"Mr. Kingswell, this..." The mayor hadn't expected that just delivering a welcoming gift would take such a strange turn. He was a proper mayor, after all—how could he possibly send a girl to a major investor in front of everyone, under such broad daylight?
If he had to give something, it should have been done privately... cough! Otherwise, it would look too much like bribery, and that's just... well, you know.
He tried to explain, but no matter how many times he opened his mouth, he couldn't get Mr. Kingswell's attention. Look at that gleaming gaze—it was like a guided missile, refusing to leave the girl for even a second. Helpless, the mayor could only shoot a resentful glare at the culprit.
Eloise wanted to glare at him too! Fine, give a gift, but why the big wooden box? What's with all the mystery? Did he think he's a magician or something?
At this point, it was too late for regrets, but she couldn't help but wish to get as far away from Isidore as possible. How could she possibly bring herself to listen to him and obediently sit by his side? She quietly protested, "I'm not a gift, can you move this stone over there instead?"
No one dared to move. Isidore stared at her intently and smiled, "Not a gift? Then I'm curious, how did you end up in here?" Eloise scratched her head, and in her panic, could only come up with a terrible excuse, "I thought... I thought this was a lounge!"
The explanation was so absurd that everyone's expressions were as if they'd been struck by lightning. They secretly observed Isidore's reaction, and when they saw him curl the corner of his lips into a smile, they took it as a joke and joined in with hearty laughter.
Amidst the rising and falling laughter, Eloise felt as though she were standing alone on stage, a sense of helplessness creeping over her in that moment.
Isidore's lips tightened, and the laughter instantly ceased. In a low, measured voice, he spoke. "You see, this excuse isn't very convincing." He paused for a second, his tone teasing, "I guess, you must have crawled into this box to hide from someone, right?"
Eloise didn't want to be looked down upon. She puffed her cheeks and retorted without thinking, "That's not true!" Isidore seized on her words and immediately followed up, "If that's the case, why won't you come sit over here?"
In the still air, his unwavering gaze and Eloise's faint resistance seemed to lock in a silent standoff, each holding their ground.
"Mr. Kingswell," the one who broke the silence was Lysander. He stood up from the silent table of "onlookers," his posture tall and upright like a green bamboo sprouting from a patch of weeds. "Since this is a misunderstanding, may I take my companion back?"
Isidore noticed Eloise couldn't suppress the worried glance she cast toward the man, and the corner of his brow twitched slightly.
"Your… companion?" He repeated the word "your" with an amused tone. He finally allowed his gaze to shift, first toward the empty seat beside Lysander, then to him. His pupils were deep, like an endless abyss.
In an instant, the pressure, like a cloud of darkness, seemed to bear down heavily on Lysander alone.
Isidore's gaze was so intimidating that even the others at the table couldn't help but break into a nervous sweat. However, after a brief pause, Lysander returned his gaze, unyielding yet composed. "Elly did indeed attend this banquet at my invitation."
Under the weight of that intense gaze, he stood up from his seat, walked over to Isidore, poured a glass of wine, and bowed slightly to offer it to him. "So, if this misunderstanding caused by Eloise has disturbed Mr. Kingswell's enjoyment, I apologize on her behalf."
"You apologize on her behalf?" Isidore tilted his head slightly, letting out a soft laugh through his nose. Slowly, he raised his hand, his long fingers curling around the rim of the glass. In the next moment, as Lysander's expression softened, his fingers released the glass.
With a crisp sound, the glass shattered on the ground, and wine splashed across Lysander's leather shoes and pants.
"Sorry, my hand slipped." Isidore's expression remained indifferent. The crowd assumed his apology was directed at Lysander, but Isidore turned towards the waiter standing in the corner, "Apologies for the trouble."
Lysander lifted his head, gazing at Isidore's indifferent profile, and raised the corner of his mouth slightly. "It was my fault for not holding it properly. I'll clean it up." Under the watchful eyes of everyone, he crouched down, picking up the shards from the floor, one by one. The sound of glass clinking was painfully sharp in the otherwise silent room.
Eloise couldn't bear to watch, and quickly walked over, pulling on Lysander's arm and using all her strength to get him back on his feet. With her back to Isidore, she closed her eyes, suppressing the fiery anger rising in her chest.
When she opened her eyes, she picked up a fresh glass from the table, filled it with wine, then turned around. Mimicking others, she bent at the waist, holding the glass with both hands and offering it to Isidore. "I'll apologize to you myself."
Isidore didn't take the glass immediately. He looked into her eyes, his thin lips slightly parting, "For what?" Eloise pressed her lips tightly together, a faint hint of stubbornness in her expression. This was the utmost she could do.
As for making up some words from the bottom of her heart to admit any kind of wrongdoing—she simply couldn't do it!
More than half a minute passed, each second dragging on. Isidore, unable to continue pressing her, sighed in reluctant compromise and was about to take the glass. But in that moment, Eloise's wrist flicked, and the full glass of wine splashed solidly onto his sharply defined face.
"Slap!" Eloise set the empty glass down on the table, watching with a sense of satisfaction as wine dripped from Isidore's hair, his disheveled appearance giving her a moment of relief. "Let's go," she said, pulling Lysander's sleeve as they headed towards the door.
"Wait," Lysander turned around, and Isidore's gaze landed squarely on him. "What's your name?" Without a second of hesitation, he answered calmly, "Lysander." Isidore withdrew his gaze, nodding thoughtfully.
As she stepped out of the banquet, the cool evening breeze swept away the heat from Eloise's head. She couldn't help but replay in her mind the moment before she left, when Isidore suddenly asked Lysander for his name. The more she thought about it, the more a sense of unease and dread grew within her.
That stingy man, could he be planning some kind of revenge?
After thinking it over, she couldn't bring herself to leave at ease, so she said to Lysander, "Uh… I just remembered I left something at the front desk. I'll go get it, you go ahead." No matter how she tried to persuade him, Lysander stubbornly insisted, "I'll wait for you."
Eloise couldn't argue with him, so she let him stand by the door and turned to run back to the banquet.
She was trying to figure out how to return to the private room without standing out when she fortunately encountered a few familiar lackeys who always followed Isidore. She approached and asked, "Is Isidore still inside? Could you help me call him out?"
Charlie glanced at her with a complex expression. "Boss went to the lounge," he said, then added, "to change his clothes that got stained by the wine."
Eloise didn't care about the implied displeasure in his words and directly said, "Please take me there, I have something to say to him." Charlie led her through several twists and turns in the corridor and stopped in front of a crimson door behind a screen.
Eloise took a deep breath, pushed the door open without much thought, and entered so quickly that Charlie didn't have time to stop her.
So when Isidore's half-naked, sculpted torso with its rippling muscles and taut waist suddenly filled her vision, Eloise could only close her eyes in a startled gasp. She instinctively wanted to turn away, to flee from the space, but it was already too late.
