When Eleanor Waverly woke up, she found the sheets and bedding had been changed, though the room was still in shambles. A maid came in the morning to clean, but was promptly dismissed by Eleanor.
She spaced out for a moment before calling the maid back in.
"Yes, ma'am? Do you need anything?" The maid kept her head down, visibly nervous.
Eleanor asked, "Was there a woman in the young master's room?"
"A woman? No, ma'am." The maid looked genuinely confused.
Eleanor remained silent for a long while before dismissing her again.
She could still remember the woman's eyes—clear, bright, and full of a quiet strength. Beautiful in a pure, untouched way, without any adornments. Clean, untainted.
Who was she?
During the days since Reginald Hale's return, he had kept to a schedule of early departures and late returns. Claire Whitmore barely saw him. Alexander Hale continued his usual routine, studying in his room.
Just when Claire thought she'd be stuck indoors forever, one evening, Alexander told her he would be attending a banquet with his father.
"A banquet? You mean… we're going out?!" Claire's eyes lit up. A huge smile spread across her face. She hadn't been outside for over two months.
Alexander gave her a glance and corrected her, "Not we. Just me."
"Says who? I can go too!"
"And how, exactly, would you do that?"
"That's where you're wrong," Claire grinned mischievously. "I've got my ways!"
Alexander stared at her for a moment, briefly dazed. He thought, She must have lived in the sun—how else could she shine so brightly?
Eleanor Waverly locked herself in her room. Only after seeing the father and son drive off through the window did she come out and enter Alexander's room.
She checked under the bed, the storage chest, and the wardrobe—everything. Nothing was out of place. She shut the wardrobe door, her face blank, then turned and walked away.
In the car, Alexander sat silently, worried about whether Claire had successfully followed him out—and if so, where was she hiding now? Had she been discovered?
Kids couldn't hide their thoughts well. Reginald Hale caught a glance in the rearview mirror and asked, "What are you worrying about?"
Alexander's tightly clenched fists slowly loosened. He lowered his head and timidly whispered, "I'm afraid… of you."
"Shameful," Reginald said with a frown. He rolled down the window, lit a cigarette, and after a long puff, added, "When we get there, don't embarrass me. If you do, I'll beat you within an inch of your life when we get back."
Alexander's fists clenched again. After a moment, he replied with a quiet, "Okay."
The banquet was held at an extravagant castle. A long red carpet stretched across the entrance, with cameramen and reporters lined up. A flashy Lamborghini Miura pulled up to the door, instantly drawing the attention of every camera.
The driver opened the door. Reginald stepped out, holding Alexander's hand. Flashbulbs flared. Though uncomfortable, Alexander kept his gaze straight ahead, calm and composed.
The father and son were like two peas in a pod—both cold and expressionless. Their appearance alone became the center of attention.
As the banquet began, Alexander was led to a group of children about his age. They were all dressed up like little princes and princesses.
But Alexander didn't blend in. He sat alone in a corner, scanning the crowd for Claire Whitmore.
She wasn't there.
His expression dimmed. Maybe… she didn't come after all.
Just as he had that thought, a maid in a black-and-white uniform walked up and handed him a glass of juice.
"I don't want it. Take it away," Alexander said coldly, without even looking.
"I brought this myself. You dare not drink it?"
He looked up sharply—Claire Whitmore was standing in front of him, pretending to be stern with her hands on her hips. "Drink it. That's an order!"
Alexander blinked, stared at her for a moment, looked away, and then back again—as if confirming something.
"What? Don't recognize me?" Claire looked down at herself. I don't look that different… do I?
Her hair was down, with a cute cat-ear headband, and she wore a short maid outfit that showed off her long legs. With her stunning looks, she'd look good in anything.
Alexander took the juice, obediently drank a sip, then asked, "How did you get in?"
"Don't ask. It took so much effort," Claire waved her hand, looking utterly exhausted.
She looked around, saw no one was paying attention, then sat beside Alexander and began complaining about her chaotic journey getting in.
Her expressions were lively and animated. Alexander watched her, his lips twitching into a small smile. His whole body slowly relaxed.
Reginald was swirling wine in a glass, speaking with a group of Americans. His peripheral vision caught Alexander out of the corner of the room—surprisingly, not alone.
He was talking—actually talking—to a maid.
Reginald knew his son well: cold, withdrawn, reclusive. He never engaged with anyone. And yet, here he was, chatting easily with a woman he supposedly didn't know.
Reginald narrowed his eyes. The woman's back was to him—he couldn't see her face.
Just as he was about to go over, someone called his name. After a moment's thought, Reginald turned and walked away with the guest.
Claire let out a huge sigh of relief.
She had been watching Reginald's every move. The moment his gaze swept their way, she'd been ready to leave. Luckily, he didn't come over in the end.
"What is it?" Alexander asked, unaware.
Claire smiled. "Nothing!"
"Excuse me, may I sit here?"
A warm and polite voice drifted over. Claire looked up and saw a young man with a gentle smile walking toward them.
He was speaking to Alexander, but didn't wait for a reply before taking the seat beside him.
Claire examined the man. He looked to be in his thirties, wearing a custom-tailored suit—refined and elegant, yet soft in demeanor. His smile was friendly, his manners impeccable, and he was undeniably handsome. The kind of charming, polished man who was clearly popular with women.
Sebastain Carter noticed Claire's gaze, but didn't mind—he was used to attention.
"You're Alexander Hale, right?" he asked with a gentle look.
Alexander didn't respond, his face blank and cold.
Sebastain didn't seem bothered. "My name is Sebastain Carter. I'm a friend of your mother, Eleanor Waverly."
Claire was stunned. Sebastain Carter? So he was the man Eleanor liked?
Alexander's brows furrowed—clearly, he knew who Sebastain Carter was.
"I have a letter I'd like you to give your mother," Sebastain said. "But whatever you do, don't let your father see it. Will you help me?"
His tone was sincere, treating Alexander with full respect despite his young age.
Alexander's brow furrowed tighter, but before he could reply, Claire interrupted.
"What are you trying to do?"
Sebastain turned to her. "And you are?"
Her presence clearly surprised him—he had assumed she was just there to entertain the children.
Claire eyed him warily. Her voice firm, commanding: "I asked you a question. Answer it. What are you trying to do?"
Used to interrogating suspects, Claire naturally exuded authority. Her presence dominated the moment.
Sebastain gave her a slightly curious look. This woman was interesting—when she smiled, she looked like the friendly girl-next-door, but when serious, her gaze held a quiet power that demanded respect.
Noticing Sebastain's prolonged gaze, Alexander's expression turned frosty.
"Why should I help you?" he asked flatly.
Sebastain looked back at him, a bit hesitant. "Can we talk in private?"
He didn't have much time—Reginald Hale could return at any moment.
Alexander instinctively glanced at Claire. She also looked at him, reading the intent in his eyes.
Claire felt a mix of emotions.
She wasn't sure what role Sebastain played, or what kind of impact he might have on Alexander's future. Could she really decide for him?
Alexander clearly wanted to go. He wanted to know what Sebastain was really after.
After a moment of hesitation, Claire said to him, "It's your choice."
So Alexander followed Sebastain Carter—and Claire followed them both.
After all, the only reason she came here… was to stay by his side.