As soon as darkness fell, the banquet was already in full swing.
The hillside manor dripped with luxury—glittering chandeliers, guests brushing shoulders as they mingled, extravagance on full display at every turn.
Everyone here was either wealthy or powerful.
Georgia led Willow through the crowd, searching for Jesse, but after a full circuit, they hadn't spotted a single member of the Farley family.
"Willow, I need to make a call. Wait here for me."
"Okay."
Willow found an inconspicuous corner and sat down to wait. She had no real interest in these events, but if someone approached to make small talk, she could hold her own without embarrassing herself.
The Mason family held their own weight in these circles. She'd spent enough time accompanying Georgia among the wealthy wives to know what topics interested them, what responses would charm them.
But it was exhausting. Better to sit quietly alone.
After a long wait, Georgia still hadn't returned. Instead, a man who looked like a butler approached, polite and courteous. "Are you Miss Sullivan? Mrs. Fletcher is speaking with Mrs. Farley. She asked me to bring you over."
Willow gave a slight nod and followed him into the villa at the back of the property.
The door had barely opened when a man's voice reached her from the living room, dripping with contempt.
"Why did you decide on Willow Sullivan without asking me?"
"Everyone knows she's Victor Henson's simp. There's no way I'm marrying her—whoever wants her can have her!"
Hearing that word again, Willow's fingers curled slightly. But her striking face remained expressionless, as if she wasn't the one being discussed at all.
The butler looked embarrassed. He gave a dry cough and stepped into the living room first. "Madam, young master, Miss Sullivan is here."
Jesse snorted with undisguised disdain and rose to leave.
The next second, a cool, low voice cut through from upstairs.
"Jesse Farley, apologize to Miss Sullivan!"
In the pale light and shadows, a tall figure descended the stairs.
Sharp features, clean lines—the man carried himself with cold, reserved nobility.
Jesse straightened immediately. "Uncle."
The fear was obvious. The moment this man appeared, Jesse's slouching posture snapped to attention.
Willow's brow lifted slightly as she placed him.
Jesse's uncle. Theodore Farley—the true heir to the Farley empire, a man Harbor City couldn't afford to ignore.
The kind of figure who made front-page headlines just by returning to the country.
His presence here was undoubtedly about Jesse's marriage.
She raised her eyes. Their gazes collided, and the sheer pressure of his stare made her lower her head, her pulse quickening.
Theodore's gaze swept over her casually. Those pitch-black eyes betrayed nothing.
Only after he sat down did Mrs. Farley dare to speak. She stepped forward and took Willow's hand, her expression shifting to affected warmth as she tried to smooth over the earlier scene.
Jesse seized the moment to slip away.
Theodore's cool voice stopped him cold.
"Do I need to say it twice?"
Jesse froze mid-step. He turned back and met Willow's eyes.
The words "I'm sorry" reached his lips—then died there.
"Damn. Who said she was ugly?"
Victor liked gentle, obedient women, so when she was with him, Willow had never worn dramatic makeup. Her usual style was plain—delicate and proper, but nothing that would stop anyone in their tracks.
Now that she'd decided to leave him behind, she dressed however she pleased.
She lifted her gaze. Bright, gorgeous features, beautiful in a way that demanded attention—the kind of face you couldn't look away from.
A cold stare landed on Jesse, and he shivered involuntarily. Snapping back to reality, he muttered, "Sorry, Miss Sullivan."
Suddenly, marrying Willow Sullivan didn't seem so unbearable after all.
