He looked up at that exact moment, their gazes tangling together.
“It seems you’ve put a lot of effort into learning how to captivate men,” he said coldly, his tone betraying neither pleasure nor anger.
Shalma Hughes stepped forward with a teacup.
She didn’t want to argue with him anymore.
Those magazines weren’t even hers; when Wendy Quinn had visited Aethelgard and stayed at her apartment, she had brought them over.
In a fit of rebellion, she played along with his assumption.
“If I didn’t put in the effort, how else would I capture your heart, Mr.
Winslow?”
Hearing this, Julian Winslow shot her a look as deep and dark as a bottomless pool.
Even hidden behind his glasses, she could feel the faint threads of anger within his eyes.
“So you approached me on purpose from the very beginning?” he asked.
She looked back at him, her beautiful eyes lifting slightly as she refused to show weakness.
“Of course.
I needed money back then.
Desperately.”
“You planned everything?
You knew I would be there that day, so you deliberately ran in front of my car, nearly getting run over.
Hah!
To successfully get close to me, you were willing to risk your own life.
You really put a special amount of thought into me.” As he spoke, Julian threw out a long arm, pulling the infuriating woman standing before him directly into his embrace and onto his lap.
Shalma was startled by his sudden movement.
But what was she supposed to do?
Tell him the truth?
That she was wandering the rainy streets like a soulless ghost because her boyfriend of five years had just married her sister, and that was why she almost got hit by his car?
Would he even believe that?
Julian looked at the radiant, smiling face in his arms, as if completely bewitched.
Shalma could clearly feel the furious venting of his emotions.
Her words just now had completely enraged him.
He stood up from the sofa, cast a cold, indifferent glance at her, and bypassed her to walk straight toward the door.
Just as Shalma thought he was about to leave immediately, he paused.
“There’s a banquet tomorrow night.
You’re coming with me,” he said.
With that, he left without looking back, not even giving her a chance to refuse.
The two of them had previously been in a lover’s relationship, but she had never appeared with him at any formal social events.
Even when they occasionally bumped into each other, they pretended not to know one another.
Yet, he had actively proposed taking her to this banquet.
Was he implying that he wanted to officially announce their relationship to the public?
To Shalma, this was absolutely not a good thing.
In fact, it was terrible news.
However, she knew very well that if she refused to go with him, the consequences might be even harder to swallow.
She sighed internally.
She now realized that her initiative to offer herself to him that time had truly entangled her with a man she absolutely never should have provoked.
The next day, Shalma spent the entire day in a daze.
He informed her that after work, a driver would come pick her up downstairs at Hughes Tower.
They would pick out a gown first, and then she would be taken to the banquet venue.
Shalma had asked him who was hosting the banquet and who would be attending, but he had remained tight-lipped, refusing to disclose a single detail.
After work, Shalma walked out the entrance of the tower and, sure enough, saw the multi-million-dollar Rolls-Royce parked there.
Though it was merely a car, she inexplicably felt an overwhelming sense of pressure emanating from it.
About an hour later, they arrived at the fitting location.
It was only after getting out that Shalma realized she was at the most prestigious and fashionable establishment in Aethelgard: The Gilt Tower.
The Gilt Tower was a globally renowned location—the personal wardrobe for members of The Royal Court.
Put simply, ordinary citizens, no matter how wealthy, had no right to even buy a single piece of clothing there.
She had heard rumors that someone once offered a hundred million for The Gilt Tower’s chief designer, Miss Mr.
Z, to design a wedding dress for his fiancée.
However, the legendary Miss Mr.
Z flatly rejected him.
Her reason was astonishing: “Philistines like you who don’t understand the art of fashion design are completely unworthy of wearing my clothes.” She had even boldly declared, “Even if you gave me a billion, I wouldn’t waste a single scrap of fabric on your fiancée.”
TSK, TSK.
Because of this, Shalma was exceptionally curious about Miss Mr.
Z, wondering if she would have the fortune of meeting her today.
The driver respectfully opened the door for her.
Shalma stepped out and looked up at the structure before her, which resembled The Gladius Arena.
A flicker of confusion danced in her beautiful eyes, a feeling that only deepened with every step she took forward.