Garfield arrived at the function beneath the scornful gazes of the gathered nobility. Their eyes followed him wherever he went, filled with disdain, suspicion, and barely concealed contempt. They had yet to accept him, and Garfield knew it. He had always known it. His greatest ambition was not wealth, power, or status—it was acceptance. If the nobility would only acknowledge him as one of their own, then perhaps he could remain by Veronica's side without fear of losing everything he had fought so hard to gain.
He entered the grand hall with Veronica before him, gently pushing her wheelchair through the sea of elegantly dressed guests. The ballroom was breathtaking. Golden chandeliers hung from the ceiling like clusters of stars, casting warm light across polished marble floors and extravagant decorations. Veronica's eyes sparkled as she admired the scenery, but what truly captivated her was the music. Her head swayed softly to the rhythm of the violinists, a genuine smile spreading across her face as each note washed over her.
Garfield allowed himself a small smile at the sight before looking around the room. He searched for a familiar face among the countless nobles and dignitaries. As he guided Veronica through the crowd, his eyes scanned the hall until, after several minutes, he finally caught sight of Amelia.
For a moment, happiness surged through him.
His body instinctively took a step forward before abruptly stopping.
He could not simply walk up to her as if nothing had happened. Those days were gone. Their relationship had soured, and the friendship they once shared had become little more than a memory. The warmth that once existed between them had faded, replaced by distance and regret.
Garfield sighed heavily and turned away.
Just as he was about to leave, a familiar voice called out.
"Garfield."
His head snapped toward the source of the voice.
Amelia stood there with a gentle smile on her face, her silver hair reflecting the ballroom's golden light. She raised a hand and gestured for him to come over.
"Brother, is that Lady Amelia?" Veronica asked, her eyes widening as she stared at the silver-haired maiden. She seemed utterly captivated by Amelia's beauty.
Garfield nodded.
"Yes."
Together, Garfield and Veronica made their way toward Amelia and the boy she had been speaking with moments earlier. As soon as they arrived, Amelia knelt gracefully beside Veronica's wheelchair. Taking Veronica's hand in both of hers, she smiled warmly.
"You must be Veronica. I've wanted to meet you for quite some time now. My name is Amelia Green."
Veronica's smile widened.
"I know who you are. My brother used to send many letters that spoke about you and Tristan. Is he here?"
The question caused Amelia's smile to falter for the briefest moment.
She glanced toward Garfield, her expression carefully controlled. To anyone else, it might have appeared neutral, but Garfield understood exactly what it meant. He had never told Veronica what had happened to Tristan. A part of him desperately wanted her to continue believing that Tristan was still his closest friend. Deep down, Garfield himself still wanted to believe that.
Unable to bear the disappointment he feared he would see in Amelia's eyes, Garfield avoided her gaze.
Amelia quickly composed herself and forced a smile.
"No. He's currently away on a very important mission, but I'm sure you'll meet him soon."
Veronica nodded happily, accepting the answer without question.
Garfield then turned his attention to the young man standing beside Amelia. Something about him seemed familiar, though Garfield could not immediately place where he had seen him before.
Amelia noticed his gaze.
"This is Francis Hughes," she said. "A friend."
Realization immediately dawned on Garfield.
His face lit up.
"Your father visited Lord Redgrave about two months ago. That's why your face seemed so familiar."
Francis smiled and extended his hand.
"It's a pleasure to meet you. In the short time I've known Lady Amelia, she's spoken quite a bit about both you and Sir Tristan."
Garfield accepted the handshake, but his eyes drifted toward Amelia.
The look he gave her was subtle, yet unmistakably judgmental.
He had never imagined Amelia would speak about Tristan to someone she had only recently met. The thought unsettled him more than he cared to admit.
Before anyone could continue the conversation, a hush suddenly fell over the ballroom.
All eyes turned toward the balcony overlooking the grand hall.
The host of the event had arrived.
He stepped forward with an air of effortless confidence. A black top hat rested upon his head, perfectly complementing the elegant navy-blue suit he wore. His polished monocle gleamed beneath the light that filtered through the glass ceiling overhead, where countless stars shone against the night sky.
With both hands clasped behind his back, he surveyed the room before offering a courteous bow.
"Greetings. My name is Dominic Fortune," he announced.
Removing his top hat, he pressed it against his chest and bowed once more.
"The host of this grand gathering. I must say, each and every one of you looks absolutely magnificent this evening. However, this is a masquerade ball, so if you would all kindly put on your masks, the festivities may officially begin."
Throughout the hall, nobles and guests reached for their masks.
Some concealed their entire faces behind elaborate works of art, while others wore simpler masks that covered only their eyes.
Veronica, Francis, Amelia, and Garfield all donned eye masks, each one unique in color and design.
Dominic Fortune smiled broadly.
"Now that everyone's masks are on, let the festivities begin."
He clapped his hands.
Almost instantly, the music resumed.
The brief silence vanished as violins, pianos, and cellos filled the hall with their enchanting melodies. The grand ballroom came alive once more, bathed in music, laughter, and elegance.
...
Decker's POV
The leaders gradually departed from the meeting hall.
Some chose to follow the terms that had been presented to them. Others swore to oppose the mysterious man regardless of the casualties such resistance might bring.
Arion belonged firmly to the latter group.
Decker doubted his brother truly cared about the people under his rule. His actions seemed less motivated by duty and more by pride. Arion possessed absolute faith in Adel's abilities, and admittedly, who wouldn't? After witnessing her countless achievements, it was difficult not to.
Yet anyone with even a shred of common sense understood the truth.
A battle between the strongest individual alive and a man capable of killing the second strongest would devastate entire cities.
Decker remained uneasy.
The stranger's piercing gaze lingered in his thoughts long after the meeting had ended.
"Decker."
Arion's voice broke his train of thought.
His tone was calm and composed, almost absurdly so. One would think nothing significant had happened at all.
Decker frowned.
"So you're just going to pretend none of that happened?"
As he spoke, he cast a glance back toward the meeting hall.
Arion merely smiled.
"There is no need to worry. Adel will protect everyone."
He stepped toward his carriage as though the matter had already been settled.
Decker's expression darkened.
"And what about the people who will inevitably be caught in the crossfire if a battle of that magnitude takes place?"
Arion stopped.
For a moment, he looked genuinely puzzled.
Then he turned toward his younger brother.
"Since when do you care about the people?" he asked. "Last I checked, you were a selfish man who didn't give a damn about anyone but yourself."
The realization soon dawned on him.
A chuckle escaped his lips.
"I see."
His crimson eyes locked onto Decker's.
"That boy has made you weak."
Without waiting for a response, Arion climbed into his carriage and sat down.
Disapproval was written plainly across his face.
"Your bastard son is part of a terrorist organization, yet you still feel some sense of responsibility toward him. Tell me, Decker... what if he's the one who ends up killing the people you're so worried about? What will you do then?"
The words struck harder than any blade.
Decker recoiled slightly.
He hated how much truth there was in them.
If his son truly became responsible for such atrocities, how could he defend him?
More importantly...
How could he stop him?
Arion laughed quietly as the coachman shut the carriage door.
Moments later, the carriage disappeared into the night.
Decker remained standing there, lost within a maze of thoughts that offered no clear path forward.
Eventually, he began walking through the city streets.
His mind remained occupied by questions with no answers.
Then he felt it.
Or rather...
He felt him.
Without hesitation, Decker entered a nearby café and selected a table at the far back of the establishment.
Almost the moment he sat down, the man arrived.
The same man from the meeting.
The stranger approached calmly.
"May I take a seat?" he asked politely.
Decker exhaled slowly.
Leaning back into the cushioned chair, he gestured toward the empty seat across from him.
"Be my guest."