That implies an analytical processing speed and an IQ that dwarf the standard domestic high school curriculum!
She isn’t just an elder sister… she is an academic apex predator!
Arian let out a long, slow breath, the tension leaving his broad shoulders as a fierce, burning pride ignited in his dark eyes.
A CEO knew how to recognize genuine, top-tier competence when he heard it.
The girl sitting across from him wasn’t a fragile flower who needed her family to buy her way through life; she was a sovereign who was fully prepared to walk into the capital’s most elite university and conquer it on her own terms.
“Good! Well said!” Adrian Hartwell boomed, slapping his broad palm against the teakwood table with enough force to make the silver spoons jingle.
The billionaire Chairman’s face was glowing with immense, triumphant pride, his eyes flashing with fierce authority as he looked at Rosalle.
“Did you hear that? Celeste does not need backdoors! A child of the Hartwell bloodline relies on her own intellect and merit! But let me make one thing clear to everyone in this room…”
Adrian’s voice dropped an octave, turning into a warning that swept directly over Rosalle’s bowed head.
“…Even if my daughter simply wanted to sit in the lecture halls at S University to drink tea and watch the birds, no one in this capital would dare utter a single syllable of gossip against her! I fund half the advanced artificial intelligence and clean-energy research laboratories on that campus! I am a sitting member of the Board of Trustees! Anyone who attempts to use academic standing to belittle my eldest daughter will find their family’s corporate contracts severed before the semester begins! Is that absolute enough for your ‘concerns,’ Rosalle?”
The room went dead cold.
Rosalle felt the blood drain from her face, leaving her skin the color of ash.
Her body trembled as Adrian’s freezing warning slammed into her like a physical blow.
She realized with terrifying clarity that her probe had backfired.
Not only had she failed to humiliate Celeste, but she had accidentally allowed the real daughter to showcase her overwhelming academic confidence, while simultaneously drawing down the wrath of the Patriarch upon herself for the second time in one day. Follow the newest chapters on g.com.
She remembered Adrian’s earlier ultimatum in the bedroom corridor: Anyone who fails to understand the bloodline hierarchy of this family will be removed from the capital by nightfall.
Terror gripped her throat.
She bowed her head so low her forehead nearly touched her rice bowl, her fingers trembling wildly as she picked up her spoon, her voice squeaking out in panic.
“I… I understand, Father! I was… I was being foolish! I am overjoyed that Sister Celeste is so brilliant! I… I will not speak of this again!”
She shrank back into her chair, making herself as small as possible, terrified that if she breathed too loudly, the estate security guards would be called to drag her out of the manor doors.
Celeste watched the white lotus retreat with mild, satisfied amusement.
Threat neutralized.
Zero ammunition expended.
Tactical efficiency: optimal.
Just then, a small, warm hand tugged urgently at the sleeve of her black silk shirt.
Celeste turned her head.
Noah was sitting bolt upright beside her, holding a delicate, blue-and-white porcelain dessert bowl in both of his small hands.
He had completely ignored the academic drama, the university discussions, and Rosalle’s humiliation; his entire universe was focused on the third course of the meal.
“Don’t listen to all that school talk. School is just about books and desks. Look at this. The Chef made us some sweet fermented rice soup with osmanthus flowers and tiny glutinous rice balls for dessert. It is very warm and sweet. You should drink it while the flowers are still floating on top.”
Celeste looked down into the porcelain bowl.
The clear, sweet soup steamed gently, filled with translucent pearls of fermented rice, tiny white glutinous balls, and golden osmanthus petals that gave off an intoxicating, floral honey fragrance.
She looked at her baby brother, her dedicated, fearless little food guide who cared nothing for university rankings or socialite gossip, wishing only for his sister to be well-fed and happy after eleven years in the dark.
The King of Hell felt the last remaining edges of her mercenary armor dissolve into soft, warm silk.
She reached out, taking the porcelain bowl from his small hands, her fingers deliberately brushing against his palm to reassure him of her presence.
She picked up a silver spoon, scooped a portion of the warm soup and osmanthus flowers, and carried it to her lips.
The floral sweetness bloomed across her tongue, rich, soothing, and carrying the undeniable taste of home.
“It is exceptional, Noah,” Celeste murmured, her dark eyes glowing with a genuine, breathtaking tenderness as she smiled down at him.
“The osmanthus fragrance is perfect. I believe that after I complete this university entrance examination… I will be spending every single evening dining right here at this table with you.”
Noah’s face illuminated with a joy so pure and luminous it seemed to outshine the crystal chandelier above them.
He reached out, wrapping his small arms around her arm, resting his cheek happily against the black silk of her sleeve as he watched her eat her dessert.
Around them, the mahogany table buzzed with warm conversation.
Adrian Hartwell was laughing with the Chef about duck roasting thermodynamics; Grace was happily serving extra steamed fish to her three sons; Sebastian was eagerly explaining racing engine modifications across the table; and Arian and Lucas were quietly discussing which advanced analytical textbooks they should procure for their sister’s campus orientation.
Sitting at the center of this warm, chaotic, rehabilitation-bound family, Celeste took another sip of sweet osmanthus soup, closed her eyes, and established her new permanent operational headquarters.
The culinary standards of the Hartwell Manor were elite.