At the theater’s entrance area, security was orderly dispersing the audience, with all tickets being refunded via the original purchase method. Just an hour ago, it was informed that a gentleman had paid a hefty sum to book the entire venue.
Though the situation was well managed, some people couldn’t help but protest, "What is this, we went through so much to get the tickets and traveled all this way, only to be denied entry. Isn’t this deceiving the consumer?"
There were even those who, upon hearing the news of the private event, attempted to bypass security and rush in, only to be overpowered by security and forcefully removed.
At this moment, backstage at the theater.
The ballet director informed the dancers, "Tonight’s performance has been privately booked by a gentleman, so everyone, let’s give it our all."
As soon as these words were spoken, the backstage erupted with chatter.
Someone asked, "For whom is the booking?"
Another responded, "Who else could it be for; it must be for Skye."
The highlight of this ballet is undoubtedly The Crimson Lady, whether it’s her makeup or that captivating face. Whenever she appears in that red dress, she inevitably stuns the audience.
Though only in her early twenties, her dance rendition is the most outstanding among the group of dancers. Regardless of the difficulty of the moves, she executes them excellently.
With the stage lights, smoke effects, and her light and graceful dance, she is elevated to an enviable height.
The audience fights eagerly to see her performance.
In front of the vanity mirror, a cold and glamorous face reflected, draped in seductive red attire, the flower ornament on her forehead accentuating her sultry allure. Upon hearing the gossip about herself, Skye remained unperturbed.
Yet the next words caught her attention.
The director said, "It’s not for her."
Someone who had witnessed said, "There are two people sitting in the audience; it seems the gentleman booked the venue to please his girlfriend. From afar, she looks even more stunning than Skye."
Skye smiled nonchalantly, not letting their words affect her.
When it was time to go on stage, she indeed saw that there were only two people in the audience.
Their originally separate seats had armrests removed and a long cushion extended to form a single seat, matching the colors black and red. From afar, the seat exuded an extraordinary sophistication.
The two sat together, properly, without any suggestive gestures.
The woman was indeed as they said, with a refined elegance that incited envy.
But as she clearly saw the man sitting next to her, Skye’s gaze faltered slightly, nearly forgetting the dance routine...
Sitting closest to the stage, every performer’s expression was visible, and just now that ambiguous look of The Crimson Lady naturally entered the view of Claire Prescott.
She felt slightly out of place, casually grabbing a piece of dessert to eat.
Keane instinctively glanced toward her.
The young lady held onto flowers, unwilling to let go, with cheeks puffed as she ate, her dense lashes distinct, curving naturally upward, casting delicate shadows on her fair smooth skin.
Her eating manner was elegant, eyes focused on the stage play, without noticing the crumbs at the corner of her mouth.
After a moment of hesitation, he uttered a bit softly, "Claire."
Claire Prescott turned to look at him, meeting those deep black eyes.
The lights suddenly dimmed, casting his figure into shadow, his expression unclear yet enveloping her with an unspoken gentle tenderness.
He suddenly raised his hand, thumb lightly brushing against the corner of her lips, the touch both gentle and warm, yet burning.
Claire’s gaze froze momentarily, a blush quietly emerging on her face.
The man’s Adam’s apple moved slightly, saying, "Clean now."
His actions were notably gentle and natural as he leisurely took a handkerchief to wipe; there wasn’t the slightest hint of disdain.
Claire’s eyelashes quivered slightly, awkwardly turning her head away, shy yet unable to stop her smile from rising just a bit, a faint grin concealed by the dimness.
On the stage, Skye hurriedly regained her composure, performing with a crimson scarf amidst swirling smoke, hair like clouds layer upon layer, seemingly breathing, stunningly beautiful.
This was the act where The Crimson Lady, as Silas Young’s singer, performed.
Clad in red, intoxicatingly graceful, a dance that captivates the city.
The hour-long play concluded with the backdrop of a scene from The Crimson Painting.
The presence of The Crimson Lady was like divine creation.
The lead actress portrayed The Crimson Lady—a beauty amidst chaos—vividly, compelling Claire Prescott to applaud their artistry.
However, when the passionate gaze from the stage turned to Keane, Claire followed the gaze, her expression gradually dimming.
For some reason, she felt as though the actress playing The Crimson Lady knew Keane.
She made sure to glance at the name of the lead actress.
—Skye Vance.
Skye quickly set down the props after bowing and exited backstage in pursuit.
By coincidence, encountering in the restroom.
He was alone.
The man held flowers, dressed in a black shirt and trousers, standing elegantly before her, his deep black eyes as ever aloof and indifferent, devoid of warmth.
Skye stepped toward him, stopping two meters away, her mouth opening but unable to speak.
Until now, she didn’t know how to approach him. She rushed out merely for a few extra glances.
Facing such a high and unattainable figure, call her delusional if you want, as long as he could remember her, nothing else mattered.
"Mr. Lowell, I’m Skye Vance, do you remember me?" Possibly due to his aura of aloof sternness, her voice trembled slightly.
Her heart beat increasingly heavily.
In response was silence, as the man looked at her indifferently.
An implicit chill seemed to pierce down her spine.
Skye twisted the red ribbon on her dress, stubbornly continuing, "I didn’t expect Mr. Lowell would come to see my performance..."
Before she could finish, she saw a fresh and elegant woman emerge from the nearby restroom.
In a pale green long dress, standing gracefully, her eyes exuding a faint aura, reminiscent of a blooming white lotus in the quiet night, utterly pure and graceful, her mere presence drawing attention.
Skye silently looked at her, fell silent again.
"Come over," Keane called.
Claire Prescott walked over to him, took the bouquet from his hand, also glancing at Skye.
"Shall we return? Or wander a bit?" Keane asked Claire Prescott.
His voice was exceptionally gentle, rendering Skye momentarily dazed, for she never imagined the word "gentle" could be associated with him.
The next moment, she saw him take the woman’s hand and leave without a word of goodbye.
Skye thought to herself he must have mistaken her for some flirting girl, hence ignored her.
As their figures disappeared, her heart turned gray.
Unbeknownst to her, the scene was witnessed by her female colleague who appeared from around the corner and sneered, "He booked the venue for his girlfriend, we should know better than to meddle in others’ relationships."
Being put on a pedestal for so long naturally drew envy and spite, sarcastic colleagues unable to see her success were common.
Skye closed her eyes calmly, indifferent to their words.
...
The crescent moon slanted in the sky, streetlights casting shadows, the surroundings silent, contrasting with the bustling city.
A firm, warm hand held hers, the grip neither too light nor too strong, like that of a loving companion.
As if smoke or dream, easily scattered.
Claire’s pace slowed, contemplating his relationship with Skye.
She originally wanted to find an excuse to date him; it is now clear that seeing a stage play wasn’t a wise choice. Essentially, it was no different than taking him out to admire beauty. Had she known earlier, she would have chosen to simply treat him to dinner.
At some point, she broke the silence, asking him, "Do you know Skye?"