The charity auction took place at a venue in Riverton. It drew significant media attention, and those in attendance were either exceptionally wealthy or highly influential.
Inside the venue, in the second-floor hall, Peyton Joyce was somewhat nervous. Perhaps not having attended such an event in a long time, she stayed glued to Simon Hawthorne’s side, clinging tightly to his arm without letting go.
She glanced around. "Simon, what are the main auction items featured today?"
Simon lowered his gaze to her. "If you see anything you like, just bid on it."
Peyton gave a shy, gentle smile. "You won’t feel the pinch? Then I won’t hold back."
Simon glanced at a group of people who had spotted him and were walking over, his tone light and breezy. "I won’t."
Peyton’s smile grew even brighter. She added in a low voice, "I wonder what Zoe likes. Since she couldn’t come today, I’ll keep an eye out for a couple of items for her too, and you can take them back to her."
This time, however, Simon frowned slightly. "No need. I’ll handle it myself. She’s hard to please. You might not win anything to her liking, and it’ll just be a thankless effort."
Peyton curled her lips. "Simon, don’t say that. I think Zoe is quite nice."
Simon said no more.
It wasn’t until several executives approached Simon that the silence broke. Their tone was full of flattery. "Mr. Hawthorne, long time no see! You did a beautiful job over in Kaelan. The market there is huge! You’ve practically got Eurasia in the bag. When the time comes, please do us the honor of showing us the ropes."
"Yes, indeed," another agreed. "Only someone with Mr. Hawthorne’s drive and capability could chew through something like that. Those two years Mr. Hawthorne spent stationed at the foreign branch weren’t in vain."
Simon handled them with calm indifference, exuding a sense of distance that left them feeling apprehensive. "There’s money to be made for everyone, but the overseas market is chaotic. We’re still in the testing phase. As for cooperation, we can discuss it in the future."
It was nothing more than superficial pleasantries. Everyone here was shrewd; who didn’t want to maximize profits at the lowest cost?
One of the men smiled, astutely changing the subject as he looked at Peyton. "And who is this?"
Another chimed in, "It’s rare to see Mr. Hawthorne with a female companion. I presume you two are quite close?"
Now, the gazes they turned on Peyton carried a degree of respect.
Peyton looked at Simon and offered a gentle smile. "My name is Peyton Joyce. I’m Simon’s... friend."
She paused subtly, yet this inexplicably left room for imagination. Smart people naturally overthink things. Even a seemingly meaningless sentence could be analyzed to death in their minds. Being able to intimately call Simon Hawthorne by his first name—very few people had that kind of privilege.
They immediately gave knowing, ambiguous smiles. "Understood! A close confidante!"
Peyton looked a little flustered, helplessly glancing at Simon.
Simon remained silent. If anything, his aura seemed even colder. He was staring unblinkingly in another direction.
Confused, Peyton followed his gaze. She realized that over there were two other highly anticipated figures drawing people’s attention.
Upon seeing Zoe Lancaster, Peyton subconsciously tightened her grip on Simon’s arm. Belatedly forcing herself to calm down, she remarked airily, "Zoe attended with another man? Simon, didn’t she say she wanted to come with you?"
The executives in front of them also looked over in surprise.
"President Yates actually came too," one muttered.
The person beside him said, "Miles Yates expanded his business into the mainland and just stabilized things this year. He definitely wouldn’t miss an event like this that can earn goodwill for his company. It’s just that... his female companion looks very unfamiliar."
"I’ve got to say, I think she’s the most beautiful woman in the whole venue," another added. "She looks like a movie star. President Yates has great taste; the women around him are always absolutely stunning."
"Hey, hey, watch what you’re saying! Miss Joyce is beautiful too," a clever one quickly interjected, winking at the speaker.
The man subconsciously looked at Peyton and laughed awkwardly. Coming like this, his words didn’t sound very sincere. "Right, right, Miss Joyce is beautiful too."
Peyton curled her lips in a smile, but there was no mirth in her eyes. Simon’s aura was growing colder and colder as he kept staring in that direction. And to make matters worse, she had just been compared unfavorably to Zoe by these men.
Following beside Miles Yates, Zoe naturally encountered plenty of superficial pleasantries typical of vanity fairs, but she handled them with poise. Miles didn’t let anyone misunderstand their relationship, offering a simple explanation: "She’s an outstanding employee of our company."
She admired Miles’s gentlemanly demeanor and thoughtfulness.
The seating arrangements for the auction were quite particular. Those of high status were all placed in the front-row VVIP seats. This resulted in Zoe staring straight ahead, feeling like she was sitting on pins and needles. Less than two meters to her left, Simon sat there, radiating an aura of aloof nobility and icy gloom. The only person separating them was Miles Yates. She vaguely sensed that Simon’s aura was intensely oppressive. He didn’t spare her a single glance, yet the sheer pressure he exuded was piercing and bone-chilling.
Acting as if everything were completely normal, Peyton tilted her head and greeted Zoe casually. "Zoe, you’re here too! Who is this beside you?" She cast an inquiring look at Miles.
Zoe pursed her lips and replied gracefully, "President Yates, my boss."
Miles glanced at Peyton, his gaze then sweeping past Simon. He spoke in a warm, steady tone. "I heard Mr. Hawthorne is married. Is the lady beside him Mrs. Hawthorne?"
Zoe hadn’t expected Miles to ask that. He clearly knew about her relationship with Simon.
Peyton froze, a subtle shift in her expression. Unable to answer Miles’s question, she felt a trace of embarrassment.
Simon looked at him indifferently. "President Yates is quite the gossip."
Miles curled his lips. "I just saw this young lady holding onto Mr. Hawthorne’s arm the whole time, so I simply assumed she was Mrs. Hawthorne."
Peyton’s face paled, and she had no choice but to release Simon’s arm. Miles’s tone was gentle, and his words seemed unintentional. But they inexplicably poked at her most unpresentable secret, making her feel, on some intangible level, like a shameless woman.
Simon offered no explanation. Zoe, however, was surprised by Miles’s words. She wondered if he was doing this to help her.
Perhaps sensing her gaze, Miles looked at her and poured her a cup of tea, maintaining his calm demeanor. "The AC is quite low. Have some hot tea to warm up."
Zoe snapped back to reality. "Thank you, President Yates."
She picked up the teacup and took a sip. Suddenly, she sensed a sharp, cold gaze land on her. She looked up. Simon was looking at her impassively. While his expression didn’t show any major emotional fluctuations, she could just feel that he was displeased.
Zoe frowned. What was he displeased about? With a beauty by his side—his beloved first love keeping him company—did he even have the right to be displeased?
Peyton naturally didn’t miss Simon’s gaze on Zoe. She silently clenched her fingers, but keeping a light smile on her face, she asked with feigned innocence, "President Yates seems to take very good care of Zoe. Do you know her well? In other words, you seem to treat her a little too well for just a boss and a subordinate."
This question was too sharp. But if he had to answer it, it was easy enough to do so. He could have simply said it was the basic gentlemanly behavior expected of a man, and left it at that.
Yet, Miles cast a faint sidelong glance at her and said, "I admire her."
He clearly had so many ways to explain it away, but instead, he chose to say he admired her. The word "admire" had too broad a definition. It could mean pure, professional appreciation, or it could mean the kind of admiration born of romantic interest.
The boundary was very blurred.