Chapter 23 You Haven't Seen Crazy Yet!
John leaned casually against the car door, his black shirt creating a stark contrast with his silver hair. He slowly peeled off his leather gloves.
His pale, slender fingers held a cigarette, and his slightly unbuttoned collar revealed fresh scratches on his collarbone, apparently injuries from his dramatic entrance.
The blood looked particularly striking against his sickly pale complexion, like red plum blossoms blooming in snow.
It added several degrees of dangerous allure to his already ethereal appearance.
His thin lips curved in a languid, wicked smile, like a serpent flicking its tongue, "Sorry, I'm late."
"John!" George's face turned ashen as he barked, "What the hell are you doing?! This is a business gala!"
"So?" He exhaled a slow stream of smoke, his eyes holding a mocking malice, "You're using this occasion to introduce everyone to my dear sister, so I figured I'd use this same occasion to meet her, too."
He casually tossed his lighter back into the car, then seemed to suddenly remember something, "Oh, right, I brought a special gift."
With that, he bent down and reached into the car, retrieving a cake and setting it on the table. Under everyone's stunned gazes, he calmly removed the cake from its box.
"Good, not completely ruined." His voice was incredibly cheerful, as if he really had come to celebrate Emily.
However, when everyone got a clear look at the carefully prepared cake, their stunned expressions turned to horror.
The cake bore Emily's face, with strawberry sauce smeared around the neck area to look like bloody gore.
"Surprise!" John presented the cake to Emily with a flourish. "I made it myself. Do you like it?"
Emily's legs gave out, and she collapsed onto the stage, her carefully styled updo coming undone, looking exactly like a turkey struck by lightning.
"John! What the hell is wrong with you!" George's hands shook with rage, but he didn't dare step forward.
After all, this kid had dared to throw gasoline into the family chapel when he was just ten years old!
"Wrong with me?" John removed the cigarette from his lips, then with his other hand, hefted the cake and hurled it directly at the champagne tower that had somehow survived the earlier carnage.
The final tier of champagne glasses crashed down, the sound of shattering crystal like a beautiful piano melody that made John narrow his eyes in enjoyment.
He stepped across the scattered crystal shards, climbed onto the car's hood, then stood on the roof. From his jacket, he pulled out a stack of photographs, his thin lips curving in a demonic arc while his eyes blazed with excited, maniacal light, "You haven't seen crazy yet!"
With a grand gesture, he flung hundreds of photos into the air.
The photographs showed Emily throwing tantrums at the Smith mansion and in luxury boutiques.
Several photos drifted down to the second-floor observation deck, landing at Sophia's feet. She glanced down at them, her expression grave.
They were all surveillance footage. If Andrew wasn't behind this, she found it hard to believe.
John jumped directly down from the car roof, bent to pick up one photo, and used its edge to lift Emily's chin, "So you like making people kneel while serving you?"
Emily's face went deathly pale, her voice trembling, "John, you can't fabricate photos to frame me just because you can't let go of Sophia."
"You dare mention her name?" His voice was as soft as sweet words, but the force of his grip nearly crushed bone. "You're not worthy of a single strand of Sophia's hair."
Emily wept from the physical pain, looking at John in terror.
Before anyone could react, he yanked off Emily's pearl necklace in one swift motion.
"What are you doing!" Emily shrieked, trying to grab it back.
John let the pearls scatter across the floor, extracted a tiny camera from the necklace's main pendant, and crushed the device under his heel with a cold laugh, "This kind of trick? Sophia's already played out."
George's expression became even grimmer than before. He raised his hand and delivered a sharp slap to Emily's face, "You'd better explain exactly what this thing is!"
Emily clutched her stinging cheek, tears instantly spilling from her eyes.
The scattered pearls reflected cold light under the chandeliers, just like the frozen atmosphere in the ballroom, and like her heart that had turned to ice.
"Dad, this isn't mine." Her voice shook, and her carefully applied makeup was smeared into messy black streaks by her tears.
Another slap landed, George's hand trembling, "Still lying!"
John leaned against the car, playing with his flip lighter between his fingers, a faint smile playing at his lips.
The flame danced in his eyes, reflecting a hint of sick pleasure.
The game of framing and scheming, he'd never get tired of playing it, no matter how many times.
"Mr. George Smith, I think you should be explaining the current situation to me first." Pacific Group's chairman, Ron Phillips, stepped forward with a stern expression, seizing this perfect opportunity to put George in his place!
Seeing the host come out to demand accountability, John smiled with satisfaction, tucked his lighter into his pants pocket, and stretched lazily, "Looks like father doesn't have time for me, so I guess I'll head out."
The moment he opened the car door, his peripheral vision caught a moving shadow on the second floor. He looked up, a few strands of hair falling across his eyes.
The empty second-floor observation deck reflected in those pupils like melted amber, and he suddenly curved his lips, silently mouthing, "Caught you."
With that, he got into the car, started the engine, and with a dramatic tail-swing, crashed through the ballroom's carved wooden doors and roared away.
Causing chaos and then casually walking away—very John indeed.
Only after the engine sounds faded did Sophia emerge from behind the Roman column.
Amelia finished recording and rushed over, transferring the GoPro footage to her phone, "This is absolutely the most spectacular drama of the year! I've got my headline story!"
When it came to crashing parties, John was unmatched!
This was exactly why the Smith family hadn't invited John back for their last gala.
With him around, there was no such thing as a complete event.
"Hey, John came to defend you this time, didn't he?" Amelia nudged Sophia with her elbow.
Emily's first formal society debut, and John had made such a dramatic appearance to ruin it, clearly showing he didn't welcome Emily's return or acknowledge his sister.
John had spent years in battles of wit with Sophia, nearly destroying her several times, but he'd never shown such obvious displeasure with her.
Instead, there had been a kind of crazy, obsessive admiration.
Hearing this, Sophia pulled at the corner of her mouth, unable to manage a real smile.
She bent down to pick up a photograph from the floor, looking at the detailed surveillance timestamp, and said flatly, "Andrew's back too."
"Andrew?" Amelia raised an eyebrow, scanning the scene below. "Then why didn't he come?"
Wayne casually shoved his hands in his pockets. "If Andrew had come tonight, you wouldn't have had such a good show to watch."