"Hey, what was I supposed to have you do?" Eloise's mind was a chaotic mess. Her expression, when she looked up, was one of blank confusion, unable to recall her original intent, leaving her momentarily speechless. "Take photos," the man reminded her.
"Oh, right!" Eloise slapped her head. "Take a photo of Lucienne and her lover together, make it a little more ambiguous, and the poses should be more intimate." "Oh," he replied.
"Go on, go on!" Eloise urged him, "I'll be waiting for you in the back kitchen, the one with steam rising, after you turn left as you enter." She thought for a moment and decided that the back kitchen was the safest place. If she wandered outside and got caught, it would be a big trouble.
"Good luck!" He waved his hand, walking out with all her hopes riding on him.
Isidore returned to the banquet hall, where there was an eerie silence. He had only been gone for a short while, but no one dared to touch their meals.
He found it amusing. The people from Ashdown Company were overly polite, but even the few rough and unruly men by his side had been influenced to act more formally, although their forced manners made it look uncomfortable.
After all, the leader on the opposite side was a delicate and graceful young lady.
Isidore somewhat regretted having specifically chosen Lucienne to attend to the matter. These past few days, she had been on edge, as though facing a formidable enemy, handling him with great caution. Even he felt weary just watching her.
He returned to his seat. "Sorry to keep you waiting, please continue eating." The atmosphere around the table became a bit livelier. Isidore looked around, sensing something was off, and called over his closest subordinate, Charlie Woods. "Where's that little brat?"
He was asking about Cyrus Ravenscroft, a mischievous seven-year-old. Mr. Ravenscroft's second son, born a few years ago by a second-rate celebrity he had taken under his wing, was uninterested in books, most mischievous and unruly. For some unknown reason, he had an incessant tendency to cling to Isidore, always running about with him from place to place.
Isidore felt a headache just thinking about him. Charlie gave a wry smile. "While you were out, he slipped away to play." "Alright, that's brave of him," Isidore nodded, saying no more.
He leaned back in his chair, slowly sipping his red wine, watching his subordinates bully the honest employees of Ashdown Company, forcing them to drink. A faint smile appeared on his face.
"Mr. Kingswell, I apologize for not hosting you properly these past days. I'll take a drink for myself; please feel free to have yours," Lucienne placed the wine glass before him and, without hesitation, drank it all in one gulp. Clearly unaccustomed to alcohol, her delicate face turned crimson from the lingering sharp taste.
Isidore gazed thoughtfully into her eyes, which shimmered like water, then, with a tilt of his head, drained the wine from his glass. He set the glass down and lightly tapped its rim with his long fingers. "By the way, Manager Beaumont, I have some matters this afternoon, so please cancel the upcoming arrangements."
Upon hearing this, Lucienne took it as a sign unfavorable to their cooperation, and a look of helplessness appeared in her large eyes. "Did I do something wrong...?"
"No," Isidore replied with a wry smile, seeing how nervous she was. His expression softened. "Don't worry, as long as here remains as peaceful as it is today, Ashdown Company's progress will be inevitable."
He felt that he had been clear enough, stood up, and as he was about to leave, something seemed to cross his mind. He turned around, and on his strong face, there was unexpectedly a hint of hesitation. "Uh, I have one more favor to ask." Lucienne quickly replied, "Please, go ahead."
Isidore scratched his nose. "Would it be possible for me to take a photo of you with someone else?" Lucienne was taken aback, not quite understanding the request, but she didn't ask further. "Of course, no problem."
"With whom?" she asked. "Anyone," Isidore casually instructed, asking Charlie to stand next to Lucienne. He took two steps back, lifted his phone, and gave directions, "Make it more lively, pose more intimately. Keep it natural, no need to look at the camera."
Charlie, stiff and uncertain of how to position his hands and feet, only reluctantly let go after receiving a warning glance from Isidore. "Okay, thank you." After taking a few shots, Isidore walked out of the banquet hall, leaving a room full of confused faces.
Meanwhile, after leaving the men's restroom, Eloise got lost after just a few steps. After twisting and turning for over half an hour, she finally managed to find the silver-white little kitchen from earlier.
The few girls who had abandoned their posts had yet to return, when a young boy ran into the kitchen. Squatting beside the scalding pot in the center, he excitedly twisted the valve of the gas meter.
He first turned it to the left, and with a "pfft," a rush of air burst from the pipe. A purple-blue flame bloomed at the bottom of the pot, cracking open like fireworks. Then, as he slowly turned it to the right, the flower of flame shrank, dwindling until it finally went out.
The entire process was remarkably fascinating and beautiful. The little boy played with great delight, while Eloise, horrified, looked as though her eyes might burst from their sockets. "What are you doing!" The boy was startled, and in his surprise, he turned the gas valve all the way.
He hadn't realized how long he had been playing, but due to uneven heat, the pot went from cold to hot. It emitted a low "woo woo" sound, the pot body jolting and swaying, with white steam constantly escaping from the rim. The sudden burst of heat made it look as though it would explode at any moment.
Without thinking, Eloise rushed toward the boy, shouting, "It's dangerous, come here!" Without even knowing where the strength came from, she grabbed the child under her arm and ran.
Behind him, the large pot resembled an old-fashioned train pulling into a station, and amidst the sizzling sound of boiling water, two loud "pfft-pfft" bursts rang out. It was like an angry bull, its nostrils flaring with intense huffing.
Eloise had never had such a clear thought in her mind: the pot was about to explode!
Her scalp was about to explode! The door was too far, and she didn't have time to run out. In the blink of an eye, her gaze swiftly darted around the kitchen, searching for a place to hide. By a stroke of luck, she found a small storage room in the upper right corner.
There was a thick, heavy iron door to the storage room used for keeping food cold, which could likely withstand most of the damage from the explosion.
Eloise burst forth with all her strength, racing toward the door. Behind her, there was a loud "hiss," and one side of the pot lid was lifted. The soup inside shot up like a fountain in a park, spraying high into the air in a concentrated burst.
She didn't dare to look back, the words "It's over" flashing in her mind. Looking at the storage room still some distance away, she instinctively tossed the little boy in her arms as though he were a sandbag, and he landed perfectly inside the storage room.
With another leap, she threw herself at the heavy iron door, using her body's weight to slam it shut.
"Boom!" A sound like a bomb hitting the ground— the pot finally exploded. Eloise closed her eyes in fear, not daring to imagine how painful it would be if the splattered soup hit her skin.
"Come here!"
A familiar voice sounded in her ear. She was swept into a broad embrace, her startled body lifted and pulled in the opposite direction, eventually tumbling into a soft, warm refuge. After a series of clattering noises, she shakily opened her eyes.
