Chapter 282
Chapter 282
"Especially during this critical period as the group seeks transformation, we've received invaluable support from many new friends. Here, I must particularly thank Margaret New Energy Group and its founder, Ms. Kennedy."
The entire venue erupted.
Camera shutters in the press section went absolutely wild again. Countless gazes ping-ponged between Richard and Margaret.
This unreserved acknowledgment—placing Margaret New Energy Group in such a prominent position—everyone present could weigh the significance of that gesture.
Margaret showed no sign of being flattered, simply meeting his gaze with calm composure.
As Richard's words concluded, he raised his wine glass, offering a slight nod toward the main stage.
Poised and impeccable.
The speech ended, and the ball officially began.
The atmosphere surged to yet another crescendo.
Every pair of eyes gravitated toward Richard, whether intentionally or not.
Who would he invite to the Neville Group's fortieth anniversary opening dance?
Is the political heiress with potential collaboration interests with the Neville Group? Or the award-winning actress who'd just claimed her prize?
Several elegantly dressed young women had unconsciously straightened their spines, their faces displaying perfectly calibrated restraint and anticipation.
Richard descended from the stage. He didn't approach any of the hopeful socialites.
He walked straight through the crowd, which automatically parted before him like the Red Sea.
He stopped in front of Margaret.
Everyone held their breath.
He bowed slightly, extending his hand in a flawless invitation gesture.
His deep eyes reflected her image.
This was a public invitation—and a risky test.
He placed the power to refuse or accept entirely in her hands, in front of everyone.
Margaret's gaze traveled slowly from his outstretched hand up to meet his eyes.
She saw the gravity in those eyes.
And beneath that gravity, the carefully hidden hope.
She remained silent for several seconds.
Those seconds felt like an eternity to Richard.
To the surrounding spectators, they were loaded with dramatic tension.
Finally, Margaret placed her wine glass on a nearby server's tray.
She lifted her hand, letting her fingertips settle gently into his broad palm.
The music began flowing more tenderly at that exact moment.
The two glided into the center of the dance floor.
One hand lightly encircled her waist, the other intertwined with hers—his movements precise, maintaining perfect propriety.
A subtle distance remained between them.
Not intimate, yet impossible to ignore.
He didn't speak, just looked down at her.
Her expression remained cool, long lashes casting small shadows beneath her eyes, emotions unreadable.
But he could feel that the line of her waist beneath his palm wasn't as tense as he'd imagined.
"You've lost weight." He finally couldn't hold back.
"Mr. Neville's anniversary celebration calls for business talk, don't you think?"
Her response politely steered the conversation back to safe territory.
His Adam's apple bobbed slightly, but he didn't pursue the topic.
They danced in silence, spinning with the music, their steps perfectly synchronized.
The surrounding figures and lights blurred into abstract patches of color, rushing past them.
The center of the dance floor seemed to hold only the two of them.
The dance ended, the music ceased.
Margaret immediately withdrew her hand, offering him a slight nod. "Lovely dancing. Thank you."
As formal as concluding a business negotiation.
Instead of returning to her original corner, she headed straight for the ballroom exit to retrieve her wrap.
"Mr. Neville, I have a board meeting tomorrow morning. I'll be taking my leave."
"I'll walk you out." Richard followed almost immediately.
He didn't give her a chance to refuse, personally accompanying her to the hotel entrance.
The late autumn night breeze carried a chill, lifting a corner of her dress.
The valet brought her car around.
Richard stepped forward, opening her car door while protectively placing one hand over the door frame to prevent her from hitting her head.
Margaret settled into the car but didn't immediately close the door.
She looked up at him once.
In the darkness, he stood outside the car, his figure tall and straight.
The brilliant lights from the hotel entrance outlined his silhouette.
Those eyes, usually filled with calculation and dominance, now held only pure focus.
"Drive safely," he said quietly.
Margaret nodded.
The door closed, and the black sedan smoothly merged into the nighttime traffic.
Richard remained in place, watching those two red taillights grow smaller and smaller in his vision until they finally disappeared around the street corner.
A night breeze swept by, but he felt no trace of cold.
This was just a beginning.
And he was willing to wait.
After the Neville Group's fortieth anniversary celebration, the business world fell into a collective state of observation and silence.
The winds seemed to have shifted, but no one could say exactly which direction they were blowing.
Margaret's life showed no ripples from that widely witnessed dance.
She remained the CEO who worked from dawn to dusk, pouring all her energy into Margaret New Energy Group.
Occasionally, her personal phone would receive a message late at night, content unrelated to her personal affairs.
[European renewable energy subsidy policies are changing—might affect Nordic market positioning.]
[That South American lithium mining company shows signs of equity restructuring. Worth monitoring.]
The messages were brief, precise, and all industry intelligence she'd find interesting.
Margaret typically replied with just two words: [Received.] or [Thanks.]
She knew these weren't insights easily obtained through public channels—behind them lay his deployment of the entire Neville Group intelligence network to filter these results.
He'd stopped using those overwhelmingly expensive gifts to assert his presence, instead becoming her information consultant.
They were like two chess players across an invisible board—one making moves, the other understanding without words.
No discussion of the past, no questions about the future.
This delicate balance left observers mystified, yet allowed the two people within it to discover a peculiar mode of interaction.
Meanwhile, changes were occurring within the Neville Group that outsiders couldn't perceive.
Richard delegated more and more daily operations to the professional management team he'd personally cultivated.
He was no longer the workaholic who handled everything personally, even reviewing the punctuation in contracts. He began having "office hours."
When his assistant discovered "tea ceremony classes" and "flower arrangement lessons" appearing on the CEO's office schedule, she thought her eyes were playing tricks.
One autumn afternoon, needing urgent consultation, the assistant pushed open Richard's private lounge door and froze at the scene before her.
In front of the massive floor-to-ceiling windows, Richard was clumsily facing a pile of floral materials.
Those hands accustomed to signing billion-dollar documents and stirring capital storms were now holding a white chrysanthemum, brow furrowed as if studying which angle to insert it from.
Hearing the door open, Richard looked up, his face showing not irritation at being disturbed, but rather a flash of unnatural awkwardness.
"What is it?" He set down the flower, his voice returning to its usual composure.
The assistant quickly reported her business and retreated, unable to resist one backward glance.