7

Leopold

The farce ended faster than I had anticipated.

The crowd dispersed, whispers receding like a tide. The chandelier illuminated every face transparently, and each face returned to its proper appearance—flattering, enthusiastic, calculating. The banquet hall returned to that state of noisy voices where nothing was worth remembering.

I leaned against the corridor railing, fingers gently rotating the wine glass in my hand, looking down from above.

White stood beside me, playing with his cufflinks, sighing with what sounded like regret: "What a pity, it could have been more exciting, but that what's-her-name, Tracy, when she makes a scene she really goes all out."

I didn't respond, silently taking a sip of wine.

The moment Field burst out to accuse Freya, the surveillance footage had already been retrieved and placed at my side. My people always handled such matters cleanly and efficiently. Before the banquet ended, that corridor recording was already complete in my phone.

I don't like meddling in others' affairs. I just stood upstairs, holding wine, watching that scene unfold act by act below.

In the surveillance, I saw exactly how Field followed Freya in.

That stalking rhythm, that self-perceived stealth, the typical behavior of an idiot who had been drinking, felt emboldened, and assumed women wouldn't dare speak up.

Most families had guys like Field who only knew how to be in heat, but those who caused trouble regardless of the occasion were still in the minority.

When Field came out, his tie was crooked, he was clutching his right wrist, his face pale, yet his mouth still wore that forced casualness, like an animal that had just been caged and was desperately pretending not to care.

I brought the wine glass to my lips and took a shallow sip.

Freya had hit Field, not as an instinctive reaction in panic, but with premeditation. So when I accidentally walked in on that scene earlier, Freya's initiative toward Field was just a trick to lure prey into the trap.

In the surveillance footage, when Freya came out, her steps weren't disordered, her shoulders and back were straight, and there were no signs of fear. Instead, she showed a sweet smile that was much more vivid than before. Throughout the entire process, her only change was an additional shallow red mark on the back of her hand.

I thought about Field's 160-pound frame and his violence coefficient after drinking for half the evening, then thought about Freya's seemingly soft and vulnerable appearance.

The corner of my mouth couldn't help but lift in a faint smile, my heart seeming to be tickled by a feather for a second.

Freya was more interesting than I had imagined.

White's mouth curved up as he turned to look at me: "What are you smiling about?"

"Nothing."

"Your mouth moved."

He was always so perceptive, instantly catching my changes.

I placed the wine glass on the railing and straightened up, not intending to dwell on this topic: "Let's go."

White helplessly followed, muttering as he did: "You're really hard to please. Can't even let people talk while watching a good show."

I glanced down at the hall again, immediately noticing Freya in the corner. Her expression was composed, as if the earlier drama hadn't been caused by her. Kelan patted her shoulder, and she again showed that mask-like smile, but her eyes betrayed her—she was very tired now.

Freya suddenly glanced upstairs.

When our eyes met, I was already turning away.

It was late at night when I returned home.

The driver stopped at the entrance. I pushed open the car door and stepped onto the stairs. The butler Newton was already waiting at the door, head lowered, movements precise, no different from any other late-night return.

Newton stepped forward, took the coat from my shoulders, folded it neatly, and stepped back.

I walked into the main hall. The hall didn't have the overhead light on, only the fireplace and a few wall lamps, casting the floor and ceiling in dark gold. The entire mansion was quiet, so quiet it was like a ship with only me on it, anchored in some deep water known to no one.

I sat down on the sofa, resting my elbow on the armrest and pinching the bridge of my nose.

Tonight wasn't exactly a boring banquet, but there wasn't anything worth taking away either. The Gray family didn't need to take anything away from such banquets. More often, the significance of such occasions was simply appearing—letting people know you were there, letting people know you still cared about this game.

My phone vibrated.

I looked down at the caller ID.

Benson, my grandfather.

I answered, put the phone to my ear, said nothing, and waited for him to speak.

"Leopold," his voice came through the receiver, steady, with that composure belonging to him that I'd been familiar with since childhood, "How was tonight's banquet?"

"Fine."

After a few seconds of silence, he sighed—a way of sighing I was also familiar with, his warm-up before getting to the main topic.

"Leopold, how old are you this year?"

"You know, Benson."

"You're not young anymore." Benson sighed, something in his tone—not reproach, but closer to some distant worry.

"You live alone in that mansion, with over twenty rooms empty. Every time I call you, it's after two or three in the morning when you answer. Don't you feel this kind of life is too..." He paused, seeming to deliberate his words, "too cold?"

I leaned back on the sofa, looking at the ceiling above.

"Not cold."

"You—"

"Benson," I interrupted him, my voice flat, "I manage the Gray family as you expected. I have things I should do, people I should see. I'm not lonely. People with power are never lonely."

The other end of the phone was quiet for a moment.

"What you're describing isn't not being lonely," Benson said, his tone becoming somewhat wistful, "that's called being busy."

I didn't respond to that.

"About marriage," Benson tentatively began, "have you ever thought—"

"No."

"Leopold—"

"Good night, Benson."

I hung up the phone and placed the phone on the coffee table, screen down.

Could marriage bring me warmth? I didn't think so. Since childhood, I had seen my parents suffer because of marriage. They wouldn't let each other go, yet couldn't separate, ultimately both losing. So why would I need marriage? I simply didn't need that kind of thing.

The fire in the fireplace burned quietly, occasionally a piece of wood made a slight crackling sound, then returned to silence.

I was in the mansion, over twenty rooms, only me and those servants waiting quietly in various places.

I closed my eyes.

Not lonely—after all, this was my choice.

The next day at noon, White sent a message.

「I booked Montrose. Benson called me yesterday. You know how old people always worry about you. I agreed to his request. Give me some face, will you?」

I stared at the screen for a while, then pressed my finger down: 「What time?」

「12:00, thanks.」

I put my phone in my pocket and said to the driver Cooper at the door: "I'm going out."

Cooper lowered his head in acknowledgment and stepped out. I took my suit jacket from the hanger, put it on, and stood in front of the full-length mirror to adjust my collar.

The person in the mirror had a normal expression, very alert eyes, as if he had slept enough.

Actually, I hadn't.

But that wasn't important. I had my own way of making sense of things, so I still wouldn't believe marriage would bring me any benefits.