Adrian Cole; Return of the Lost Heir

Verification

Chapter Ten

The hall was still buzzing from the shock of the verification when Lucas Brown leaned in toward Catherine Moretti, his smirk slick with venom.

“Catherine,” he said in a tone just loud enough for the surrounding guests to hear, “don’t let him drag you into his mess. You should distance yourself now before he implicates you further. That man is a lowlife, a street dog. Everyone here knows it. He’s not worthy of being seen with you.”

The insult drew a ripple of laughter from a few guests eager to side with Lucas. Some nodded, whispering to each other as if his words carried weight.

But Catherine’s glass paused midair. Slowly, she turned her head toward him, her expression cool, her gaze razor sharp.

“If anyone here should be ashamed,” she said icily, “it’s you, Lucas Brown. A man whose only weapon is his mouth. You do nothing but rant and hurl insults, hoping someone will mistake noise for power.”

Her voice carried, clear and deliberate, silencing a portion of the crowd. A flush crept up Lucas’s neck, his pride smarting under the weight of her disdain.

His smirk faltered, but he quickly forced it back into place, masking his humiliation with arrogance. Without another word, he pulled out his phone, his tone sharp as he barked into it. “Get Armstrong’s manager here immediately. There’s fraud happening under your company’s nose!”

The threat hung in the air, and the crowd stirred eagerly. Fraud. The word alone was enough to reignite their anticipation of a spectacle.

Minutes later, the banquet doors opened, and a tall, well-dressed man entered with a purposeful stride—Mr. Graham, Armstrong’s manager. His presence carried authority, and the hall quieted at once. He stopped before the small gathering, his sharp eyes sweeping over Adrian, Catherine, and Lucas.

“What’s going on here?” Mr. Graham demanded.

Lucas wasted no time. He stepped forward, pointing a finger at Adrian. “This man is a fraud! He used a card that clearly doesn’t belong to him. I demand that you investigate this immediately before Armstrong’s reputation is dragged through the mud.”

Gasps echoed.

The manager’s expression hardened as he turned toward Adrian. “Is this true?”

But before Adrian could reply, he added coldly, “And you—who are you? Which family do you belong to? How did you get your hands on that card unless…” His gaze flicked to Catherine. “…unless Miss Moretti handed it to you herself.”

The implication was sharp, meant to shame her as much as him.

Catherine raised her chin but said nothing, choosing silence over argument.

The manager’s lips curled in disappointment as he looked directly at her. “I didn’t expect this from you, Miss Moretti. Supporting a scammer in our dinner? This is a disgrace.”

Before Adrian could speak, Elena suddenly rushed forward, desperation etched across her face. She bowed slightly to the manager, her words tumbling out. “Please forgive him, sir. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. I’ll talk to him—I’ll make him stop before this gets any worse.”

Her voice shook, her tone pleading, as though she were the only one who could save Adrian from his own downfall. She turned to him, her eyes wide, urging him to listen. “Adrian, you still have a chance to step back. Don’t go against Lucas. You don’t understand the kind of man he is—you can’t joke with someone like him.”

The crowd hummed in agreement.

“She’s right—Lucas has connections.”

“Adrian’s courting disaster.”

“This won’t end well for him.”

Adrian, however, stood motionless, his expression unreadable. Their words slid off him like rain on glass. Behind his calm eyes, though, thoughts stirred. Flashes—faint, fragmented—brushed against his mind: the memory of a car’s headlights, the sickening impact, the blur of pain. He couldn’t grasp it fully, but it lingered like a shadow, whispering that there was more to his past than anyone here realized.

He let the thought pass and lifted his gaze, locking eyes with the manager. His voice, low but steady, broke through the noise.

“Since when,” Adrian asked evenly, “is paying for what I bid considered fraud?”

The simplicity of the question struck like a blow. The room hushed, the crowd leaning forward, waiting for the manager’s reply.

The manager’s eyes narrowed, irritation flashing across his face. “Don’t play clever with me. Men like you don’t walk in here with that kind of money unless someone is backing them. You don’t belong in this room.”

Adrian’s lips curved faintly, though his tone was edged with steel. “Respecting your clients should be your first priority. Instead, you treat me like trash and dare to insult me after I’ve made a legitimate purchase. That,” he said, his voice rising ever so slightly, “is the real disgrace here.”

The words landed heavily. Some in the crowd shifted uncomfortably, though others smirked, eager for retaliation.

The manager’s face darkened. “Enough. The ring will not be given to you. Armstrong does not tolerate scams. And what you’ve just committed is exactly that—a scam.” His voice sharpened like a whip. “Guards! Seize him. Teach him some respect.”

The order electrified the hall. Guests leapt from their seats, clamoring for a better view.

“Finally!”

“He’s going to be beaten in front of everyone!”

“That’s what he gets for pretending to be someone he’s not.”

Two guards advanced, their heavy footsteps echoing against the marble. Adrian stood his ground, his hands loose at his sides, not an ounce of fear on his face. The tension stretched, thick and crackling.

But before the guards could reach him, the doors opened once more. The air shifted instantly, the murmurs dying to silence.

A woman entered.

Her presence was commanding without effort, her poise unmatched. Recognition flashed across some face in the hall. The guests who had jeered moments before now straightened, their arrogance dissolving into nervous respect.

“Miss Reyes…” Mr. Graham breathed, his harsh tone vanishing at once. He straightened, his voice deferential. “What an honor. I didn’t realize you would be joining us tonight.” He bowed low, the sharp authority he had wielded moments ago crumbling into obsequiousness.

The guards halted mid-step, uncertain, waiting.

All eyes followed as she crossed the hall, her heels clicking softly against the polished floor. But instead of approaching Lucas or the manager, Isabella Reyes walked past them without acknowledgment. Her gaze was fixed elsewhere.

Every head turned to watch in stunned silence as she stopped—right in front of Adrian Cole and Catherine Moretti.