Chapter 114
Everyone had assumed the York family's "real daughter" from the countryside was merely a beautiful but empty-headed girl who had stumbled into her position through sheer luck.
Yet when the music began, her steps proved light and graceful. Every turn and glide was executed with flawless precision.
She and Dennis moved together seamlessly, not like first-time partners but like a pair who had rehearsed countless times.
The gazes that had initially sought entertainment gradually transformed into admiration and reassessment.
From the nearby lounge area, Mason watched the perfect couple in the center of the dance floor, leaning on his cane.
His cloudy eyes revealed a rare glimmer of approval. This daughter-in-law was more composed and capable than he had anticipated.
"Mother, look at her—she's practically preening," complained a bejeweled young woman at Alvina's side. This was Matilda Davis, Alvina's niece.
"Indeed. Dressed so provocatively, not a trace of proper breeding," Alvina whispered scornfully.
Before she could continue, she felt an icy stare upon her.
Alvina shuddered as she met Mason's warning glance and immediately fell silent, cold sweat breaking across her back.
As the dance concluded, Dennis steadied Diana with a hand at her waist. His eyes shone with genuine admiration. "Diana, you dance beautifully! Better than the professional instructors I've hired!"
Diana withdrew her hand, her expression neutral. "You weren't bad yourself."
Her gaze swept casually across the room over Dennis's shoulder. Countless eyes were observing and evaluating her at this grand event—the Yorks, the Russells, and predators lurking in the shadows.
And somewhere, in an unknown corner, another pair of eyes was certainly watching.
The owner of those eyes had sent this expensive "battle dress," pushing her onto this stage to enjoy her performance tonight.
The corner of Diana's lips curved imperceptibly.
She exited the floor gracefully, but Dennis still buzzed beside her, caught in the excitement of their dance like an enthusiastic large dog.
"Diana, have you secretly practiced? That spin was absolutely perfect!"
Diana didn't respond, continuing toward her seat. As she passed a row of dining tables, chaos erupted.
Leila, chatting with guests over her wine glass, spotted Diana from the corner of her eye. She turned with seeming casualness but stumbled deliberately, colliding with a server carrying a full tray of drinks.
The server lost balance with a cry of alarm, falling directly toward Diana. Cold liquid splashed outward—champagne and red wine mingling to stain Diana's star-gray velvet gown with ugly splotches.
Nearby guests gasped.
Leila was the first to scream, her face showing exaggerated panic and "concern." She rushed forward not to Diana but to steady the nearly-fallen server. "What's wrong with you? How could you be so careless!"
While supporting the server, she addressed Diana in a tearful voice loud enough for everyone to hear, "Diana, it's because you were walking too quickly and startled him. Look at your dress—so expensive! What a disaster!"
A masterful reversal of blame. She absolved herself completely while attributing all fault to Diana's "hasty walking."
All eyes immediately focused on Diana—the Russell family's new lady, publicly humiliated at such an event.
The York brothers stood nearby, frowning with visible disdain, their expressions mocking her embarrassment.
Dennis's face reddened with anger as he prepared to intervene, but Diana stopped him with a single look.
She glanced down at the stains on her dress without any trace of anger or panic.
Her extraordinary calm made Leila's carefully orchestrated performance seem almost ridiculous.
"Miss." A deep, cool male voice with metallic undertones cut unexpectedly through the commotion. "When you bumped into him, the heel of your left shoe broke."
Everyone turned toward the voice.
A tall man had appeared at the crowd's edge. He wore an impeccably tailored charcoal suit without a tie, his shirt collar casually unbuttoned, exuding a dangerous nonchalance.
Though he wore an elegant mask, his striking features beneath it captured the imagination.
He wasn't affiliated with any family attending tonight, yet possessed a commanding presence impossible to ignore.
"Mr... Mr. K?" someone gasped in recognition.
Mr. K—the mysterious businessman who had risen to prominence in international capital markets over the past six months. Ruthless in his methods, background unknown, rumored never to fail at any venture he pursued.
No one knew his origins, only that he possessed nation-rivaling wealth and never participated in trivial social events.
Why would he appear here without reason?
Leila's face instantly drained of color. Looking down, she saw that her four-inch heel had indeed snapped in the middle.
In her effort to make the collision convincing, she had applied too much force and actually broken her heel.
Rupert strode forward unhurriedly. He ignored both Leila and the trembling server, walking directly to Diana.
He removed his suit jacket and draped it naturally over her shoulders. The oversized jacket, carrying his crisp scent of cedar and tobacco, enveloped both her and the unsightly stains.
"Your dress is soiled. It's inappropriate to stay," Rupert said quietly, looking down at her. Though soft, his voice carried throughout the room. "I'll take you home."
His posture was commanding, seemingly declaring an unspoken ownership.
Diana raised her eyes to meet his unfathomable gaze. This was Alaric's offered exit, and simultaneously his warning to everyone present.
She nodded once.
Alaric said nothing more, placing his arm around her shoulders as they turned to leave.
From beginning to end, he never spared Leila a glance—his complete disregard more devastating than any accusation.
Leila stood frozen, watching their retreating figures. The man's jacket draped over Diana's shoulders was so painfully obvious it nearly brought her to tears.
Not only had she failed to humiliate Diana, but she had become merely background scenery in the mysterious Mr. K's gallant rescue.
The gazes of every guest now fell on her and her broken heel, filled with mockery and contempt.
---
The glass doors to the terrace sealed away the opulence and clamor of the ballroom.
The night breeze carried coolness, stirring the loose strands of hair at Diana's cheeks. Alaric's jacket still draped her shoulders, retaining his warmth.
"You dance well," Rupert remarked, leaning against the railing. He removed his mask and pulled out a cigarette, lighting it. The crimson glow briefly illuminated the depths of his eyes.
He didn't look at her, gazing instead at the distant city skyline, his tone unreadable.
"You seem to enjoy being the Russell family's lady."
Smoke curled around him, giving him an almost ethereal quality.
Diana knew he was referring to her dance with Dennis.
"He's a Russell, and I'm the Russell family's lady. Dancing at such an event helps maintain the family's dignity and dispels rumors. What benefits the Russell name benefits you as well. This falls within our partnership," she stated matter-of-factly. "Isn't this why you wanted me here?"
She removed his jacket from her shoulders and offered it back.
"Thank you."
Rupert didn't take it. He turned, extinguishing his cigarette against the railing before stepping toward her deliberately.
"Partnership?" He gave a low laugh that sounded particularly dangerous in the quiet night. "Diana, you're fond of that word."
He cornered her against the terrace wall, his tall frame completely enveloping her.
"Dancing with Dennis is partnership." He placed one hand against the wall beside her ear, trapping her. "Then tell me..."
He leaned closer, his hot breath brushing her cheek, his deep eyes swirling with suppressed, almost tangible possessiveness.
"What do you call our night together?" His voice grew husky. "Is that merely... partnership too? Has your heart never been involved?"