Night Carved Paths Into Silence by Zyrel Ash ` 327
Chapter 327
Her voice was muffled, but you could hear the smile in it,
“However, Professor Shaw, for keeping something this big from
me… you’re not getting off scot–free.”
Hearing the playfulness in her voice, Adrian felt a weight lift
from his chest. He chuckled softly and played along, asking,
“Oh?
How do you plan to punish me?”
“I’ll save it for later.”
“Alright.”
The two of them walked hand in hand for a while longer before
Rebecca finally spoke.
“You still haven’t asked me what was in that box I received at
the banquet.”
Adrian looked at him, his eyes full of trust.
“You’ll tell me even if I don’t ask, right?”
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“Of course.”
Rebecca thought for a moment, tilting her head.
“Are you free the day after tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
For her, he was always free.
Rebecca smiled. “Then come with me somewhere the day after
tomorrow, and I’ll tell you then.”
The day after tomorrow.
It was Leo’s death anniversary.
She needed to be clear with Adrian, and she needed to be clear
with this chaotic part of her past.
The next afternoon, at The Sovereign Club.
The salon’s atmosphere was elegant and private, more like a
top–tier private academic exchange.
Soft light shone on the precious artworks in glass display
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cases, while well–dressed guests held champagne, talking in
low voices, their gazes filled with appreciation and admiration.
The air was filled with a unique blend of erudition and wealth.
Edward was undoubtedly the most dazzling person in the room.
He was wearing a well–fitted dark gray suit, his posture relaxed
and elegant, accompanying several key bank directors and
internationally renowned art appraisers, speaking in front of the
central display case.
He was engrossed in conversation until he noticed everyone
around him turn to look at Roderick entering, and only then did
he stop.
Edward’s words faltered slightly, the composed smile on his
face didn’t fade, but a flicker of displeasure and vigilance
flashed deep in his eyes.
Roderick’s arrival was like a piece of ice suddenly dropped into
a calm lake, instantly shattering the harmonious and gentle
atmosphere of the venue.
Roderick wasn’t deliberately conspicuous; he simply strolled in,
his sharply tailored black suit a stark contrast to the soft tones
of the event.
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His expression was cold, his gaze sharp as a torch. He didn’t
look around, yet it was as if he had already seen everything,
walking precisely toward the inner circle where Edward and the
bankers stood.
Wherever he passed, conversations involuntarily quieted down,
and an invisible pressure spread through the air.
“Mr. Livingston?”
Edward was the first to speak, his tone maintaining the perfect
amount of surprise and courtesy. “What a pleasant surprise. I
didn’t expect you’d be interested in this kind of salon.”
He was trying to regain control of the rhythm, defining
Roderick’s appearance as a surprise rather than a disruption.
Roderick stopped in front of them, first giving a slight nod to
the puzzled bankers. His manners were impeccable, yet carried
a detached authority.
Finally, he turned his gaze to Edward, his eyes calm and
unrippled, as if looking at an ordinary object.
“Not particularly.”
Roderick’s voice was low and steady, betraying no emotion. “I
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was just passing by and remembered that Aitana Wilson
seemed to have some interest in collecting Nordic
contemporary art.”
He turned his gaze to Aitana. “A private museum is currently
negotiating a touring exhibition of some smaller works by
Vermeer and Munch. I have some connections with the
organizers. If you’re interested, Aitana, perhaps a private, non-
public viewing could be arranged beforehand.”
Aitana’s eyes instantly lit up.
Vermeer and Munch!
This was far more appealing than what was in front of them,
and it was a private tour–a rare opportunity.
With these words, Roderick directly catered to her interests,
showcasing a deeper and more elite network of resources.
He had nonchalantly outshone the “high–end” atmosphere
Edward had just created.
The smile on Edward’s face faded a little.
Roderick wasn’t here to talk about art at all.
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He was clearly here to hijack things!
The smile on Edward’s face was about to break.
The tightness in his chest grew heavier, as if an invisible hand
was squeezing it, making it hard to breathe.
Roderick’s very presence felt like a negation, making his prized confidence and abilities seem like child’s play.
Every time he tried to steer the conversation toward the
Southside Development Project and investments, Roderick
would seamlessly take over, shifting to anecdotes about some
banker’s private collection or the movements of an international
art fund.
His words were substantive, packed with information, and
completely dominated the direction of the conversation.
He, Edward, had actually become Roderick’s supporting act!
This feeling was even harder for him to bear than outright
failure.
“…Excuse me for a moment.”
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