?Chapter 162:


    Seeing her resolute expression and fearing she might turn away, Darren hastily said, “There’s a dinner party in a few days. Be my escort.”


    The event’s first half demanded apanion, but thetter half whispered with unspoken intentions that he couldn’t care less about.


    Elena was no naive girl. She understood precisely the social choreography of such gatherings—the predatory undercurrents, the unspoken expectations. An escort?


    Just arm candy to be disyed and potentially discarded after being taken advantage of.


    “Wouldn’t Sylvia be a better choice?” Elena retorted, her voice dripping with sardonic honey. “She’s always stered that sweet smile on her face.”


    Elena’s mention of Sylvia darkened Darren’s face. “Sylvia is as pure as driven snow,” he said. “For this asion, you’re more suitable.”


    Elena rolled her eyes. As pure as driven snow? He really had the nerve to spin such transparent falsehoods. Anyone with half a mind would see through his fabrication, as if he were describing something as pristine as water.


    Elena’s gaze turned mockingly sharp, and Darren’s anger red. “Why are you looking at me like that?” he snapped. “Did I say something wrong? Can you honestly im there’s nothing between you and Malcolm?”


    Mid-usation, Darren noticed Elena wasn’t reacting. Her eyes were fixed behind him.


    Frowning, Darren turned around, only to see the distinguished and elegant Malcolm watching them from a distance.


    Malcolm stood impably dressed: a pristine white shirt with sleeves rolled up, tailored suit pants entuating his long, lean legs, hands casually tucked in his pockets. A faint, knowing smile yed across his lips. Behind him, a group of men in suits formed an imposing backdrop.


    Darren’s heart pounded like a war drum, his face draining of color. Why was Malcolm here? Had Malcolm overheard everything?


    Blinking rapidly, Darren desperately hoped Malcolm hadn’t caught his previous words. But luck was not on his side. The next moment, Malcolm approached him.


    “Why are you so interested in my private life?” Malcolm’s voice was calm, but an undercurrent of danger ran beneath the smooth words.


    Darren’s eyes darted nervously, and he lowered his head, not daring to meet Malcolm’s gaze. The Johnson family was one of the four major families in the—a force not to be trifled with. Here in Foiclens, Malcolm’s presence could mean anything. Was it a coincidence or…


    gα?ησν????s, where the best stories live


    Darren nced at Elena. Whether Malcolm’s presence here was by chance or design, he knew one thing with absolute certainty: he could not afford to offend Malcolm. stering on his most ingratiating smile, he bent forward obsequiously. “Mr. Johnson, you misunderstood. I was just joking with Elena.”


    “Is that so?” Malcolm elongated thest syble, his tone ambiguous.


    Malcolm paid no attention to Darren, his focus settling on Elena instead. He had noticed the dynamic between Elena and Darren seemed unexpectedly close—was Wesley aware of this?


    A smirk tugged at Malcolm’s lips as he regarded Elena with amusement.


    Elena, on the other hand, remained impassive, as if detached from the unfolding scene.


    Disregarding Darren entirely, Malcolm suddenly said to Elena, “Darren is curious about the nature of our rtionship. Elena, why don’t you tell him about it?”


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