Chapter 113: Younger Brother and Sister

Nicholas executed a deep bow, and had the formality of the upcoming banquet not restrained him, he might have sprawled out on the floor to convey his profound respect.

His reverence was unmistakable.

Mark and his wife took note, as did the astounded Millers. Each pair of eyes widened in turn, registering the gravity of the moment.

"Let's not dawdle," Henry said, nodding toward the elevator. "We don't want to leave the host waiting."

His remark was a subtle nod to Isabella.

Mark, momentarily stunned, could only muster an "Oh" and followed Henry with a rigidity that betrayed his inner turmoil.

Miranda, equally shaken, was less familiar with the city's who's who and didn't recognize Nicholas. Yet, the reaction of the Millers was a telltale sign—this man was someone of significance in Freton City.

And he was deferring to Henry?

The implications regarding Henry's status swirled in her mind.

She wondered if Henry would shed his guise upstairs and what he might have in store for her and Mark. Given the tumultuous history between the two men, she feared the worst.

They stepped into the elevator, and as the doors began to inch closed...

Mark caught a final glance of Nicholas, still bent at the waist, too intimidated to straighten up. He also noticed Rob, Simone, and Fabio on the floor, their eyes brimming with defeat and desperation.

"Retribution has finally arrived," Mark thought, a swell of emotion causing his eyes to mist. He quickly dabbed at them.

The Millers had humiliated him, turned his friendship with Henry sour, pushed him out of their circle, and sent thugs to disrupt his business. Now, they faced their downfall.

Ascending to the upper floors, Mark felt a sense of vindication.

Moreover, he sensed that Henry's reference to him as "younger brother" indicated a softening of past animosities.

Henry... perhaps, he was a better man than he had dared to hope.

Standing in the elevator, Mark looked to Henry, a mix of emotions crossing his face.

"Henry."

After a brief pause, Henry replied coolly, "Yes?"

"It's... nothing," Mark stammered, hastily wiping his eyes once more. "Who's hosting this event?"

He had speculated it might be one of the patriarchs from the major families, but Nicholas's deference suggested otherwise.

Observing Henry's ease around Nicholas, Mark surmised that Henry himself might be the host. Yet, the reason for Nicholas's respect was beyond him.

Henry then hinted that the host awaited them upstairs.

"You'll see for yourself soon. She's been missing you," Henry said, his voice revealing a rare softness.

From Sophia, Henry understood Isabella's attachment to Mark. With Mark's departure from Freton City, she had lost her brother's support. Mark's clandestine support had meant the world to her, and she had grown to see him as a brotherly figure.

But now...

"Now that her real brother has returned, what need is there for a substitute?" Henry asked, a sliver of jealousy in his tone as he glanced at Mark.

Mark, sensing the underlying tension and feeling a twinge of guilt, recoiled slightly. "Henry, is something wrong?"

"Nothing at all." Henry's dismissal was swift, his attention drawn away as the elevator reached their destination.

The doors to the top floor's private room swung open, and Henry led the way.

The opulence was almost blinding - the crystal chandeliers sparkled, the exotic dishes arrayed on the rotating table beckoned, and the tableware gleamed. The wine bottles, clearly of a rare vintage, stood proudly among the feast.

And then there were the three figures by the table.

One was cloaked in white, her flowing hair and glasses lending her an intellectual allure, her beauty reminiscent of a celestial being.

The other, adorned in black, exuded a seductive aura, her features meticulously sculpted, embodying the quintessence of a goddess.

Mark's breath caught in his throat. "Miss Costa?"

Laura Costa, the enigmatic First Lady of Freton City, was a figure shrouded in mystique, her presence gracing magazine covers but seldom seen in the flesh.

Mark had never seen her beyond the glossy pages.

She greeted him with a slight nod—a gesture that was at once courteous and distant.

Next to her, a young woman brimmed with life, her frown giving way to a playful pout. "Mark, I'm standing right here, and yet you're captivated by her beauty, oblivious to me?"

Recognition dawned on Mark after a moment. "Isabella?"

"Who else would it be? Have you really forgotten your sister so quickly?" Isabella's voice was tinged with playful reproach.

Mark was awash with embarrassment.

The oversight wasn't entirely his fault. Ever since his fall from grace, he had lived on the edge, sending Isabella money when he could, which she had steadfastly refused, determined to make her own way.

When Isabella faced a forced marriage, Mark had been helpless to intervene. If not for Miranda's fervent pleas, he might have recklessly confronted the Lewis family.

Since Henry had taken Isabella into his care, she had undergone a remarkable transformation.

Once frail and pallid, she now stood before him radiant and confident, a stark contrast to the sister he remembered.

Flustered, Mark muttered, "Isabella, I... you've changed. You look... healthier."

"Healthier? Are you suggesting I've put on weight?" Isabella's mock indignation was clear. "I asked my brother to invite you, and this is how you repay me?"

"You're the one who invited me?" Mark's realization came with a mix of surprise and gratitude.

He glanced at Henry, who confirmed with a nod. "Would I have bothered if not for her?"

Henry's blunt remark left Mark feeling a touch awkward.

"Don't dwell on the past, Henry. You're a man of stature now; show some magnanimity," a robust voice interjected. "Mark, come take a seat. It's been too long. I wanted to keep you close back then, despite my own predicaments."

Mark, both startled and heartened, hurried to join the speaker.

During his time with the Millers, only he and Carlo had consistently stood by Henry and Isabella, creating a bond of loyalty.

Carlo's laughter filled the room. "Who else but me would dare speak to Henry in such a manner?"

His confidence was palpable.

As an ally to Henry, Carlo was privy to the inner workings of power in the city and knew that the so-called major families, Nicholas, and even the Tiger Gang, paled in comparison to his nephew's influence.

My nephew, the veritable King Henry!

Who else, indeed, had the audacity to challenge him?

Costa's words prompted a rare laugh from Henry. "You're not wrong. Even if I were a king, you'd still speak your mind."