Chapter 231
Gemma was about to say something when a dull shattering sound echoed from nearby.
She whipped her head around and saw a seven- or eight-year-old boy standing in front of the antique display shelf in the corner of the room. In his hand was a broken shard of porcelain. At his feet lay scattered fragments.
A Victorian-era porcelain vase—shattered into seven or eight pieces.
The air in the room felt like it had been sucked out.
Gemma's legs went weak.
She stared at the fragments on the floor, her pupils contracting sharply.
Preston also stood up, his face ashen.
He hurried over, looked down at the broken pieces, and his entire face turned gray in an instant.
The boy still stood there, clutching a piece of the vase's neck, looking lost.
The child's father walked over, glanced at the shards on the floor, and kicked them dismissively. "It's just a broken vase. Buy a new one and call it a day."
"Do you have any idea how much that vase is worth?" Preston's voice finally exploded. His entire face flushed red. "That's from the Victorian era! It's a collectible from The Velvet Fork! Your kid broke it—who's going to pay for it?"
The child's father was momentarily stunned by the outburst, then stuck his neck out defiantly. "What? You invited us here to eat, didn't you? These things are on display for people to look at, aren't they? The kid didn't know any better and knocked it over. You're a grown man—are you seriously going to argue with a child?"
Footsteps echoed from the doorway.
A server entered, holding a list.
His gaze fell on the pile of broken porcelain on the floor. He looked up at Preston, his tone tinged with impatience. "Mr. Wipere, this Victorian-era vase is part of the hotel's collection. There was clear signage and notification upon booking. Damages must be compensated at market value."
He flipped to the last page of the list and held it out to Preston. "After appraisal, the market value of this collectible is ten million dollars. Carpet cleaning and wall restoration fees are calculated separately. The total comes to approximately ten million dollars."
Preston's hands began to tremble.
He turned to look at the relatives.
But the man who'd been so righteous moments ago, insisting "the kid didn't know any better," had already grabbed his coat. The boy's mother was pulling her child toward the door.
One by one, as if on cue, they filed out without so much as a goodbye. Their footsteps echoed down the corridor, growing fainter and fainter.
Soon, only the three members of the Wipere family remained in the room.
Preston stared at the pile of broken porcelain, then at the compensation invoice. His face was deathly pale.
Ten million dollars?
This meal had already drained the Wipere family's remaining savings. Where was he supposed to find ten million dollars?
In desperation, his gaze fell on Marshall.
Marshall still sat in place, brow furrowed, as if he hadn't fully processed the news of the "pregnancy."
Preston walked over, his voice hoarse. "Marshall… could you cover this for me? I'll pay you back later, I promise."
Marshall looked up at him, his frown deepening.
"I'm Allegra's fiancé, but this child…"
He didn't finish. His gaze swept over Allegra's abdomen before pulling away.
Preston grabbed onto that thread like a drowning man clutching a lifeline. His words came faster. "You're Allegra's fiancé. This child will be yours too. I really can't come up with this money right now. Just cover it for me—the Wipere family will pay you back, I swear!"
Allegra stood nearby, lowering her head at just the right moment. Her hand rested lightly on her abdomen, her eyes reddening. "Marshall… I'm sorry. I've put you in a difficult position."
Marshall looked at her, then at the broken pieces on the floor. He closed his eyes briefly.
Ten million dollars.
That was money he'd saved for a long time—money he'd planned to invest in a new project.
But now, he realized he had no room to refuse.
For the sake of the child…
He gritted his teeth, pulled out his phone, opened the transfer page, and entered a number he'd never imagined he'd input.
Ten million dollars transferred to the hotel's account.
Ten million dollars.
The successful transaction notification sounded unbearably sharp in the quiet air.
Marshall stared at the receipt on his phone, his face dark, his heart aching as if it were being squeezed.
That was ten million dollars! Gone—just like that!
He couldn't even maintain a polite expression. He gripped his phone tightly, not wanting to stay another second, and turned on his heel to leave.
He didn't even spare a glance at Allegra behind him.
"Marshall…"
Allegra called out after him, but Marshall didn't turn back.
Watching the man's cold, resolute figure disappear, Allegra stood frozen, her expression grim.
The mocking gazes around her felt like slaps across her face.
She turned on her high heels, her mood plummeting to rock bottom, and headed toward the restroom.
She needed to clear her head.
The corridor outside the restroom was quiet. Allegra had just reached the corner when her steps came to an abrupt halt.
Not far ahead stood two tall, imposing men.
The man on the left wore an impeccably tailored black suit. His entire presence exuded an icy, aloof aura.
His face was devastatingly handsome—features so perfect they seemed almost unfair. His eyes were deep and cold, like ice that had never thawed.
Reginald.
Standing beside him was a man whose entire demeanor radiated refined elegance and precision.
He wore a simple dress shirt. Behind gold-rimmed glasses, his eyes were deep and restrained.
The Douglas family's second son, Milton.
At this very moment, these two top-tier moguls—men who normally stood above everyone else, holding countless lives in their hands—were each holding a delicate pastry box.
From Starlight City's most exclusive, hardest-to-get pastry shop.
Limited quantities daily. Worth more than gold.
"Mr. Lancaster, there's no need for you to trouble yourself." Milton adjusted his glasses, his voice gentle but edged with undeniable sharpness. "Cindy loves the red bean pastries from this shop. As her brother, it's only natural I deliver them to her personally."
Reginald smiled faintly, his fingers tightening around his box. "Milton, I waited in line for three hours to get this. Today, Lucinda is eating mine."
The two men locked eyes. Invisible sparks seemed to crackle violently in the air between them.
Neither would back down an inch.
They'd gone out of their way—just to compete over who got to give Lucinda a pastry!
Neither wanted to lose to the other.
Hiding around the corner, Allegra couldn't hear what they were saying, but her eyes were completely transfixed.
So handsome…
They're so incredibly handsome!
Compared to these two men, Marshall—who'd just stormed off in a huff—looked like a pathetic clown.
The nobility, the coldness, the aura of absolute authority radiating from them—it seized Allegra's entire soul in an instant.
Her breathing quickened. Her heart raced.
She wanted to approach them.
She wanted to meet them!
Allegra instinctively smoothed out her dress and started to walk briskly toward them in her heels.
But before she could get close—
"Stop."
Two stone-faced bodyguards materialized like ghosts, instantly blocking Allegra's path.
Their cold gazes looked at her like she was already dead.
Allegra froze. The terrifying look in their eyes sent her stumbling back two steps.