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"
“It’s nice to meet you.”
Roy’s words never stretched beyond these simple courtesies polite, neutral, and perfectly measured.
He smiled when expected, nodded when appropriate, and listened without adding more than necessary.
To the guests, it was the grace of a young heir raised in dignity. But in truth, Roy’s calmness had another reason.
Business alliances, hidden rivalries, silent wars… none of this is mine to fight.
He had no desire to be dragged into power struggles or the schemes of the Crimson name. All he wanted was to avoid the tangled plot he knew was waiting ahead and the best way to do that was to stay exactly as he was now: respectful, composed, and distant.
Around him, soft whispers spread among the guests:
“So polite… he doesn’t seem like someone raised outside this world.”
“A calm demeanor — that could be dangerous in business.”
“Let’s wait and see. Appearances can deceive.”
“Still, he carries the Crimson blood. That’s what matters.”
Roy listened without reacting, offering a faint, polite smile as he followed his father through the crowd a calm figure who intended to remain untouched by the storm beneath the surface.
The low hum of conversation echoed gently beneath the soft music of the banquet, but suddenly as if the air itself had been sliced open silence swept through the grand hall.
Roy felt it before he turned.
And when he did, his breath caught.
A man was walking toward him.
The crowd seemed to part unconsciously, leaving a clear path for his approach.
Dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit, his tall frame exuded effortless dominance. Every eye in the room was drawn to him, yet his dark gaze was fixed solely on Roy sharp, deliberate, unreadable.
Each step he took was unhurried, almost languid, yet it felt like the ground itself shifted beneath his feet.
He was twenty-nine the man whose name made boardrooms fall silent, whose empire crushed competitors without mercy. A man who cared for nothing but profit and power.
Ethan Skyler.
Roy’s heartbeat stumbled and then raced, pounding so hard he was certain it would break free from his chest.
He knew this moment would come the plot was inevitable but he hadn’t expected it to happen this soon.
No… I’m not ready for this yet.
His teeth pressed gently into his lower lip before he steadied himself, forcing his expression back into calm neutrality.
“Roy,” Mr. Crimson’s voice broke through the tension beside him. “I want you to meet someone.”
And just like that, Roy was being led toward the man he had desperately hoped to avoid.
“Master Ethan,” Mr. Crimson greeted warmly, “thank you for coming to the banquet.”
Ethan’s gaze flickered briefly toward the older man before returning to Roy.
“I was delayed,” he replied, voice deep and even, with a faint edge of steel. “Something came up. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Oh, not at all,” Mr. Crimson said with a polite smile. “We’re honored you could make it.”
Ethan’s eyes softened just slightly though the gesture never reached the calculating depths of his gaze.
“Congratulations,” he said. “On finding your lost son.”
“Thank you,” Mr. Crimson replied, his pride obvious. “This is him… my son, Roy.”
For a heartbeat, the world seemed to still.
“Ethan Skyler,” the man said, his voice low and magnetic as he extended hand.
Roy’s gaze dropped to the offered handshake. He stared at it for just a few seconds an unspoken hesitation before placing his own hand into Ethan’s.
Roy’s hand was slim and delicate, his fingers long and warm, almost fragile against Ethan’s. Ethan’s was larger, colder, the grip firm and unyielding. Yet what unsettled Roy wasn’t the temperature it was the way Ethan didn’t let go immediately.
He held Roy’s hand a little longer than politeness demanded, his dark eyes studying the boy’s face with quiet intensity before he finally released it.
The contact was brief, but it left the faintest tremor in Roy’s chest.
Just then, the orchestra swelled a slow, elegant waltz filling the hall.
Miss Lilly, who had been speaking with a circle of guests, turned and approached with a soft smile.
“Roy,” she said, offering her hand,
“would you dance with me?”
“Yes,” Roy answered almost too quickly, relief slipping into his tone. It was his chance his escape.
Anything to put distance between himself and the man whose presence made the air feel heavier.
He took Miss Lilly’s hand and let her lead him toward the dance floor, leaving Ethan watching silently from across the room his unreadable eyes still following Roy’s every movement.
As Roy stepped onto the dance floor with Miss Lilly, Ethan’s gaze lingered on the boy’s retreating figure calm on the surface, unreadable beneath.
He shifted his attention slightly, scanning the room before turning back to Mr. Crimson.
“Where’s the Old Master?” Ethan asked, his voice smooth but carrying the weight of authority.
“This way,” Mr. Crimson replied with a respectful nod, guiding him through the maze of murmuring guests. The two men disappeared into a quieter hallway, where the patriarch of the Crimson family waited.
What was said beyond those doors, no one knew.
No one even dared to approach.
Everyone present was well aware of the unspoken rule: Ethan Skyler despised interruptions.
Back in the grand hall, the atmosphere had softened, and the orchestra’s melody unfurled like silk across the marble floor.
Roy and Miss Lilly moved together in rhythm, their steps perfectly in sync. His movements were smooth, unhurried every gesture carrying that same serene elegance that defined him.
Miss Lilly, graceful as ever, guided him gently through the turns, her warm smile never leaving her lips.
They were a striking sight the contrast between them only enhancing the beauty of the scene.
Miss Lilly, radiant and refined, with a soft glow in her eyes as if she were dancing with her whole heart.
And Roy, slender and poised, his expression calm yet luminous, the faintest trace of a smile touching his lips as the light caught the icy blue of his eyes.
Their dance wasn’t just graceful it was gentle, quiet, and deeply human.
The kind of scene that made people pause mid-conversation and simply watch.
The murmurs faded beneath the music, replaced by the soft, rhythmic steps of mother and son moving together across the polished floor.
For that moment, it wasn’t about bloodlines or business or gossip it was just them.
And in the far corner of the hall, where the chandeliers cast their dimmest glow, Ethan had returned silent and watchful, his eyes once again fixed on the boy in the center of the dance floor.