Chapter 35

Scarlett POV

Despite the previous disarray, I now appeared impeccably dressed in a form-fitting evening gown, my hair once again elegantly swept up.

Camila stood beside me, exuding composure and confidence, maintaining the intimate pose of her arm linked with mine.

I offered an apologetic smile, looking directly at Tom.

"I'm so sorry to have worried you, Tom. I was completely absorbed in my conversation with Camila and entirely lost track of time."

My voice was steady and sincere, despite this being an outright lie.

Camila smoothly picked up the thread of conversation.

"Scarlett and I hit it off immediately. We were delighted to discover we're alumni of the same university. Tom, you're not angry that I took Scarlett away, are you?"

She asked with a charming smile, her expression so genuine, as if we were long-time friends.

Her tone was gentle yet brooking no argument, displaying the confidence only a true member of high society could possess.

Sandra stood to the side, her hands clenched into fists at her sides, her knuckles white with anger.

I could see the internal struggle in her eyes—she was certain she had seen something, but faced with Camila's words, she found herself unable to refute.

"I believe this was just a small misunderstanding."

I said softly, my voice carrying a deliberately gentle tone, while my gaze remained fixed on Sandra.

"Sometimes what we see isn't the entire truth, isn't that right, Sandra?"

She jerked her head up, her eyes burning with undisguised fury, yet inexplicably remained silent.

Tom's gaze shifted between me and Camila, seemingly searching for something amiss.

I forced myself to remain calm, even as I could feel my heart pounding violently.

Each time his eyes lingered on me, I feared he might discover some telltale sign.

After a prolonged observation, Tom finally responded.

"Of course not, Mrs. Blair. I simply needed to ensure Miss Smith's safety. Mr. Gray was very insistent that I look after her during her first attendance at a Blair family event. If anything were to happen to her, I would have to answer to Mr. Gray."

This designation struck me like lightning.

I suddenly turned to look at Camila, my eyes wide with disbelief.

She was Mrs. Blair?

This information nearly took my breath away.

My mind raced, attempting to reorganize the current situation and the complex network of interpersonal relationships.

Camila was actually a member of the Blair family!

Why hadn't she revealed this identity from the beginning?

I felt dizzy, as if every person I thought I understood and could trust might be hiding even more secrets.

Moreover, she had chosen to help me—a complete stranger—instead of Sandra, who was supposedly closer to her.

What motives and calculations lay behind this?

A chill spread down my spine. Was this another trap?

"Of course," Camila responded, turning to smile at me.

Tom's tone carried both wariness and deference, his eyes scanning back and forth between us, clearly hesitant to act given Camila's identity.

I forced myself to maintain a calm smile, simultaneously realizing that even before such a commercial giant as the Gray family, political influence remained impossible to ignore.

After the banquet, a black sedan smoothly traversed the nighttime streets of Silverlight City.

I sat rigidly on one side of the back seat, deliberately positioning myself close to the door, maintaining maximum distance from Tom.

The partition had long been lowered, and the silent space was filled with a tension almost suffocating.

After the car had jostled for a few minutes, Tom finally spoke.

"Miss Smith, regarding tonight's events..."

He deliberately left the sentence unfinished, as if something had occurred that was difficult to articulate.

This was an obvious psychological tactic—he wanted me to volunteer information out of unease.

Tom's experienced eyes glinted in the dim car interior, sharp like a nocturnal predator, attempting to see through me.

A surge of anger and indignation rose within me.

I was tired of being treated like a chess piece, of being manipulated.

And now, Tom wanted to pry information from me using these elementary psychological tactics?

I straightened my posture, my red lips curving into a smile that didn't reach my eyes.

"What exactly are you implying?"

My voice was steadier and more powerful than I had imagined.

"Are you listening to Sandra's words? Do you think I have an inappropriate relationship with Alexander?"

I directly threw the accusation back at him.

"Of course not!"

Tom immediately countered, though his suspicious gaze contradicted his words.

Seeing how quickly he denied it, I knew at that moment I held the upper hand.

"Is that so?"

My tone hardened, a coolness that even felt strange to myself.

"Tom, you've served the Gray family for decades, and your position far exceeds mine in many ways. I understand that Richard never truly intended to marry me."

Stating this fact brought a hint of bitterness and relief to my heart, but I didn't pause.

"Nevertheless, he has made my position in the Gray family very clear."

Tom stared at me silently, his expression unreadable.

He seemed to be reassessing me, realizing that Scarlett was no longer the naive girl he thought he could easily manipulate.

I could feel a subtle power balance shifting, a change that both nervous and excited me.

"Perhaps I should let you verify for yourself," I continued, my voice steady despite my racing heart.

"Prove to you that I haven't been touched, which would demonstrate Alexander's innocence and my own. This would also give you something concrete to report to Richard."

Before Tom could respond, I had already unbuttoned the top of my gown, revealing my collarbone and neck's smooth, flawless skin.

The area appeared completely unblemished, with no suggestive marks.

"Miss Smith, please!"

Tom hastily interrupted my action.

"I overstepped. I will only report to Mr. Gray that you met Camila tonight and became friends."

I slowly rebuttoned my gown, a small victorious glint in my eyes.

What Tom didn't know was that at the nape of my neck, hidden beneath my upswept hair, was a half-healed bite mark.

Had he stopped me just seconds later, he would have discovered it.

But this time, Lady Luck had stood on my side.