate clothing.
“Bring him in at once!”
As Quentin took his first step forward, footsteps resonated through the entrance hall. The assembled guests turned as one, drawn by the commanding presence approaching.
A striking figure emerged, his black suit expertly tailored to his tall, athletic frame. Every inch of his appearance spoke of innate nobility and authority. His sculpted features carried a touch of distance, thin lips pressed together in contemplation. Dark eyes, bottomless as midnight waters, held an air of captivating mystery.
Light from the crystal chandelier caught his sharp features, highlighting an undeniable edge of power.
He moved purposefully toward the gathering, his gaze unerringly finding Corrine. Though his eyes lingered briefly, the slight curve of his lips suggested a private amusement. Nate’s arrival transformed the spacious hall into an intimate space charged with tension.
Whispers rippled through the crowd like wind through leaves.
“Who could he be?”
“I’ve never seen him before, but look how Mr. Seymour rushed to greet him!”
“Could this be the distinguished guest Mr. Seymour mentioned earlier?”
Common knowledge held that the Seymour family’s influence in Lyhaton, while considerable, paled beside the Ford dynasty. Their position among Lyhaton’s elite four families stemmed largely from their connection to a more powerful branch of Seymours. Rumors suggested this hidden faction wielded the true authority, making even Quentin seem modest by comparison.
Now, Quentin hurried forward to welcome Nate personally.
Five years had refined Nate’s composure, yet his quiet authority filled the room. Despite his advanced years, Quentin displayed an unprecedented deference before him.
“Mr. Seymour.” Nate’s rich, measured voice filled the silence.
“I hope my unexpected arrival hasn’t caused any disruption.”
His words hung in the air, drawing every listener into an unconscious state of alertness.
Quentin nearly stumbled over his response, clearly honored by the attention.
“Mr. Hopkins, please-your presence elevates our gathering immeasurably.” The excessive courtesy Quentin showed toward Nate raised eyebrows throughout the room. Given the Seymour family’s respected position in Lyhaton, Quentin’s level of deference seemed extraordinary
“This way, Mr. Hopkins.” Quentin personally guided Nate to the most prestigious seat in the room, his manner that of an attendant to royalty.
Nate approached Carl with measured steps, offering a slight nod.
“Mr. Ford, I should have paid my respects immediately upon returning to Lyhaton. Various matters detained me-I trust you’ll understand.”
Carl managed a distant smile, his response carefully measured.
“Mr. Hopkins, such formalities aren’t necessary between us.”
His gaze dropped as he spoke, shielding the emotion in his eyes while his fingers absently traced the jewel adorning his cane.
The butler materialized at precisely the right moment, gracefully handing Nate a cup of coffee.
Quentin seized the momentary silence to inquire, “I wonder, Mr. Hopkins, have you encountered Moses recently?”
Nate lifted his gaze deliberately.
“Has Moses neglected to inform you of his business travels?”
Quentin faltered momentarily, stealing a reflexive glance at Carl.
“He must have been pressed for time.”
A subtle furrow creased Carl’s brow at these words. The timing seemed far too convenient. His instincts suggested Nate’s deliberate orchestration.
He studied the younger man intently, his weathered eyes betraying deep contemplation. From his position in the seat of honor, Nate commanded attention even in repose, his crossed legs and perfect posture radiating natural authority. Carl observed this innate leadership quality with darkening thoughts-here sat someone who would never submit to another’s control.
“Given your company, we should take our leave,” Carl announced, rising slowly.
“Why such haste?” Quentin protested.
“The dinner hasn’t even begun yet.”
Nate set his cup down with deliberate grace, his cool voice cutting through the air.
“Am I responsible for dampening your spirits, Mr. Ford?”
An unsettling silence descended over the room. Panic flickered across Quentin’s features.
“Mr. Hopkins, you misunderstand-your presence honors us greatly!” This reaction was unexpected.
The onlookers might not have known Quentin inside and out, but they knew enough. In all of Lyhaton, there were few who could command Quentin’s respect. And yet, the way he carried himself before Nate was more than just courteous-it was deferential.
Corrine narrowed her eyes slightly, her gaze shifting toward Quentin as if piecing together an invisible puzzle. Carl, however, remained unfazed, his voice steady.
“I’m not sure what you mean, Mr. Hopkins. I only worry that our presence is disrupting your evening.”
Nate’s fingers toyed idly with the rim of his cup, his movements languid yet calculated.
“The Ford family and I share a bit of history, after all. Mr. Ford, your words seem rather… detached.”
At this, Carl’s brows knitted ever so slightly, a flicker of something unreadable passing through his gaze. Corrine discreetly observed her grandfather. Nate had ties to the Ford family? Then why had her grandfather never spoken of it before? More importantly, since the moment Nate had entered the room, Carl had been noticeably tense
Just then, the butler leaned in and murmured to Quentin, “Sir, the banquet is ready.”
Quentin gave a slight nod before rising to his feet.
“Everyone, please-let’s continue this over dinner.”
As the guests took their seats, a curious detail emerged. Whether by coincidence or careful orchestration, one seat remained conspicuously empty-right beside Nate.
Corrine’s gaze instinctively lifted toward him. With an air of quiet inevitability, Nate stood, pulling out the chair beside him. His deep, unwavering eyes met hers as he spoke.
“Miss Holland, please.”
As Nate’s words settled, an eerie silence took over the table-so quiet that the faintest movement could be heard. All eyes shifted toward Corrine, their gazes laced with intrigue. Everyone seated with Quentin had close ties to the Seymour family, making them well-acquainted with Nate. The fact that the usually detached Nate had personally extended an invitation only heightened their curiosity.
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.