“Mr.
Winslow!…”
Throughout the entire process, Julian Winslow didn’t answer a single question.
His tall, slender figure, bathed in the camera flashes, inexplicably exuded an indescribable air of elegance.
However, his cold, aloof face clearly conveyed an unapproachable demeanor.
Only then did Shalma Hughes realize that this was the world of the eldest son of the Winslow Family.
Protected by two tall, burly bodyguards in front and carefully shielded by Julian at her side, Shalma didn’t feel any discomfort despite the somewhat chaotic scene.
As the clamor of the reporters behind them faded into the distance, Shalma followed Julian’s lead and entered the banquet hall.
Shalma was no stranger to so-called banquets; she had attended countless such events in the past.
Yet, today was different.
The exquisitely dressed guests, immersed in the glamour of the evening, revealed a hint of astonishment in their eyes when they saw her step inside with Julian.
Just then, a waiter happened to pass by.
Julian took two glasses of champagne and handed one to her.
“Afraid?” he asked breezily, slightly raising an eyebrow.
Shalma knew his observational skills were astonishing; nothing escaped his notice.
She had no intention of hiding it.
“I just didn’t expect there to be so many reporters.”
“You’ll get used to it,” he said.
“Get used to it?” she thought.
“How can I get used to it?
Or is this merely the beginning?”
Shalma smiled and took a small sip from her glass.
Although she occasionally had social engagements, she actually had a very low alcohol tolerance.
In the past, she had always just tried to bluff her way through.
As the bitter taste of the alcohol flooded her taste buds, Shalma couldn’t help but furrow her brows, unconsciously sticking out her tongue a little.
“Mr.
Winslow, Mrs.
Winslow requests your presence.”
A middle-aged woman dressed in an elegant high-collared silk dress, her hair pulled back into an immaculate bun, cast a cold glance at Shalma before speaking respectfully to Julian.
“I understand,” Julian replied indifferently.
Receiving her answer, the middle-aged woman withdrew just as she had arrived, maintaining the utmost respect and composure the entire time.
“I’ll be right back.
If you get bored, you can take a stroll in the back garden,” Julian said.
He planted a doting kiss on Shalma’s forehead.
“Okay!” Shalma agreed, displaying a rare moment of docility.
Inside the antique-style room, intricately carved mahogany furniture filled the space, and an expensive tiger-skin rug covered the floor.
When Julian entered, the woman sitting upright on a mahogany chair slowly raised her head.
Even though she was over fifty, her face still bore the unmistakable elegance of her youth.
Her noble and graceful demeanor carried an inviolable sense of authority.
“Mother,” Julian greeted.
Mrs.
Winslow looked at her son, her exquisitely made-up face bearing a complex expression.
“The woman accompanying you to the banquet tonight is Marcus Hughes’s daughter?”
“Yes,” Julian replied.
“An illegitimate daughter!?” Mrs.
Winslow’s face remained calm.
Julian nodded.
He sat down in a carved mahogany chair, his expression arrogant and aloof.
“You should know that someone with the status of an illegitimate daughter cannot marry into the Winslow Family,” Mrs.
Winslow said, her elegant and luxurious face gradually revealing a sharp severity.
You don’t need to worry about that, Mother,” Julian said as he stood up.
“Mother, there are still many guests outside.
I’ll take my leave now.” With a slight bow, he walked out the door.
After Julian left, Mama Archer, who had been standing inconspicuously to the side, immediately stepped forward carrying a delicate jade tray, a trace of worry in her eyes.
“Mrs.
Winslow, is he going to disobey you again?”
Mrs.
Winslow picked up the cup of tea from the tray and took a sip.
Her expression remained unchanged as she sighed.
“It has been eight years, yet that woman’s place in his heart hasn’t diminished in the slightest.”
“Mrs.
Winslow!
Is it necessary to invite Miss Hughes upstairs?” Mama Archer asked, her eyes shifting as she offered the suggestion.
“Now is not the time.
He is probably just acting on a whim,” Mrs.
Winslow replied unhurriedly.
Shalma didn’t know many people at the banquet.
There were only a few individuals she had met before who had previously collaborated with The Hughes Group.
After exchanging pleasantries with them one by one, she went alone to the back garden Julian had mentioned.
In July, the myriad flowers of Aethelgard were already in full bloom, filling the air around her with a light, sweet fragrance.
The evening was also exceptionally beautiful.
A full moon hung high in the sky, casting a silver halo across the ground.
Unconsciously, Shalma slowly closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
“Shalma!”
The deep, resonant voice carried a magnetic quality that tugged at the heartstrings.