Chapter 611

"Everyone, have you finished writing?" Nahashon White’s smooth baritone rang out across the softly lit set. He scanned the guests as they set down their pens one by one, a faintly amused smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “If you’re all done, we’ll begin revealing the names on the matchmaking cards.” Eleanor was the last to finish. She’d written slowly—painfully slowly—her pen moving with the deliberateness of someone writing out a fate they weren’t sure they believed in. By the time she clicked the cap shut and placed the pen down, everyone else had already leaned back, basking in either smug confidence or anxious curiosity. A few guests stole not-so-subtle glances in her direction, some openly hostile, others thinly veiled in disdain. But Eleanor's expression remained placid, unmoved—like still water concealing deeper currents. “So, who should we start with?” Nahashon White asked, his voice taking on a leisurely cadence. He was in no rush. Typical. His tone, deliberately slow