6

Freya

Ridiculous, who would seduce a stallion like that?

"I didn't." My expression was calm, without any guilt.

"You—"

"Tracy." Kelan interrupted her, his face already looking unpleasant. He looked at me, his voice very low, "Is this true?"

"Of course not." I met his gaze without any evasion, "Kelan, I was in the restroom fixing my appearance when Mr. Field mistakenly walked in. We barely exchanged a few words. I didn't hit anyone."

Something flashed across Kelan's face. He paused, his gaze sweeping over the guests around us who had begun to lean in and listen, his mouth tightly pressed. He was weighing his options, I knew. He wasn't thinking about who was right or wrong—he was thinking about where he would put his face if this matter continued to escalate.

"For something like this, we can just check the surveillance." He spoke slowly, but the look he gave me carried pressure, silently conveying a message: he was willing to side with me this time, but if I disappointed him, the consequences would be ugly.

If we checked surveillance, that would make things even easier. I forcibly suppressed the irrepressible corner of my mouth.

Field's reaction was a bit quicker than I expected, but he was still an idiot.

The moment the word "surveillance" landed, his expression froze slightly—just for a moment, very subtle, but I was positioned just right and saw it. He probably remembered that there were no cameras in the restroom. He had probably known this all along, which was why he had so boldly followed me in, thinking he could do anything to me without anyone knowing, thinking I simply couldn't resist.

But he forgot one thing—there were cameras in the corridor. The corridor camera was aimed at the restroom entrance. Before I went in, he had been following me like a stalker and even harassing me—all clearly recorded on video. It wasn't me harassing him; it was him chasing me in there, him cornering me in that narrow space, him putting his arms around my waist.

He was the one who crossed the line; he was the one who should be ashamed.

Field's eyes shifted, landing on Kelan's face, then on several guests around us who were still listening. His Adam's apple bobbed as he raised his hand to touch his temple, changed his tone, laughed once, and said lightly: "...Never mind, maybe I misunderstood. Everyone continue, this is such a small matter, let's not mention it anymore."

He spoke casually, as if it were a trivial joke not worth mentioning.

Tracy wouldn't let it go. Her voice suddenly rose, tears already hanging at the corners of her eyes, "Field, tell me, what exactly did you two do in that restroom? Did she seduce you? Why don't you dare look at the surveillance?"

"Tracy, you're overthinking. I said let this matter go." Field's tone carried a hint of impatience.

"You're actually protecting her!"

When this sentence came out, the surroundings fell completely silent.

The buzzing of the banquet hall seemed to have been muted. The circle of people closest to us all stopped, some had already turned around, some pretended not to hear but were straining their ears, some moved half a step closer with their wine glasses. The crystal chandelier illuminated everyone's faces transparently, leaving nowhere to hide.

Tracy's tears finally fell. She raised her chin slightly, her eyelashes trembling, her makeup intact as if carefully designed—but in those eyes, besides grievance, there was something else, something sharp, aimed directly at me.

"Freya," she called my name directly, her voice broken but loud, loud enough for everyone in this space to hear, "You like him? You've always liked him!"

Honestly, I quite admired that brain of hers—it was amazing how she could clear out everything else and leave every inch of space for him.

Clearly Field had already shown his guilt, clearly he was the one with the problem, yet she turned Field's evasiveness into my crime. I looked at her, at that tear at the corner of her eye, at that natural sense of grievance on her face. I knew she wasn't crying injustice for herself—she was using this opportunity to throw all her previously accumulated suspicions at me at once, making everyone feel like I owed her something.

"The surveillance is here!" A gentleman shouted, his eyes full of anticipation for the drama.

Field's face looked terrible. He shook off Tracy's hand and made as if to leave. But now we were surrounded by the crowd, and since the matter hadn't been investigated clearly, he had no way to break through the circle of people.

Tracy couldn't wait to watch, but the more she watched, the uglier her expression became.

In the surveillance footage, Field was driven by lust—he was the one harassing me. I thought if Tracy had any brains at all, she could see that I was the victim.

But the next second, she glared at me viciously and charged straight at me, raising her hand to slap me. Of course I wouldn't take it—I sidestepped to avoid it.

"You bitch, you seduced my fiancé!" Tracy cursed, completely abandoning any ladylike image.

It seemed I had overestimated her brain after all. Even with reality right in front of her, Field was still in the right.

"That's not right. No matter how you look at the surveillance, it's Field pestering your sister. You're being completely unreasonable." A noblewoman spoke up for me after watching the footage.

I looked over at her with gratitude in my eyes and curtsied to her.

"Tracy."

This time it was White who spoke.

I don't know when he had walked over. He stood at the edge of the crowd, holding a glass of whiskey, his expression normal. He glanced around at the guests who were still craning their necks to watch the drama and sighed, as if facing a group of unruly children.

"Tonight is a good night." His voice was unhurried, "Why let a small misunderstanding ruin it all? Don't you think so, Kelan?"

Kelan was the head of the family, so naturally it was up to him to end this farce.

"You're absolutely right." Kelan bowed slightly and said with a smile.

The crowd slowly dispersed. Discussion continued in corners for a while, but the surface storm had subsided.

Tracy still stood in place, her tears unwashed, as if she felt this ending was too light, couldn't swallow it, and didn't know how to continue making trouble. Field gently tugged at her arm and said something in a low voice. She turned her face away, took a deep breath, and finally walked away with him. Before leaving, she cast me one last look—a look that was indescribable except as hatred, the kind of hatred one woman could have for another, specific yet without clear origin.

I stood in place, keeping my shoulders relaxed, gently holding the champagne glass that had long gone cold.

Something was tight in my chest—not fear, not grievance, but some unclear tension, heavy like a stone pressed somewhere with no corner to set it down.

I raised my eyes and habitually glanced upstairs.

The corridor upstairs was dimly lit. Someone was leaning against the railing, holding a glass, posture lazy, looking down from above like watching a play whose ending had been predicted long ago.

It was Leopold.