Chapter 3
Adrian's POV
"Isn't that Adrian Hawthorne? The notorious playboy from the Hawthorne family?"
"Good God, how did he even get in? What kind of noble would willingly send an invitation to someone like him?"
"Look at that shabby appearance of his—probably couldn't make it abroad anymore and came crawling back to beg old Hawthorne for scraps."
"I heard he's over thirty and still unmarried. Any girl from a decent family would never agree to marry him. Tsk tsk, aside from that elegant and handsome face, he really embodies the definition of utterly worthless."
I never cared about being scrutinized by these wolves in sheep's clothing.
Sympathetic, hypocritical, curious—those whispers and snickers sounded like nothing more than a swarm of buzzing flies.
"Adrian?!"
Julian spotted me, and his face instantly twisted as if he'd swallowed a lizard. "What are you doing here? Damn it! Was that stupid dog earlier deliberately let loose by you?"
He tried to mask his inner panic with an overbearing attitude.
No help for it—this was the innate bloodline suppression between us.
After all, since childhood, the thing that spoiled golden boys like him feared most was a madman like me who never played by the rules.
"Relax, Julian."
I folded my arms and leaned against the pillar behind me. "A dog's line of sight only reaches knee-level. As long as your moves were acrobatic enough, it probably didn't see anything."
"You—"
Julian's expression grew increasingly ugly. "What the hell are you here for, Adrian! Does Father know? Does Grandfather know you're back in the country?"
"I came back to find something I lost a long time ago."
I didn't want to waste any more words on someone like him. Stepping past the doorway, I deepened the smile on my face. "Now that I've found it, I'll be taking my leave."
I pushed open the door, and the night wind, laden with moisture, rushed against my face, instantly dispelling the cloying perfume scent.
Only a few dim streetlights flickered in the parking lot.
Isabella was curled up in the passenger seat of my gray Ford Focus, the window cracked open just a sliver.
Seeing me approach, she immediately pushed the door open and got out, clutching her dress as she asked urgently, "Adrian, how did it go? Inside—I mean, is the banquet a complete disaster now?"
"So what if it is, Isabella?"
I smiled and stepped closer, looking down at her. "Right now, do you have any other options?"
She froze for a moment, bit her lip, and her gaze slowly steadied.
I raised my wrist to check my watch. "It's eleven o'clock now. If we leave from here for the local registry office, we can be the first couple in line tomorrow morning to submit our marriage notice. What do you say?"
"Adrian, are you serious?"
Her eyes reddened slightly, and the corners of her mouth pressed together with a trace of hesitation.
"Of course."
I looked at the raindrops clinging to her cheeks, momentarily unable to tell whether they were tears or not.
I reached out, my fingertip gently wiping away that bit of moisture, my movements unconsciously softening. Her skin was cool, yet touching it felt like an electric current running through me.
"Let's go, my fiancée."
The car started, the old engine rumbling a few times before pulling into the night.
By the time I drove to the registry office entrance, steady breathing was already coming from the passenger seat.
Isabella had fallen asleep.
Earlier, she'd told me herself that she'd been working night shifts for a week straight.
Combined with tonight's farcical banquet, it had probably drained the last bit of energy from this Kensington family's eldest daughter.
She was curled up, her forehead pressed against the window, her breathing long and even, like a child who'd finally found a safe corner to shelter from the rain.
Occasionally she muttered case numbers and obscure medical terminology—it was both absurd and endearing.
I turned my head to look at her.
Streetlight and shadow swept across her face, her profile soft in the dim glow.
Something in my chest seemed to tighten gently, stirring that familiar flutter.
This feeling was damnably addictive.
I took a deep breath, pushed open the door, and dialed Raul's number.
"First thing—rent me an apartment immediately. Location must be near St. Cecilia Hospital, no more than a ten-minute walk. Remember, nothing too luxurious. Simple, clean décor. Rent should be within the range affordable on a monthly salary of four thousand pounds."
"Understood, Mr. Hawthorne."
The sound of rapid typing came clearly through the phone. Raul's efficiency never needed to be questioned.
"Two bedrooms, good lighting, soundproofing up to standard. I'll screen three properties that best meet your requirements and send them to your email tomorrow morning."
"There's no time for that. I need to move in tomorrow morning—you decide for me. Second thing—"
I glanced at Isabella's sleeping face through the car window and paused briefly. "Contact Dean Pendleton and ask him why a rotating emergency department intern has been scheduled for night shifts for an entire week. Is such a roster reasonable? If he can't even manage basic administration and staff welfare, I don't mind arranging someone else to replace him."
I could imagine the flicker of astonishment that might cross Raul's perpetually impassive face.
After all, this was probably the most trivial yet most decisive order he'd received since working for me.
"Understood, sir. I'll schedule a meeting with the dean in my capacity as medical advisor for the charitable foundation. And I'll… tactfully remind him of the medical risks posed by overworked healthcare staff."
"No need for tact. You're representing me—representing the highest board of directors at St. Cecilia Hospital holding him accountable."
"Understood, sir." Raul seemed to hesitate before finally asking, "It's just… regarding that secondhand Ford Focus, are you comfortable with it? Do you need me to arrange a vehicle with slightly better performance?"
"No need." I cut off his cautious concern. "This car is fine. At least it won't let me forget how I clawed my way up from the mud."
After all, my first car was an old wreck with a sunroof that leaked in the rain—far worse than this.
"Sir," Raul's voice carried a kind of almost earnest caution. Clearly, he couldn't understand why a tycoon worth billions would so deliberately experience life at the bottom, but he still did his utmost to remind me—
"If you don't want anyone to know your true identity just yet, I suggest you still pay attention to certain details. Some habits can't be concealed just by switching cars."
I instinctively glanced at the back seat.
Lucas was sprawled across the rear bench, one thick front paw casually draped over the edge of the seat.
In the dim interior, the leather collar around his neck—embedded with natural sapphires—rose and fell faintly with his breathing, refracting a low-key yet startling blue gleam.
That thing was something I'd impulsively bid on at a Sotheby's auction.
Supposedly, it was a birthday gift from some Persian prince to his beloved dog. Its value could probably buy a third of St. Cecilia Hospital's shares.
"Thanks for the reminder, Raul."
I unfastened the collar and tucked it into the gap in the armrest compartment.
Isabella still slept soundly, completely oblivious to what had just transpired.
She probably truly believed she was about to marry a down-and-out insurance broker.
A husband who, like her, was entangled in the pressures of debt after being abandoned by his family.
But this misunderstanding, at this moment, made me feel inexplicably at ease.
I pulled a mint candy from my pocket and carefully peeled away the silver wrapper.
The distinct cool scent of mint spread through the air—just like her, cold yet carrying a stubborn trace of sweetness.
I reached out, gently parting her slightly open lips, and slipped the translucent candy inside.
Her tongue inadvertently brushed against my fingertip, bringing a warm, moist sensation that sent a sharp tremor through my chest.
She seemed to sense something, smacking her lips drowsily, turning over, and sinking back into deep sleep.
"Good night, my little mint."
