The next evening.
After work, Claire Prescott left Sinclair Apothecary and went straight to attend such a grand engagement party. She didn’t even bother to put on makeup or change her clothes, still in her elegant new Chinese attire, arriving at the hotel half an hour early.
An easel was set up at the entrance of the hotel lobby, with no photos on it, just the romantic connection of the two names, Milton Rivers and Serena Thorne, with two pink hearts.
With numerous prestigious families in Kystral, she was unsure of the status of the Rivers and Thorne Families there, but the mere mention of a marriage alliance was already extraordinary.
The security personnel were strict, and admission was not allowed without an invitation.
Claire Prescott casually leaned against a pillar, waiting for Zara Leighton’s arrival.
Maybe it was because Zara’s reaction last night was too calm, that for a moment, she doubted there were any feelings between her and Milton Rivers.
With her back to the light, while in the driveway ahead of the porch, luxury cars came one after another, their bodies polished to a brilliant shine, looking unattainably high-class, clearly not a circle she and Zara could easily blend into.
Ethan Lancaster noticed her as soon as he got out of the car.
He stood beside the car, not rushing to enter, leisurely lighting a cigarette, quietly observing.
Spring nights had many mosquitoes, and since the young doctor was wearing a skirt, she was uneasily scratchy from mosquito bites, constantly scratching at herself.
Her face, as usual, was plain yet graceful, with a well-mannered attire.
A clean, transparent white blouse, a faint green horse-faced pleated skirt cinched at the waist, though against the light, the embroidered edges were as delicate and vivid as fleeting images.
Beautiful indeed, but what caught one’s eyes was her waist that could barely be held in a single grasp.
A tantalizing sight.
His Adam’s apple rolled lightly, and the cigarette in his hand barely burned halfway when he put it out.
Just as he was about to approach, someone else stepped in first.
His steps halted, his face gradually darkening.
Not knowing what they talked about, the young doctor was led into the hotel by a member of the Lowell Family.
...
Since it was Keane Lowell who brought her in, no one stopped them.
Later, they avoided the crowd and went into an empty room.
Claire Prescott sent Zara Leighton a message and silently sat on the sofa waiting.
After a while, Keane Lowell returned with a small bottle of ointment.
He walked directly to her, his gaze falling on her scratched red hand back, and said in a deep voice, "Knowing you attract mosquitoes, why wait outside?"
Claire Prescott was helpless, "I couldn’t get in without an invitation."
Keane Lowell half-knelt in front of her, dipping his finger in the ointment, naturally holding her hand to apply it.
Applying ointment was such a small matter, there was no need to trouble others, but Claire Prescott just didn’t want to do it herself, gladly enjoying his service.
The ointment was cool and soothing, seeping into the skin, very comfortable.
His hands were warm and long, the joints feeling like jade, smooth and delicate, the key was his gentle strength, so gentle that it made her drowsy.
It was just a few mosquito bites, yet it gave her a feeling of being cherished, carefully taken care of.
Keane Lowell flipped over her other hand, then looked up to find the next place bitten by mosquitoes, his voice magnetic and pleasant: "Lift your head a bit."
Claire Prescott cooperated.
Her fair, tender neck unconsciously arched in a beautiful, graceful curve, exposing her skin’s red bumps, tender and tempting at a glance.
Keane Lowell’s eyes deepened a bit, raised his hand, his finger cushion sliding over her tender skin, spreading the ointment evenly, then asked, "What are you and your friend doing here?"
Claire Prescott thought for a moment, responding: "Free food and drinks, and to spread some good luck."
"Not here to crash the wedding, are you?"
Claire Prescott was choked.
Seems she didn’t have a good impression in his mind.
She lowered her eyes to look at him, "We wouldn’t do such a stupid thing."
Keane Lowell chuckled, withdrew his hand and asked gently, "Still itchy?"
Claire Prescott shook her head, saying to him, "My ankle was bitten too."
Saying this, she lifted her skirt slightly.
Both ankles were red and scratched more extensively than other places. With a furrowed brow, Keane Lowell said nothing, patiently applying ointment.
In the past, when she got bitten by insects in the garden as a child, her mother would do the same, seating her on a chair, their posture almost similar.
Recalling the times his friends mentioned him to Zara, they couldn’t help but show admiration in their tone.
She originally thought he didn’t partake in mundane matters, a noble young master always being served by others.
Unexpectedly, when he took care of someone, he was so meticulous.
She felt like she was cherished softly in his hand, a warm feeling.
"Are you familiar with Milton Rivers?" She suddenly asked.
"In what aspect?"
"His romantic history."
Keane Lowell casually glanced at her, his tone still calm and even: "Your friend didn’t tell you?"
Claire Prescott was stumped.
"Don’t interfere in other people’s affairs, mind your own business."
"I..." Claire Prescott’s voice faltered.
At this moment, Zara’s call came through.
She unhesitatingly answered it in front of him, saying, "I’m coming out now."
Hung up the phone.
Just as Keane Lowell had finished applying the ointment, he looked up at her, "Your friend is here?"
She nodded, "Mm-hmm."
Keane Lowell stood up, screwed the cap back on, "Go ahead."
Claire Prescott glanced at her hand covered with ointment, her voice involuntarily softer, "Thank you, President Lowell, for applying the ointment for me, I’ll go find my friend first."
"Mm."
Just as she left, a man in a suit walked in, a formal dark tie around his collar.
The person was none other than today’s engagement party’s main character, Milton Rivers.
He chuckled lightly, "Why did you bring the young doctor here too, aren’t you afraid she’ll cause trouble again?"
Keane Lowell washed his hands under the faucet, his voice deep and cool: "You should be more worried about yourself."
Milton Rivers laughed nonchalantly, sitting on the sofa, feeling a lingering warmth beneath him, thinking of changing position, but couldn’t be bothered to move.
He held a cigar between his teeth, exhaling smoke while saying, "She behaves well, unlike yours."
Generously rewarded, no matter what position he requested, that little vixen would comply.
Sometimes quite dull.
After nurturing her beside him for so many years, she still only knew how to please him with her body, with a heart as hard as stone.
However, just as he took a drag, he saw Keane Lowell wipe his hands with a towel, coldly saying, "Don’t smoke in front of me."
"..."
Fine.
Milton Rivers took down the cigar, extinguishing it in the ashtray, couldn’t help making a quip, "Mr. Lowell, delicate as he is, can’t tolerate secondhand smoke."
Seemingly long accustomed to this behavior, Keane Lowell took a sip of tea, looking at him indifferently, "Have you really decided on the marriage alliance?"
"It’s come this far, is it child’s play, letting me mess around?"
"Haven’t there been a few of your capricious escapades?"
This statement left Milton Rivers momentarily speechless.
After a long pause, he grimly said, "It’s a done deal, just a bird I kept, if it flies, then so be it."
...