"Oh! You’re still here?" Hera said, her voice casual but curious.


    At her words, everyone turned to look. The Frenchman, caught off guard, scratched the back of his head with an awkward smile, clearly unsure if he should stay or excuse himself.


    "Um... I was just worried you might really not find a room and run into trouble," the man exined in French, scratching his neck awkwardly. "I honestly thought you were bluffing when you said you’d booked the presidential suite—just so they wouldn’t mock or pressure you. But now that I’ve seen it with my own eyes... I’m honestly amazed."


    He spoke earnestly,pletely forgetting that Hera and the other woman had been speaking English earlier. In doing so, he inadvertently revealed that he understood English all along—exposing the fact that he had merely pretended not to when Alice was speaking.


    Hera caught it instantly and decided there was no need to y along anymore. With a soft smile tugging at her lips, she replied fluently in French, "Oh? I see. Thank you for your concern. But it seems you forgot you were pretending not to understand English. That woman and I were speaking quite clearly in English earlier... and yet you understood everything and even followed us here out of worry?"


    She chuckled—a warm, melodious sound that made the man’s heart skip a beat. It fluttered through him like butterfly wings brushing against his chest, making it hard to breathe.


    When her words sank in, realization dawned on his face. His eyes widened in rm, and he immediately began to panic as he tried to exin himself.


    "Um... Mon amour, please don’t misunderstand," he stammered, clearly flustered. "It’s just... I was annoyed with the kid earlier. She started crying the moment she saw me holding the banner and ran up to me like that. I was worried people would start judging me, but I couldn’t just ignore her crying, right?"


    "But at the same time, I can’t hold my tongue, and my sister always tells me not to offend anyone. She says I should control my bluntness and harsh words, so I thought—since I couldn’t avoid it—I’d just pretend not to understand English. That way, she’d stop crying and leave me alone. I didn’t want my sister to hear that I made someone cry when I hadn’t even done anything wrong."


    He exined all of this in English, his tone filled with a sense of being wronged, as if he had no other choice but to resort to these tactics.


    Hearing this, Athena couldn’t help but burst intoughter again. She understood exactly what the man was feeling. Honestly, if it had been her, she would have preferred to avoid Alice entirely rather than to endure the constant barrage of tears that felt more like harassment than anything else.


    Minerva felt a wave of secondhand embarrassment because of Alice. She could only imagine how awkward it must have been for the Frenchman, having to deal with someone like Alice when he didn’t even know her. It suddenly made sense why he panicked and resorted to a little deception.


    And only now did Minerva start to truly see how strange Alice’s behavior was. She had spent so much time around her that it all seemed normal back then—she even used to pity her. But now, viewing it from the outside, she noticed things she’d been blind to before.


    Biting her lower lip, Minerva recalled the countless moments she and Alice walked together, and how often Alice would cry before anyone even said anything. Back then, Minerva would immediately jump to her defense, assuming Alice had been wronged. How foolish she’d been.


    Meanwhile, Athena, delighted to find someone who shared her unspoken frustration with Alice,ughed warmly and felt an unexpected connection to the Frenchman. Swirling her champagne, she asked with a cheerful smile, "And what’s your name, sir?"


    "Antoine," the man replied, stealing a few nces at Hera. He had just realized that she could understand and speak fluent French. Thinking back on everything he’d said around her, a flush of embarrassment crept up his neck. He gave a sheepish smile, suddenly self-conscious about how foolish he might have sounded.


    "No need to be nervous," Hera said gently, noticing Antoine’s fidgeting. But her reassurance didn’t seem to help—if anything, it made him even more self-conscious. Unable to handle the awkwardness any longer, Antoine offered a stiff smile before retreating with a muttered excuse. He needed to regroup, to recover from his own blunder. Better to retreat now and reappearter with a moreposed image.


    "That guy was... interesting," Liz finally said, snapping out of her daze. She took a seat beside Athena, though her eyes lingered on Hera with subtle curiosity. It was as if she were searching Hera’s expression for something—some hidden clue or meaning.


    But when Hera caught her gaze and responded with a serene smile, Liz simply shook her head. She knew it wasn’t her ce to pry, not yet. If there was something more going on, she trusted that Hera—or Athena—would share it when the time was right. For now, her role was simple: to enjoy the moment and prove she could be trusted.


    Minerva, seemingly arriving at the same unspoken conclusion, pushed her thoughts aside and took out her phone. She raised it and quietly snapped a photo of Hera, who was sipping champagne while gazing out at the balcony view.


    Her side profile was framed perfectly against the glittering skyline, the sun casting a soft glow across her features. A cascade of rainbow light filtered through the colored ss above, adding an almost surreal touch. The resulting image looked like something from a magazine—so beautiful it seemed edited, though it was purely natural. Satisfied, Minerva sent the photo to her brother without a word.


    <i><strong>Ding!</strong></i>


    Almost immediately, a notification popped up on Minerva’s screen:


    <strong>[You received a $1,000,000 money transfer to your ount ending in ####]</strong>


    <strong></strong>Then it was immediately followed by Rafael’s text message.


    [Rafael: Pocket Money]


    <i>’Tsk, even his wording is stingy,’</i> Minerva thought, rolling her eyes.<i> ’But still... he just sent me a million dors for a little treat? Hehehe... I never imagined my brother could be such a lovestruck fool. Looks like I’ve found my personal money tree.’</i>


    Grinning to herself, Minerva began snapping more photos of Hera from different angles. Hera, sensing the attention from the corner of her eye, didn’t say a word. She simply sipped her champagne with a faint smile, already guessing who the lucky recipient of those pictures would be.


    And sure enough, the lucky recipient was grinning from ear to ear as he scrolled through the pictures his sister had sent. He carefully selected one—Hera standing by the balcony, champagne in hand, bathed in golden light—and set it as hisputer’s desktop background.


    Humming softly, he continued signing documents, each stroke of his pen lighter than thest. Even though he wasn’t physically with Hera, this felt like the next best thing—watching her in real time through Minerva’s lens.


    It reassured him that he’d made the right decision sending Minerva to Paris with Hera. Not only did it give him a glimpse into Hera’s day, but it also gave herpanionship—and maybe, just maybe, a chance for the two women to mend old wounds and start fresh.