The hall remained silent as Roy approached the stage, every eye fixed on him. The weight of curiosity and scrutiny pressed in from all sides, yet his steps never faltered.
Mr. Crimson’s gaze softened as his son drew near. Pride, long buried beneath years of longing, shimmered in his eyes as he reached out a steady hand, resting it gently on Roy’s shoulder.
“Everyone,” he said, his voice carrying easily through the hall, “allow me to introduce to you my son. The youngest heir of the Crimson family… Roy Crimson.”
The announcement rolled through the hall like a wave. Murmurs immediately followed some soft with awe, others sharp with doubt.
“So it’s really him…”
“I heard he was found only recently. Who knows what kind of upbringing he had.”
“We shouldn’t judge by appearances. Let’s wait and see.”
“Hmph. The Crimson name is heavy… can he truly bear it?”
Mr. Crimson waited until the voices faded into whispers before continuing, his tone turning firm, commanding the voice of a man who shaped empires.
“He is my son,” he said clearly, his gaze sweeping the audience. “And I expect each of you to treat him as you would treat me, or any member of this family. No less.”
The message was unmistakable this was not a request, but a warning. And in that moment, even the boldest of doubters held their tongues.
Roy stood beside him, calm and composed, offering a slight bow to the guests. His expression betrayed nothing no nervousness, no arrogance only quiet poise.
From the side, Raymond stepped forward, his usual stern expression softening for once.
“You’re looking good,”
he said gently, eyes lingering for a moment longer than usual.
“Thank you,” Roy replied, a small, polite smile tugging at his lips.
More whispers followed, their tone shifting slightly:
“He really has presence…”
“Such calmness… I didn’t expect that.”
“He looks more like a Crimson than I imagined.”
Mr. Crimson placed a reassuring hand on Roy’s back and guided him down the steps. “Come,” he said quietly. “There are people you should meet.”
They wove through the sea of guests, the crowd parting before them.
The first to greet them was an older man in a tailored navy suit, his white hair impeccably combed back.
“Allow me to introduce my son,” Mr. Crimson said with pride. “Roy Crimson.”
The older gentleman stepped forward first, extending his hand with a respectful smile.
“It’s an honor to finally meet you, Young Master Crimson. Leonard Graves,"
Roy accepted the handshake calmly, his voice steady and polite. “Thank you, Mr. Graves.”
Next, a woman in an emerald silk gown offered a graceful nod.
“Helena , You carry yourself with admirable composure.”
“Thank you,” Roy replied softly, his expression serene.
One by one, more guests introduced themselves.
“Arthur. A pleasure to meet the Crimson heir.”
“Thank you.”
“Evelyn"
YOU ARE READING
The tale of a beautiful flower ( transmigration)
FantasyThe MC died from illness, his body weak and broken. Before his final breath, he made one last wish - > "If I could be born again... I want a healthy body and a life lived to the fullest." The heavens heard him. Given a second chance, he opens his ey...
