Chapter 6

The other hotel guests more or less figured out who they were—they kept their distance, only sneaking glances now and then. Charisse knew there was no use resisting, so she got into the car without a word. The man in the front seat turned around and said, "Mr. Ellis is attending a banquet tonight. He wants you to be his date. He apologizes if this feels sudden." She looked out the window. "I'm just a nobody. Whether I forgive him or not doesn't really matter, does it?" The luxury van drove her to the biggest club in Draycott—Midnight Bloom. She was led into a large lounge where stylists were already waiting, all prepped and ready. Racks of designer gowns filled the room—some brands Charisse hadn't even heard of before. "Miss Walton, Mr. Ellis picked out all of these. You can choose the one you like best," the stylist said with a sweet smile. "You're the expert. Just pick one," Charisse replied, sitting down in front of the vanity, not sparing a glance at the dresses. The stylists exchanged quick looks before pulling out the one they all agreed was the most stunning. "This gown is from a renowned designer..." "This one's fine," Charisse cut her off. Seeing she truly had no interest, the stylist wisely stopped talking and began helping her change. Charisse wasn't sure if coming here meant walking right into a trap, but she didn't really have a say. If she had to be dragged into this anyway, she might as well keep some dignity. She stared at her own reflection, expressionless, not understanding why Clayton wanted to marry her. They'd never even crossed paths—she didn't even know what he looked like. If it was only about her appearance, there were a million ways to get her here. No need for that whole "marriage" line. The gown was champagne-colored, with a voluminous skirt—vintage, lavish. The makeup artist gave her a bold look to match her striking features and pinned up her long hair, adding a touch of regal elegance. Charisse figured this must be exactly the type Clayton was into. Once her styling was done, the others quietly left until she was the only one in the lounge. She figured he'd show up soon. Her phone was already on the screen for calling the police—not that it would help much. But thirty minutes passed, and there was still no sign of him. Frustrated for no clear reason, she furrowed her brows and stared at her reflection. Then she suddenly ripped the diamond hairpin out—her long hair tumbled down. She didn't bother brushing it. Just roughly ran her fingers through it. Then she wiped off the scarlet lipstick, leaving a natural pink tint behind. Messy hair. Odd makeup combo. A soft knock came at the door. A staff member gently pushed it open a crack. "Miss Walton, please come with me." Charisse stood up, her flowing dress trailing behind her like a cloud.Being the most lavish spot in Draycott, the top floor of Midnight Bloom wasn't something just anyone could waltz into. If you were hosting an event here, odds were you had some serious pull. By the door sat a plant bigger than most people. As Charisse walked past, the hem of her dress caught on it. She was about to free it when a hand got there first, gently easing the fabric away. Her gaze followed the hand—sleek watch, beige suit—and finally landed on a face with a faint, polite smile. The man wasn't drop-dead gorgeous, but he had a presence—calm and steady, like a quiet stream or an old mountain. His eyes, behind rimmed glasses, were warm and intellectual, the kind you'd expect from a seasoned professor. Time had left soft lines on his face, despite his careful grooming. Charisse had a hunch who he was, but the image didn't match her expectations. So she stayed quiet, unsure. Then, bending slightly, he helped straighten out the layers of her dress, making sure it looked just right. He stepped back to admire her appearance and nodded. "That dress really suits you." She blinked. "You are...?" "Hi," he said, offering his hand with a deep, solid voice. "I'm Clayton." Of course. Not a single thing about him matched what she'd imagined. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Ellis." She looked at him directly. "I heard you want to marry me?" "I figured you'd ask about the party first," he said with a smile, then answered bluntly. "Yes." "Mind telling me why?" "Because I want to." What kind of answer was that... Clearly, he wasn't planning on explaining—or didn't think he needed to. "You don't have to worry about the wedding. I'll talk it over with your aunt. As for your father's liver transplant—I've already got people working on it." That single sentence made it clear: Clayton had a complete handle on her entire life. Out of nowhere, Charisse thought of Elliot. Did Clayton know about him, too? Before she could dwell on it, Clayton had wrapped an arm around her waist and guided her into the opulent hall. He looked refined and gentlemanly, but his grip told another story—firm, in control, and unmistakably possessive. As soon as they entered, every eye in the room turned to them. Most landed on Charisse, their looks filled with curiosity and speculation. Clayton didn't stop to greet anyone, just led her straight inward. Up ahead, a few people stood talking. One of them flicked a glance their way, and suddenly the whole group turned to look. When her gaze met Elliot's, Charisse felt her heartbeat skip. Clayton's smile softened. "Elliot, glad you made it." He gave Charisse's waist a slight squeeze. "This is my fiancée," he said casually, "your future aunt." Charisse froze. Clayton... was Elliot's uncle? "Aunt?" Elliot raised an eyebrow, repeating the words with a hint of amusement. Whatever Charisse was feeling right now—confusion, absurdity, maybe even anger—it all mixed into a swirling mess inside her.Elliot suddenly added, "Nice pick, Uncle. But... what's up with the cut on her lip?"