Chapter 178: The Fencing Master

Chapter 178: The Fencing Master

"Old man, you're seriously the coolest!"

"Pops, I love you!!!"

Today, Caesar was getting the full experience of what it felt like to be surrounded by a dozen young, gorgeous American college girls all fawning over him at once.

Right now he felt like a rockstar who'd just wrapped a sold-out show at Madison Square Garden. Every girl who slipped into one of the couture gowns would come rushing over to Caesar, spin in a little circle, and show it off.

He had to admit—it did wonders for a man's ego.

Off to the side, Luna elbowed her best friend in the ribs and dropped her voice. "Natasha, I just Googled him."

Natasha's gaze drifted somewhere else, and she asked, feigning disinterest, "Googled what?"

Luna leaned in close to Natasha's ear, her tone buzzing with excitement. "You know that 'Elizabeth' he called earlier? She's the CFO of the Williams Group! We're talking a super-conglomerate worth tens of billions on Wall Street!"

Luna rushed on. "One phone call, and she sent six bodyguards to deliver over a hundred couture pieces. You honestly think their relationship is nothing?"

Natasha's hand stilled on a wine-red velvet dress. Her expression barely flickered.

"And what does that have to do with me?" She held the dress up against herself, then turned and walked toward the changing room. "It's almost time to go on."

Luna trailed after her, refusing to let it go. "You're not even gonna try? You really won't regret it?"

Natasha's steps stopped for a beat.

"Regret what?" She drew in a deep breath. "I'm going backstage to get ready."

Luna watched her best friend's stubborn back and let out a soft sigh.

"A girl's crush… always ends the exact same way, huh."

With Caesar riding shotgun, the rest of the event went off without a hitch.

All through the show, Natasha hosted with total poise, presence turned all the way up. A few sharp, quick-witted saves in the middle drew round after round of applause from the crowd.

Caesar sat in the VIP seats. After the show wrapped, every girl who came to return a couture gown made a point of asking for a photo with him, complete with an enthusiastic hug.

More than a few of them were the type looking for a "shortcut"—hoping to latch onto this mysterious rich man—and during the hug they'd slip a scrap of paper with their number scrawled on it into Caesar's pocket.

Caesar was long past being surprised by this sort of thing. He smiled and accepted every one of them. Then, once the girls were gone, he casually dropped all the notes into the trash can out in the hallway.

Some things were only good for one night's fun. Nothing more.

The phone in Caesar's pocket buzzed.

A text from Elizabeth: "Dresses arrive okay?"

Caesar typed back: "Got 'em. Thanks, boss." Then, on impulse, tacked on a thumbs-up emoji.

A few seconds later, Elizabeth replied with something almost unheard of from her—an eye-roll emoji, laced with just a hint of attitude.

Caesar looked at the screen and grinned to himself.

This girl's changed. Softened up a lot.

The old Elizabeth—the workaholic—never in a million years would've sent something as pointless and inefficient as an emoji.

"Pops! So this is where you've been hiding!"

Luna's chipper voice rang out from behind him.

Caesar turned to find her dragging Natasha over—back in her everyday clothes now—by the wrist.

"We've been looking for you for like half an hour!" Luna planted herself in front of Caesar, released Natasha's wrist, and let her big eyes dart straight to Caesar's phone screen.

"Who're you texting? You were smiling like an idiot—there's clearly something going on there."

Caesar tucked the phone back into his pocket and folded his arms across his chest. He actually kind of liked Luna's whole vibe—no hidden angles, easy to talk to, chatty without being annoying.

Caesar played along, letting out a sigh and putting on a world-weary face. "What can I say? I'm getting old. If I don't work at making conversation, I'm gonna end up dying alone."

Luna's eyes lit up instantly. Without a word of warning, she grabbed Natasha by the shoulders and shoved her hard, straight into Caesar's arms.

Natasha, completely blindsided, stumbled forward and pitched right into him.

Caesar's strong arm shot out on reflex and caught her. The distance between them vanished in an instant—close enough that Natasha could feel the solid, unyielding wall of his chest.

Her face flushed crimson, tomato-red. She recoiled like she'd touched a live wire, scrambling out of his hold.

"Luna! Are you out of your mind, what the hell are you doing?!"

Luna planted her hands on her hips, completely unbothered by her best friend's murderous glare, and fired right back. "What are you so embarrassed about? He's single, you're single! I'm being your wingman here, okay?"

Caesar rubbed his temples, mildly pained. "Luna, quit messing around. At my age, I'm old enough to be your uncle."

Luna tipped her chin up, righteous as ever. "So what if he's older? Older men know how to take care of a woman. I've got zero problem with that!"

Caesar let out a wry laugh and shook his head.

"I really am old. Can't keep up with all this drama anymore, and I sure as hell don't understand how you Gen Z kids think."

Caesar turned, pulled open the SUV door, and got ready to leave.

That was when it happened.

A rush of quick, uniform footsteps came pounding down the far end of the tree-lined path.

A whole crowd of people came surging toward them, radiating aggression. The one leading the pack was blond and blue-eyed, with a smug, punkish look about him, decked out in a spotless white fencing uniform.

He came to a stop five paces from Caesar. Behind him, twenty or thirty flunkies in matching team jackets instantly fanned out in a semicircle, striking an intimidating formation.

The kid crossed his arms over his chest, jerked his chin high, and demanded in a tone dripping with condescension:

"You Caesar?"

Caesar's hand slid off the door handle. He turned, in no hurry at all, and spoke. "And you are?"

The kid took a step forward and announced it flat out. "I'm challenging you to a duel."

Caesar looked the young man over, sizing up the guy in the fencing gear, and felt a wave of speechlessness roll through him.

Is this some kind of retro Ivy League frat tradition? Cornering a total stranger in the parking lot outside a school auditorium and demanding a duel?

Natasha immediately threw herself in front of Caesar, arms spread wide, glaring at the kid like a mother hen guarding her chick.

"Noel! What's your deal this time? What are you even trying to do?!"

The second Noel saw Natasha, all his swagger deflated. Even his voice went soft.

"Natasha, move. This doesn't concern you. This is how men settle things."

Noel's gaze cut past her, locking hard onto Caesar, his expression turning dead serious. "I heard everything he said backstage earlier. I'm dueling him—for you!"

Natasha stamped her foot, mortified out of her mind. "You've completely lost it! You think this alpha-male macho bull actually means anything?"

She glanced back at Caesar and lowered her voice. "Mr. Montague, just get in the car and go. He's the captain of the school fencing team, and he's got a screw loose. Don't even bother with him."

Caesar hadn't planned on bothering with some college kid whose brain had been hijacked by hormones anyway.

He gave Natasha's shoulder a light pat and said gently, "Natasha, if there's any news about your mother, call me anytime."

Natasha nodded gratefully.

Caesar turned to get in the car.

That was when it happened.

Clang!

A silver fencing saber came whipping through the air, hurled hard, landing with pinpoint precision on the asphalt right at Caesar's feet, the blade still humming from the impact.

In Western dueling custom, throwing a glove—or a sword—at your opponent's feet was the gravest provocation there was.

"Noel! You've gone too far!"

Natasha shrieked and rushed to Caesar's side. "Mr. Montague, did it hit you?"

Caesar kept his head down, his face impossible to read.

"I'm fine."

Caesar glanced at the saber lying at his feet, and a slow, dangerous curve pulled at the corner of his mouth.

"If this kid wants to play so bad…"

Caesar bent down and scooped up the saber. He weighed it in his hand, the point angled toward the ground.

"…then I'll play with him."

Caesar lifted his head, his eyes fixed on Noel like a wolf sizing up its prey. "You wanted to test yourself against me, right? Come on then, kid."

Noel licked his lips, a spark of excitement flashing in his eyes.

"Bring me my gear!" he barked over his shoulder without turning around.

A flunky immediately hurried over, cradling a full set of fencing equipment—metal mask and protective vest—and held it out respectfully.

Caesar watched the whole thing and let out a scoff, not bothering to hide it.

"You really are a coward."

Noel's hands, halfway to the gear, froze in midair.

Caesar's voice drifted over, unhurried—but every word cut straight to the bone.

"When that lowlife Hild was tearing into Natasha backstage earlier, you hid in the crowd like a scared little turtle. Didn't have the guts to step up."

"Now you show up under the banner of 'dueling for love'—and you still need a full set of body armor before you'll dare draw your sword."

Caesar flicked his wrist, and the saber in his hand carved a clean, elegant flourish through the air.

"You're not just a coward. You're a hypocrite through and through."