NOVPUB
Chapter 79 - 79- party
The woman nodded seriously, and Cynthia's heart, which had been tightly wound up, finally relaxed. She couldn't help but let out a long breath. If he had forced her to wear the dress and also insisted on doing her hair, she might have truly despised him.
The next morning, Jim arrived in his car to pick her up. It was the end of March, and the early spring weather was still chilly. A few snowflakes seemed to float in the air.
In addition to the dress he had delivered yesterday, there were shoes, jewelry, and an expensive black fur coat. She wasn't sure whether to be grateful for his attention to detail or to resent his domineering coldness.
Now, wearing the outfit and paired with the fluffy, styled-up hair, she looked both mature and alluring—her movements graceful and seductive, like a violet fairy walking in the wind.
She still wore the makeup she had used on her wedding day—dark and enchanting, making it nearly impossible to see her true face. The bold black eyeliner, the seductive smoky eyeshadow, only enhanced the cold and distant expression in her eyes, making her gaze even sharper and harder to meet.
A gust of cold wind blew by, and she wrapped herself tighter in the coat, bending to get into the car. Her body, already shivering from the cold, stiffened when she saw he was already inside.
He wore the same silver-gray suit, with a violet tie that matched her dress. He looked refined, wise, steady, and mature. His gaze, however, held no attempt to hide his admiration for her.
Cynthia forced a stiff smile, as if greeting him, before she got in. Once inside, she leaned back against the seat, closing her eyes to rest. She hadn't slept much the night before, her mind consumed with thoughts about him and about everything that had happened between her, him, and Vincent.
The entire drive was silent, and the car stopped in front of the Shengshi Hotel, the venue for William S Lancaster's grand birthday celebration. William had made quite an impression with his wealth, even hosting his birthday here.
However, it was rumored that the fourth young master of Shengshi had given William a discount, reducing the cost to half, thanks to Albert Wilson. Just as Cynthia was about to open the car door, she noticed he had already moved to her side, opening the door for her with a courteous gesture and a warm smile.
She curled her lips into a smile but inside, her eyes were full of sarcasm. Wasn't this just a performance to fool people? Well, she could play along too.
The crowd of reporters outside was overwhelming, their flashing cameras lighting up the scene like a storm. Each time a camera focused on her, Cynthia shot a cold, piercing glance in their direction. Some of the journalists, startled by her intense gaze, hesitated, carefully avoiding capturing her face head-on.
They were the last to arrive, with everyone else already gathered. As they entered the hotel lobby and walked toward the crowd that could almost be considered family, the first gaze Cynthia felt was from Doreen Lancaster.
Jealousy, envy, hatred—these were the emotions Cynthia could clearly read in Doreen's eyes. Instead of shrinking back, Cynthia tilted her chin defiantly and met Doreen's glare. The arrogant energy in Doreen's eyes wavered, weakening by a fraction.
Another gaze was directed at her, this one from Vincent. It was filled with awe, surprise, heat, pain, and pity—the emotions one might show toward a lover. He had poured all of them into his gaze, and it was all for her.
But while she could stand her ground against Doreen's look, Cynthia found herself unable to meet the intense, watchful gaze of Vincent. It was as if she could feel the weight of his concern and emotions, and yet, she couldn't bring herself to face him. The man beside her seemed to sense this inner turmoil and, as though deliberately tormenting her, pulled her closer and began walking toward Grace Lancaster and Vincent, dragging her into the moment she most wanted to avoid.
Cynthia instinctively tried to pull away, unwilling to get any closer to Grace and Vincent. However, Albert Wilson's large hand tightened around her waist, forcing her forward. She felt herself being practically pushed toward them, unable to break free from his firm grip.
"Mr. Lancaster, is your health improving?" Albert greeted Grace Lancaster politely while his eyes remained on Vincent, offering a courteous smile.
Cynthia, trapped in his embrace, stiffened with discomfort. As Albert initiated the conversation, she had no choice but to force a smile and greet the two of them with strained politeness, "Sister, Vincent."
But she was struck by an unexpected sight—both Vincent and Grace Lancaster were dressed entirely in black that evening. Vincent wore a black suit, and Grace was in a black evening gown. Neither of them had a trace of violet on them.
Cynthia sighed inwardly in relief but was soon pulled back into the conversation when Grace's voice reached her ear.
"Your dress color is lovely, Fourth Sister. I assume it's Mr. Wilson's choice?" Grace said with a smile that felt like an innocent question but carried a sharper edge beneath.
Cynthia awkwardly turned her head away, as if to acknowledge it without saying much. But Albert, suddenly leaning closer, gave her a quick kiss on the cheek before speaking with an affectionate tone.
"Our Cynthia is perfect in this color—cold and aloof, proud and independent. Don't you think so, Prosecutor?"
"Yes," Vincent replied with a soft, cold glance at Cynthia. The single word he uttered felt like a sharp needle piercing her heart, causing her to shiver involuntarily.
As the guests arrived and the banquet began, the emcee, whose charm seemed to be more in his mouth than in his actual talents, began to sing William S. Lancaster's praises, calling him a legendary figure. Cynthia, sitting in the audience, was growing increasingly disinterested, sipping her drink.
With every over-exaggerated word the emcee spoke, Cynthia couldn't help but notice that Albert's face was becoming progressively darker. She stole a glance at him and saw his hands tightly clasped together in his lap, his body rigid as though he were struggling to suppress something.
She hesitated for a long time, unsure whether to speak up and ask if something was wrong. But in the end, she decided against it. Some people, no matter how much you care for them or not, will never return the favor. In such cases, perhaps it was better not to care at all. 𝑛𝑜𝑣𝑝𝑢𝘣.𝘤𝑜𝘮
Cynthia couldn't shake the feeling that a hateful gaze was fixed on her throughout the night. Every time she turned around to search for the source of that look, it would vanish, leaving only the dense crowd. It unsettled her, the eerie sense of being watched.
As the emcee continued his exaggerated speeches, he suddenly announced that William S. Lancaster and his family, including his daughters and sons-in-law, should come up on stage. Cynthia blinked in surprise; she hadn't expected such an event. She had thought it would just be a meal and some casual mingling.
As Maureen Lancaster, Grace Lancaster, and the others began to walk toward the stage, Cynthia remained frozen, unwilling to move. She hated these kinds of events—being on stage, subject to the judgmental gazes of the crowd, felt like being put on display.
But the situation was beyond her control. Before she could protest or retreat further into her thoughts, a pair of large hands appeared in front of her. The hands were long, with prominent joints, and she hesitated briefly before lowering her eyes and pursing her lips. Slowly, she extended her hand into his. He gripped it firmly and helped her stand.
As he helped her up, he slipped an expensive, delicate box into her hand. Confused, Cynthia looked at him, but he didn't speak, simply leading her toward the stage. Only then did she realize—it was the birthday gift for William S. Lancaster.
The moment his hand enveloped hers again, Cynthia felt a sharp chill rush through her. This time, the coldness was deeper, more intense, and it sent an uncomfortable shiver through her. A sense of unease suddenly gripped her heart, as if something ominous was lurking nearby.
On stage, the four Lancaster daughters stood in a row. Doreen Lancaster, who was still single after all this time, stood at William S. Lancaster's right. Though her reputation had been tarnished by rumors involving Albert Wilson, the subsequent rise of the Lancaster Empire and her status as the last unmarried daughter had attracted the attention of many wealthy heirs. Her arrogance and confidence had returned with a vengeance, and her presence on stage only amplified it.
The three married daughters of William S. Lancaster stood to his left, each with their husbands standing behind them, creating a picture-perfect display of handsome men and beautiful women that had already claimed the attention of numerous photographers.
On one side, Doreen Lancaster exuded a seductive beauty, while on the other side, Maureen Lancaster was gentle and graceful. Wendy, standing alongside them, was striking with sharp eyebrows and captivating eyes. Grace Lancaster radiated strength and competence, while Vincent, by her side, was the epitome of calm and wisdom. Together, they formed the perfect elite couple.
The attention, however, was not entirely on them. The two people at the farthest ends of the stage drew the most attention. On one side was the mysterious figure from the Lancaster family, Cynthia, dressed in a dazzling violet gown, her makeup cold and aloof, her black hair lazily styled yet alluring.
Unlike the others, who beamed with smiles, Cynthia stood there, indifferent, exuding a quiet, irresistible magnetism. Despite being married to the prominent Wilson vice president, she did not shy away from the appreciative gazes of the men in the crowd, each glance tinged with awe and desire.
Behind her stood her husband, a tall and elegant figure, his expression composed. He was like a solid wall, absorbing her cold pride, silent and unyielding.
If one only looked at Cynthia, she appeared too distant and cold, but if they focused on the vice president Wilson, he seemed too noble. However, together, they made a striking pair, their synergy undeniable. The matching violet tie emphasized their unity, making it clear to everyone that Cynthia had no need to compete with other women—she and Wilson were beyond that. No one would question her ability to keep him now; their presence together silenced any doubts.
Not even the glamorous Doreen Lancaster could rival her.
As the other daughters presented their gifts, William S. Lancaster's grin grew wider, but when it came time for Cynthia, holding the expensive box in her hands, she hesitated. She couldn't bring herself to call him "Dad," nor could she smile and wish him a happy birthday.
Lost in her confusion, she stood there, unsure of what to do, until a sharp voice suddenly cut through the air.
"Cynthia—watch out!"
