After enduring a barrage of formalities and backhanded compliments, Oliver finally escaped the frontlines of the banquet.
His father, Jonathan Reed, had a remarkable talent for turning a polite greeting into a veiled merger proposal, while his mother, Elena, glided through the crowd with practiced grace and a smile so flawless it could cut glass.
"You look like a man who just survived a political summit," Henry quipped as Oliver joined him, Samuel, and Daniel at their usual refuge away from the main hall.
"I might have," Oliver muttered, tugging at his collar like it was trying to strangle him. "Pretty sure one of the governors tried to sell me his daughter's hand."
Samuel laughed. "Did you counter with stock options?"
"I said someone important was arriving. That got me a clean exit."
"Thomas?" Daniel asked, one brow arched.
Oliver nodded. "He should be here any minute—with the Young Master."
Henry's eyes gleamed. "Finally. I've been waiting for this entrance."
"They won't see it coming," Samuel said with a smirk.
"They'll feel it before they understand it," Daniel added, knowingly.
---
Out in the courtyard, golden lights bathed the stone path in a warm glow. Conversations flowed like soft streams—until a sleek black car turned into the circular driveway.
The engine gave a low purr before settling into silence.
Oliver stepped forward from the top of the steps, drawing curious glances from nearby guests. He rarely welcomed anyone personally.
Thomas stepped out first, brushing off his jacket with measured care. Then, with flawless timing, he opened the rear door.
Cedric emerged.
The air shifted.
"Who is that?"
"That suit… is it Luxeon?"
"Wait—Oliver Reed is greeting him personally?"
Dressed in a midnight-black Luxeon ensemble laced with faint silver thread that shimmered like frost beneath moonlight, Cedric walked with an elegance that didn't ask for attention—but claimed it nonetheless. Not ostentatious. Not loud. Simply undeniable.
"Is he from the upper circle?"
"I don't recognize him… but look at that bearing."
Oliver descended as Cedric approached.
"Young Master. Welcome," Oliver said smoothly, like this was all part of the plan.
Cedric extended a hand. His grip was firm. His smile, light. "Appreciate the invitation."
They exchanged a few quiet words before turning toward the banquet hall, the soft glow of the entrance casting them in framed silhouette.
The murmurs grew.
"Who is he?"
"Did we miss a name on the guest list?"
"That silver-thread detailing… it's custom. That's Luxeon craftsmanship."
Inside, Henry spotted them first. "There they are."
"Brace yourselves," Samuel muttered behind his glass.
Daniel smirked. "Here comes the shift."
As Cedric entered with Oliver beside him, the room shifted with subtle gravity. Even among tailored suits and legacy names, his presence carved space like a knife through silk.
Daniel stepped forward. "Looking sharp as ever, Young Master."
Cedric offered a nod. "Good to see you."
"Young Master," Samuel echoed, his smile tugging at the edge of mischief.
Henry let out a low whistle. "Luxeon didn't make that suit. That suit made Luxeon."
"Now you're just flattering me," Cedric replied, accepting the offered drink from Oliver.
"Truthfully," Oliver said, "you could've arrived in shadows, and they'd still have felt you coming."
"Maybe," Cedric murmured. "But a good suit never hurts."
Henry tilted his head toward the lounge entrance, where several guests had subtly clustered, curiosity piqued. "You've already set the place buzzing."
Samuel nodded. "Your entrance might've just eclipsed the birthday boy."
"Not my intention," Cedric said with a calm smile.
"Which makes it all the more effective," Daniel added.
Oliver raised his glass. "To the Young Master—turning heads without a word."
The glasses clinked lightly, a private toast amid rising whispers and glittering eyes beyond the walls.
As the conversation flowed—sharp remarks, low laughter, polished ease—I kept my expression measured, posture smooth, voice steady.
But inside?
I was falling apart.
[Cedric, you're doing wonderfully,] the system chimed with entirely too much cheer. [Your stride was confident, your timing impeccable. That pause before speaking to Oliver—flawless.]
'Flawless?' I nearly tripped on the damn stairs.
[And yet you turned it into a poised adjustment. Very graceful. Truly textbook.]
I smiled faintly as Henry tossed out another quip, nodding like I wasn't quietly spiraling. 'I think I forgot how to breathe. My palms are sweating. Can people see that? I feel like they can see that.'
[They see a young man in full command of himself,] the system answered, smug. [Cedric Ravensleigh—cool, composed, enviably elegant. That Luxeon suit is doing wonders, by the way.]
'Great. Maybe it can carry me out when I collapse.'
[Let's not be dramatic, Cedric. This is only the beginning. You've already made an impact. The whispers haven't stopped since you stepped out of the car. You carry the presence of someone they want to know.]
I took a sip from the crystal glass, careful to keep my hand from trembling, and let my smile hint at unspoken secrets.
All around me, I felt the weight of their attention. Curious. Awed. A little uncertain.
'If I make it out of this alive, I'm taking the next three days off.'
[Noted. But first—let's survive the banquet. You're doing splendidly, Cedric.]
Oliver shifted slightly closer as a pair of older guests passed behind them, lowering his voice just enough to draw Cedric back into their circle of conversation.
"So," he said, swirling his drink lazily, "what's your take on the Westvale investment rush? Too fast, or just the right amount of reckless?"
Samuel raised a brow, amused. "Now we're talking shop?"
Cedric tilted his head, his smile mild. "It's… ambitious," I said, keeping my tone light, agreeable. "But not without opportunity."
Daniel chuckled. "That's a diplomatic way of saying, 'You'd better have an exit plan.'"
"Isn't that the point of investments?" Cedric replied easily, letting the glint of implication speak louder than the words.
Henry leaned against the nearby table. "I'm staying out of Westvale. Too many old names pretending they're still relevant. If you're not first, you're bait."
"I've heard worse metaphors," Cedric murmured with a faint nod, sipping again.
Oliver smirked. "You always did like observing more than engaging. That hasn't changed."
"I engage when there's value in it," I said calmly, letting my gaze drift toward the chandelier for a half second before returning. "Sometimes it's better to let the others circle the fire first."
"That sounds like something my father would say," Daniel muttered. "Except he'd follow it with a three-hour lecture on risk assessment."
Samuel grinned. "And a slideshow."
The laughter came easy, polished, practiced—but beneath the surface, I knew they were watching me closely, weighing every word and the way I delivered it.
The system pinged again.
[Very good. Polite detachment paired with subtle awareness. You're giving just enough to be respected—but not enough to be read.]
'That's the point,' Ithought, letting my smile linger just a second longer before taking another measured sip. 'Stay neutral. Stay unknown.'
---
Back within the lounge, conversation drifted on, light and fluid, yet the air had shifted.
Glances turned more frequent. Voices dropped lower.
By the fireplace, two heirs from banking dynasties sipped from crystal tumblers, eyes occasionally flicking toward Cedric.
"He came in with Thomas Blake," one said, voice low. "That's not something you overlook."
"Blake doesn't open doors for just anyone," the other replied. "Heir to the Blake holdings, old money—and he deferred like it was natural."
Across the room, another cluster leaned near the bar, watching through the shimmer of glass and light.
"No family name. No crest. But Oliver Reed met him at the steps himself."
"I heard they arrived together. Luxeon suit. Personal greeting. And that presence..."
"Can't place him. That's what makes it worse."
"Or better," someone murmured, smiling into their drink.
Even among the staff, the ripple had reached. A server leaned toward her colleague near the hallway.
"That's the guest who came with Thomas Blake?"
"Mm. Not introduced, but everyone's watching. They're saying he might be foreign nobility. Or someone being scouted for the board."
"He carries himself like someone who doesn't need to prove it."
"And Thomas Blake walked two steps behind him."
Back near the center of it all, Cedric remained composed. He didn't speak more than necessary, didn't lean into the attention. Each reply was quiet, each movement smooth, unhurried. But every gesture spoke volumes.
The system chimed in again, far too pleased with itself.
[They can't figure you out—and that's the magic. You're the question no one has the answer to.]
'I'm the panic behind a polite smile,' I muttered internally, sipping again.
[Perhaps. But to them? You're elegance incarnate. The calm in the storm.]
I adjusted my cuff subtly, just enough for the silver thread to catch the chandelier's gleam. A few more heads turned, as if by instinct. I gave a slow, quiet smile to no one in particular.
Just enough to keep the whispers going.