Quite a few guests had already arrived at the banquet hall, the men in suits, the ladies in splendid attire.
When Zara Leighton walked in on the red carpet, Claire Prescott immediately spotted her.
The beautiful woman stepped in on high thin heels, her makeup exquisite, wearing a long gown with silver fringe that swayed elegantly, still boasting her always stunning hourglass figure.
Upon meeting, someone stared straight at her neck and teased, "If a mosquito bit you there, others might assume it was a man’s kiss."
Seeing her still in the mood for jokes, she seemed nothing like a person who had recently faced heartbreak.
Claire Prescott took her hand, "I’d like to interview you: what’s it like attending an ex’s engagement party?"
Saying that, they found a spot to sit together.
Zara replied, "I’m here to genuinely wish him well, wish him a happy marriage."
She sounded very sincere.
Perhaps it was the great acting skills of a star, or maybe she genuinely didn’t care, her tone and expression showed no trace of disguise.
In that instant, she seemed a bit unreadable.
Claire Prescott said, "I could never be so magnanimous. If a man of mine suddenly dumped me to marry someone else, I’d wish eternal misfortune upon him."
Zara lazily smiled, "Obviously a girl inexperienced in love affairs, but still, such personality."
"Quit with the old-school, worldly mentor act with me; you’re only two years older than me."
Zara glanced at her meaningfully, her tone suddenly deepening: "Sometimes I hope you stay away from romance, especially avoid the scions of wealthy families. Staying in the safe circle of Sinclair Apothecary, healing and helping, is good, but I also wish you’d find someone who can provide you shelter and happiness."
Human nature and desire, unpredictable things.
She heard earlier it was Keane Lowell who brought her in.
Although unclear how things stood between them now, she didn’t dare bet that Lowell would be different from other heirs, but at least the guy seemed clean-minded; letting Claire play around with him wouldn’t be too bad.
If it truly came to that step, it’d be his loss.
A whole bunch waiting in line behind him.
Unexpectedly, her friend remarked, "Saying it sounds no different than not saying it."
"..." Zara was stumped, "Fine, I concede to you."
And the topic stopped right there.
Zara casually grabbed a glass of wine, sipped it, and commented: "Indeed, the wine at a wealthy engagement party tastes good."
Claire Prescott wanted to try it but was stopped by her.
"Get a drink over there, if I’m drunk, who’ll help me?"
"..." Claire Prescott helplessly took some snacks to eat, concerned: "Don’t drink on an empty stomach, have some food to cushion."
"Can’t eat." Zara rested her chin on her hand, watching the engagement party’s leading lady surrounded and congratulated by the crowd.
Suddenly, she sighed: "Turns out everyone is different. Some are born as noble heiresses, always under the limelight wherever they go, effortlessly owning everything, while us ordinary people can only break through hardships like a butterfly out of its cocoon and hope our hard work brings what we desire, though sometimes effort doesn’t necessarily guarantee results."
Claire Prescott followed her gaze.
A lady decked in lavish and noble attire stood out, confidently accepting others’ congratulations, handling relationships with ease and grace.
Is it good to be among the wealthy?
She didn’t really think so.
Claire Prescott retracted her gaze and asked, "Where’s Milton Rivers, haven’t seen him."
Zara shook her head, uninterested in searching, taking a gulp of wine in frustration.
Before long, the music in the hall abruptly stopped.
The host took the stage for the engagement ceremony.
Everyone instinctively gathered toward the stage, only these two remained by the bar.
Right then, Claire Prescott finally got a clear look at what Milton Rivers really looked like.
Her gaze fixed steadily, the more she looked, the more familiar he seemed, yet she couldn’t recall where she’d seen him before.
Impeccably suited, viewed from afar, he gave off a refined and gentle vibe, yet carried a casual arrogance that seemed to dismiss anyone.
Despite this, he overlooked his fiancée beside him, his gaze locked directly in their direction, showing no sign of change upon seeing an ex at his engagement ceremony.
"He looks quite good, doesn’t he?" Zara chuckled.
Claire Prescott couldn’t help asking, "Do you have feelings for him?"
"I never thought of marrying him. Being with him for so many years, surely there’s some feelings, but not so deep that I can’t do without him. It’s just that ending the relationship causes some withdrawal symptoms."
Zara continued, "I always see romance with a rational mind; no one easily enters my world, except Grandpa and you, my dear friend Claire."
She was abandoned by her parents from a young age, raised by a grandfather who collected scrap.
The grandfather treated her like a real granddaughter, providing for her education and shelter.
However, due to the shameful profession of her grandfather, she suffered constant bullying from kids her age growing up.
The worst time was during her first menstrual cycle.
They kicked her around like trash, stones, filthy waste from trash bins, cruelly hurling them onto her until someone shouted: "The police are here."
Upon hearing that, they dispersed without a trace.
She hid wretchedly behind the trash can, not wanting anyone to see her.
"You don’t look so good." A gentle voice sounded in front of her, looking up, she met a pair of pure eyes.
That was the first time she saw Claire Prescott, in her moment of absolute helplessness.
Thirteen-year-old Claire, clean and bright, like an angel descending from the sky, kindly helped her clean the filth off her head.
"Get up, let’s go home. They’ve left." Little Claire helped her up.
She hurriedly tried to cover the bloodstain behind her, but it got noticed anyhow.
Unlike those others, Claire asked in a normal candid tone: "Did your period start?"
Back then, she didn’t even know what a period was; Grandpa never taught her such things.
The whole day she was petrified, stuffing loads of tissues down there, but the bleeding wouldn’t stop.
That moment after school gave them a reason to bully her.
Calling her cheap, claiming she messed around with men, accusing her of having infectious diseases—such nasty remarks.
Yet young Claire didn’t find her dirty, patiently explained female knowledge to her, led her to a shop to buy sanitary pads, even taught her personally how to use them in a public restroom.
Later, she continuously fought against those malicious forces, rumors spread of her as a formidable figure not to mess with.
She didn’t have money for treatment, her body scarred over time, even a major fracture once was healed by Claire’s hands, with herbs secretly taken from her home.
Why she was so good to her, she asked.
"I don’t have a medical license; Grandpa doesn’t let me prescribe medications, so you’re just my selected guinea pig. You don’t have to be so grateful."
Perhaps, that’s genuinely how she thought.
Yet later on, because they grew so close, the troubles she caught onto all retaliated onto Claire, but Claire never blamed her once.
Firmly choosing her, standing by her side.
She didn’t have another friend, feeling a stranger to the world full of malice, experiencing for the first time the warmth from someone else.
From that moment onward, she regarded Claire as the most important person in her life.