Chapter 13

"Miss Taylor, my boss asked me to give you this." The moment he said that, the guests who were about to leave froze and turned their heads to look. Someone couldn’t help blurting out, "Whoa, who is that girl anyway? Someone’s throwing money at her like it's nothing." "No wonder she stopped bidding. Turns out she just raised her hand twice for fun." "A ring that costs 270 million?! Who’s the mystery person in Room 7?" "Wait a sec, I remember now—that girl’s the heiress of the Taylor family, the one who caused a scene at the Hawthorne funeral." "Wasn’t she supposed to be slow?" "Slow? You think the VIP in Room 7 is blind or something? Handing out billions to a so-called idiot?" Just about to leave, Mara clenched her fists hard, jealousy flaring in her eyes. ... Cassandra’s breath hitched a little. She ignored the whispering and didn’t reach out for the “gift.” Instead, she calmed herself and asked, "Can I know who the person in Room 7 is?" Two hundred and seventy million. The guy didn’t even flinch— She seriously doubted the old her even knew someone that loaded. "If you'd like to find out, Miss Taylor, please follow me," Max Winters said, as if he’d expected the question. He turned and led the way. He stopped in front of a luxury VIP suite and asked her to wait outside for a moment. After going in, he came back out about a minute later and gestured for her to go in. The second Cassandra stepped inside, the door slammed shut behind her, making her jump. The air was thick with an overwhelming pressure—it felt like someone had placed a heavy weight right on her chest, and her back instinctively tensed up. Her eyes scanned the room cautiously. She spotted a tall figure near the window—broad shoulders, long limbs, dressed in a dark red shirt and black slacks. He was probably around 6'3". Even from behind, he gave off this strange mix of elegance and mystery. The air around him was naturally powerful and commanding—impossible to ignore. "So, what made you want to see me?" The man turned around slowly, his voice deep and smooth, with a teasing kind of calm—like he already knew all the answers. His voice was rich and magnetic, like a cello note brushing the soul or an aged wine that quietly seduced the senses. "Then why did you send me the ring?” Cassandra narrowed her eyes slightly, wary. People don’t just hand out ridiculously expensive rings for no reason. Under the warm light, she finally saw his face clearly—his skin was flawless, his features so perfectly sculpted it felt unreal. There was a quiet harmony of softness and depth in his expression. But those deep blue eyes, like sapphire galaxies, looked like they could suck your soul in and never let go. High-bridged nose, defined brows, thin lips slightly curled—he was dangerously attractive. She racked her brain for the right words—all the poetic metaphors she'd ever read—but in the end, all she could think was: stunning. Yes. A strikingly, absurdly handsome man. Like he’d walked straight out of a top-tier sculpture exhibit. Flawless. One thing she was sure of, though—he wasn’t in her memory. She’d never seen this god-like man before.