Zoe arrived at Riverbend Tavern. As she looked up at the premier club in Kingsford, the brilliant, dazzling lights swept across her face, revealing a complexion as pale as paper. Linden had already come downstairs to receive her.
"Follow me, Madam," he said.
Zoe nodded in silence. She curled her fingers inside her coat, her hands bone-chillingly cold. She couldn’t help but wonder if Simon would actually help her.
They arrived on the third floor. This level was a stark dividing line from the floors below. In a world of money and power, class lines were drawn with absolute clarity. The absurdity visible to the naked eye was merely the tip of the iceberg—something ordinary people could neither imagine nor glimpse.
As they stood at the door of the VIP private room, Linden finally turned to look at Zoe. After a brief hesitation, he said, "Mr. Hawthorne seems to be in a rather bad mood today. Whatever you need to tell him, Madam, please choose your words carefully."
Linden knew this all too well. Mr. Hawthorne rarely showed emotional fluctuations, known for remaining unflappable even if the sky were to fall. Today, however, he was radiating a terrifyingly oppressive aura that left Linden on edge. He couldn’t help but wonder if Madam was the cause of this unusual mood, considering how much she had deliberately defied and provoked Mr. Hawthorne recently.
Zoe wondered if Simon’s so-called bad mood had anything to do with her. After all, she had said some incredibly reckless things to him. Would he actually care?
"Alright, thank you," she replied, unable to overthink the matter. Rescuing Autumn was her top priority right now.
She pushed the door open and walked in.
In such a social setting, the presence of beautiful women was inevitable. The space spanned a full two hundred square meters, but Zoe’s eyes immediately locked onto the figure sitting at the center of the main seating area. While the men around him were surrounded by stunning companions—drinking and flirting—he seemed to maintain a distinct boundary from the mundane crowd. Dressed in a crisp white shirt, the prominent Adam’s apple on his long neck caught the eye. He leaned carelessly against the sofa, his long middle finger and thumb gently swirling the wine glass in his hand.
While everyone else reveled in wild indulgence, he remained noble, refined, and entirely untainted by the vulgarity of the room. In addition, Zoe noticed Sean sitting beside Simon.
Simon must have seen her; she could feel his gaze cutting across the room. Yet, he showed no particular reaction, casually resuming his conversation with the person next to him.
No one here knew who she was. No one would ever dare to imagine that she was the wife of the most distinguished man in the room.
Zoe pinched the palm of her hand hard. Her delicate face betrayed no extra emotion as she marched purposefully toward Simon.
At first, those who noticed her striking figure and looks were caught off guard and mesmerized. Some even started to stand up, intending to hit on her. But as everyone watched this woman walk straight toward Simon, the expressions in the room gradually changed.
Most were waiting for a good show. Many wore mocking smirks. They scoffed at the sight of yet another reckless woman daring to set her sights on Mr. Hawthorne; she was undoubtedly about to meet a miserable end.
Zoe stopped in front of Simon, her slender frame blocking his line of sight. He raised his eyes, his gaze cold and detached, yet he remained silent.
Zoe swallowed hard, keeping her voice just loud enough for him to hear. "I have something to tell you. Could you step out for a moment?"
Simon looked at her impassively before finally parting his lips. "Coming and going as you please... Zoe, what do you take this place for?"
Even Sean, sitting beside him, was taken aback for a moment. His mind raced. Although he had never met Simon’s young wife, assessing the current situation, any woman who could command enough of Simon’s patience and respect to warrant a response was naturally no ordinary person.
He quickly pieced it together and couldn’t help but narrow his eyes to appraise Zoe. She was alluring but not overly seductive, stunning but not vulgar. Her eyes harbored a clear, subtle hint of pride. Right now, she wore no makeup, her bare, delicate face framed by cascading dark hair, enhancing her pure and captivating appeal. Her unforgettable beauty rivaled that of top silver-screen actresses, and her temperament and figure were simply top-tier.
Sean shot a glaring look at Simon. It was no wonder he never brought his wife out to meet them! With looks like that, how could he bear to? He was keeping her all to himself!
Zoe didn’t know what the others were thinking. She only knew that almost every gaze in the private room was pinned on her, making her feel uncomfortably awkward. But she had no choice; she had to bite the bullet and push on.
"I apologize to you—but right now, I really have something important. Simon, please help me." Her voice was remarkably steady, save for a nearly imperceptible tremble at the very end. She was, after all, just an ordinary person, not some lofty saint. She could yield when necessary, even if it tasted bitter. In this life, how many things truly went as one wished? That which is too rigid easily breaks—she understood this principle all too well.
Simon set his wine glass down with a soft but distinct clink. A tactful attendee nearby immediately handed him a cigar and a cutter. As he lowered his eyes, the flickering spark of the lighter danced across his face. His voice, slightly hoarse, was icy. "If you want to beg me for a favor, you need to pick the right occasion. If you’re willing to wait, then wait."
The implication was clear: only when this gathering ended would he consider listening to what she had to say.
He could detect the subtle change in the woman’s expression. He thought to himself that if he didn’t cure her of this rotten temper, he would be spoiling her too much. She had thrown tantrums at him time and again; if he easily accommodated her now that she was begging for a favor, wouldn’t she just act even more recklessly in the future?
Zoe’s chest heaved erratically. Her eyes stung with unshed tears, and her clenched fists trembled uncontrollably. Deep down, she had anticipated before coming here that this wouldn’t be easy. Yet, experiencing his blatant disregard in person sent an irrepressible ache through her heart, leaving her tormented and miserable. Had it not been for Autumn’s young age and the fact that the girl’s promising future couldn’t be ruined, she would have spun around and left right then and there.
She remained standing to the side, motionless.
The onlookers couldn’t help but speculate about what kind of relationship this woman had with Mr. Hawthorne. Though he appeared to be ignoring her, everyone present was shrewd enough to sense the underlying "indulgence" in his attitude. They knew that if any other woman had been so blindly disruptive, the consequences would have been unimaginable. With that thought in mind, no one dared to intervene.
Minutes ticked by.
Zoe was burning with anxiety, feeling as though she were being roasted over an open fire. Yet Simon remained as immovable as a mountain, showing zero signs of bestowing any mercy.
She bit her lip. Suddenly, she leaned over, snatched up Simon’s wine glass, and marched straight over to Sean without looking back. Her soft voice was eerily calm. "I heard you have a legendary tolerance, Sheffield, and that you never get drunk. I admire that. Would you do me the honor of sharing a few drinks?"
Sean, who had been playing dice with the beauty beside him, was caught off guard by being dragged onto the battlefield. Stunned for a moment, he instinctively glanced at the man sitting nearby.
Sure enough, Simon’s face had darkened to a terrifying degree.
The entire private room fell into an eerie silence.
Cold sweat rolled down Linden’s back. He thought Madam was fiercely bold. Knowing that Mr. Hawthorne wouldn’t easily give her what she wanted today, she hadn’t hesitated for a second before turning to hit on his childhood friend, even challenging Sheffield to a drinking contest. Wasn’t this the classic playbook bar girls used to cozy up to the rich and powerful? Flirting with her husband’s childhood friend right in front of him, openly forcing Mr. Hawthorne’s hand—the world truly had gone mad!
Ignoring what anyone else might think, Zoe took the initiative to down the glass of wine in one gulp. The spicy liquor burned her throat, leaving her eyes red and making her look even more pitiful and endearing. "Will you do me the honor, Sheffield?"
Sean stole a glance at the silent Simon, whose eyes now churned with stormy waves. He couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy for the man’s wife. Naturally, he obliged, raising his own glass and draining it. "How could I refuse a drink from a beauty? Right, Simon?"