M had no intention of taking back her words. She had always regarded Ryan as nothing short of a lunatic. But engaging in another argument with this madman was thest thing she wanted.


    Ryan was the kind of reckless, spoiled brat whose unpredictable actions were impossible to reason with.


    As she turned to leave, Ryan seized her arm with such force that M felt as though it might snap.


    "Let go!" M demanded, her voice sharp with anger.


    Ryan held firm, towering over her with a crazed glint in his eyes. "M," he warned, "if you dare ruin Giselle and Lysander''s ns, you know what will happen."


    A mocking smile crept across his face. "You know what I''m capable of."


    M was all too familiar with his past torment and humiliation. Her gaze turned icy cold at the memory.


    She ceased her struggle and looked down, silent for a moment. When she lifted her head again, a practiced smile adorned her face. "Ryan, don''t you think you''re a bit childish?"


    "You know," she continued with a tilt of her head, "it''s kind of pathetic, really. After all these years—what, over a decade now?—and you''re still pining for Giselle. You scheme to set her up with your dear friend, ying the loyal sidekick. You might not win any awards for most inspiring person of the year, but don''t worry, I''ll make sure to give you one myself. I''m truly moved by your dedication."


    Ryan''s face darkened with rage, but before he could respond, M patted his cheek, feigning sympathy.


    "I do get your predicament, though, honestly. Aside from your looks and money, there''s nothing much to you. You can''t hold a candle to Lysander in any way, and Giselle''s good sense prevents her from choosing you. Recognizing that fact is probably the smartest thing you''ve ever done."


    This was the first time Ryan had seen M''s sharp tongue in action, a stark contrast to her usual calm demeanor. Though she smiled, her eyes pierced straight to the heart.


    Stunned into silence, Ryan''s mind buzzed with confusion.


    M took advantage of his hesitation to pull away, rubbing her sore arm. Her mood was sour, though her face remained a mask of serenity—a habit of hers.


    She rarely revealed her emotions unless necessary or advantageous. The greater her anger, the more serene her expression, her smile as gentle as the breeze.


    After all, there was no point in getting upset over someone like him. He was, after all, utterly unhinged.


    M quickly regained herposure, her gaze steady on Ryan''s face, which threatened to explode with fury. "Ryan," she said, her voice calm as a stillke, "I remember you have a brother."


    Ryan paused, his brow furrowing as he red at M. "What are you trying to say?"


    Her eyes traced his features, finally recognizing the source of familiarity she''d sensed earlier when facing the mysterious guest at the estate.


    They were so alike.


    Though their auras were worlds apart-one refined, the other rakish—their facial features bore striking resemnces.


    M''s passion for art extended beyond fashion; she had a deep understanding of painting and often sketched people. She could see someone from the bones to the soul. Once calm, she immediately made the connection.


    Before marrying Lysander, she''d known of Ryan''s brother, though she had never met him. His name was Rnd Lockwood.


    The man was an enigma, a few years older than Ryan. He had started traveling internationally early on and rarely participated in social events back home. M wasn''t sure what he did, but in elite circles, he was considered a prodigy, the kind of person other parentspared their children to.