Bound to Him

Rain poured over Ashbourne on a humid summer night. Lightning tore through the clouds, followed by a deep roll of thunder. Inside the Ashbourne Institute of Fine Arts, warm light spilled through stained-glass windows designed like those of an old chapel. Tonight, Zero Degree magazine was hosting a charity gala for its tenth anniversary. Before dinner began, guests posed before the media wall, exchanged greetings, or wandered through the hall with champagne flutes in hand. At events like this, people with no one to talk to always looked painfully out of place. Miranda Vale had never had that problem. “Chloe Winters isn’t coming tonight?” “I don’t think so.” “Of course not. After spending millions on that pile of designer trash, I guess she’s too broke to pretend she cares about charity.” The women spoke softly, their voices sweet enough to pass for concern. They exchanged knowing glances and laughed. Miranda stood in the center of them, surrounded as usual. She had not said much. Although a faint smile touched her lips, anyone could see that her mind was elsewhere. Someone quickly changed the topic. “Miranda, is that the dress you tried on in Paris? It’s gorgeous.” “No,” Miranda said. “The one I tried on is still in its first fitting. This one was ordered during last year’s autumn couture week.” Most women in their circle owned couture, but Miranda wearing such an expensive gown to an ordinary charity dinner still made them hide their envy behind smiles. As usual, they showered her with compliments. Miranda barely listened. At the end, perhaps out of courtesy, she took a small sip of red wine, said, “Enjoy,” and left with Claire Grant, the soon-to-be deputy editor of Zero Degree. The moment Miranda walked away, the other women quietly breathed out. She was clearly in a bad mood tonight. “What are you daydreaming about?” Claire said through a smile as they walked toward the banquet hall. She nodded gracefully at passing guests while her voice dropped into a sharp whisper. “You still have time to listen to those plastic flowers flatter you? Go keep an eye on the hall for me. Tonight is my big night. If that b***h Sienna Reed dares cause trouble, tear her apart for me.” Miranda raised an eyebrow. Before she could reply, a sudden commotion broke out behind them. Someone important had arrived. Camera flashes became frantic. Reporters abandoned their interviews and rushed toward the end of the red carpet. Claire narrowed her eyes. “I think that’s Sophia Stone. Watch this side for me. I’ll go over.” Before she finished speaking, she was already walking away. Miranda looked toward the entrance with little interest at first. Then, between moving heads and camera flashes, she caught sight of a figure standing beside Sophia Stone. Familiar. And yet, after two years, almost unfamiliar. Her spine went stiff. As if sensing her gaze, the man beside Sophia also looked in her direction. Their eyes met across the crowd and the white glare of cameras. His gaze seemed to carry the chill of the rainy summer night, cool and distant, as though nothing in the world could reach him. Fifteen minutes later, the red-carpet interviews ended. Guests were guided into the banquet hall and seated according to the arranged chart. The design of tonight’s hall had been done by Miranda herself. Lights poured down from the ceiling like a waterfall. A live band played Mozart’s Symphony No. 40 in G minor. At the center of each table stood ivory-white roses flown in that morning, their petals fresh and full, edges touched with faint pink. Waiters in waistcoats and bow ties moved silently among the glittering guests. Luxury, fame, vanity. All of it gathered in one room. Claire’s worries proved unnecessary. Once everyone learned that Miranda Vale had designed the venue, those who had planned to make trouble gave up. Until the president of the publishing group stepped onto the stage to speak, not a single mistake occurred. After the president finished, the editor-in-chief, May, went up next. May loved expired inspirational speeches. This time, she wrapped a major internal promotion inside another bowl of stale motivational soup. The moment she mentioned the “new deputy editor,” almost everyone turned toward Claire. Claire rose gracefully, like a proud white swan who had just won a battle. Even with her restraint, joy shone in her eyes. Some people, however, only glanced at Claire before looking at Miranda beside her. Sophia Stone was one of them. Sophia was forty-two. She had won more acting awards than most actresses could dream of, married into wealth more than once, and now held a powerful place among Ashbourne’s entertainment, fashion, and elite circles. She leaned toward the man beside her, her tone teasing. “Why aren’t you sitting with Miranda? Did you two have a fight?” The man lifted his eyes and looked toward Miranda, his fingertips tapping lightly against his glass. The rhythm matched the second hand of the platinum watch on his wrist. For a long while, he did not answer. He seemed to smile, but the warmth never reached his eyes. Sophia took his silence as confirmation and began quietly offering advice on how to coax a woman. He nodded, but his gaze did not move away. Two years. Miranda had not changed much. Even with a cold expression, she was still breathtakingly beautiful, bright enough to outshine half the stars in the room. After dinner, the after-party was arranged as a charity auction in a smaller hall nearby. “Lot number twenty-nine, a natural Tahitian black pearl and diamond necklace, donated by Ms. Sophia Stone…” The auctioneer was still introducing the piece when Miranda had already finished reading the booklet. She gave a silent, amused laugh. Someone was going to spend a ridiculous amount of money tonight just to make Sophia smile. The thought had barely crossed her mind when the auctioneer announced, “Starting bid, eight hundred thousand.” “Eight fifty.” “Nine hundred.” “One million.” The price climbed quickly. When the bid reached three million, many guests began turning toward the seat diagonally behind Miranda. A few could not resist whispering. Miranda did not move. She did not need to look back to imagine the man lifting his paddle again and again with that calm, indifferent expression. “Five million,” the auctioneer announced. “We are now at five million.” “Five million once.” “Five million twice.” “Five million three times.” The hammer fell. “Five million for that necklace?” a young actress near the back whispered to her manager. “Who is that man?” “Cedric Kane…” the manager murmured. “Why did he suddenly come back?” “Cedric Kane? Is he someone important?” She was too new to touch Cedric Kane’s world. Her manager did not bother explaining. She only lowered her head and quickly sent the news to several established actresses under her management. She was not the only one spreading the message. The heir of the Kane family, who had gone overseas to expand the family business in Australia, had not appeared in Ashbourne for two full years. Tonight, he had shown up without warning. And not quietly. It was a signal. The long internal battle within Kane Holdings was over. After tonight, Ashbourne’s elite circles would have another name to discuss. In truth, attending this gala had not been part of Cedric’s plan. But Cedric Kane never did anything carelessly. Sophia had asked him to accompany her at the last minute, and he had handled it with the polish he had learned from years of attending events with his family elders. He had even bought the pearl necklace she donated, a piece she claimed to have loved for years. A small auction hosted by a fashion magazine was never really about value. It was about gesture and face. By bidding so high, Cedric had given Sophia enough of both. Sophia smiled slowly. “When Edward has time, you and Miranda should come to our house for dinner.” That meant she had accepted the favor. When the auction ended, many eyes fell on Cedric. He remained seated in the dim light, loosening the Windsor knot at his collar. His long legs were crossed as he leaned back slightly, composed and untouchable. Because he and Sophia had arrived late, many guests had not realized he was there. Now that they knew, those acquainted with him went forward to greet him. Those who were not found ways to approach him anyway, hoping to leave an impression. Miranda remained seated, motionless. Her gaze fixed on the empty display stage, her face cold as frost. Claire watched her with increasing alarm. The excitement of securing her promotion had vanished the moment Cedric raised his paddle for Sophia’s necklace. She asked quietly, “When did your husband come back? Did you two fight?” “No.” Miranda only answered the second question. Because she did not know the answer to the first. After a while, a pair of black leather shoes slowly entered her line of sight. The design was familiar. The way the laces were tied was unique. Almost the moment she saw them, the image of their owner appeared in her mind. “Miranda,” Cedric said, his voice calm and even, as if they were an ordinary married couple who saw each other every day. “Let’s go home.” “I drove here. I really…” Claire stumbled slightly in her four-inch heels as Miranda silently tugged her along. “If you two are going home, why are you dragging me with you? I don’t need a ride…” “Yes, you do.” Miranda gave her a cold sideways glance, shutting the rest of her words in her throat. Outside the institute, the rain had just stopped. The night was thick and dark. The wind blew past them, half cool, half heavy with the damp heat of summer. The driver opened the front passenger door. Seeing that Cedric had no intention of getting in, Miranda instinctively stepped forward. But Cedric raised a hand to block her path, then glanced at Claire without seeming to. Claire shivered. Understanding immediately, she hurried forward and got into the front passenger seat, leaving the spacious back seat for the married couple. “Um, just drop me off at Star Harbor International. Thank you.” After giving the driver her address, Claire secretly glanced at the two people in the back seat through the rearview mirror. They were both staring straight ahead. Neither spoke. The distance between them was wide enough to fit another person. The Bentley merged onto the main road. For three whole minutes, not a single sound came from inside the car. Claire felt that if this silence continued, all four people in the vehicle might suffocate. She was still trying to think of a topic when Cedric suddenly spoke. “Congratulations on your promotion, Miss Grant.” Claire obeyed her survival instincts and laughed dryly. “Thank you. Thank you.” Then, remembering basic social manners, she added, “Mr. Kane, it’s been a long time. You were totally alpha tonight.” Miranda shot her a glare through the rearview mirror. “Alpha?” Cedric seemed unfamiliar with the term. Before Claire could explain, Miranda said lightly, “If alpha feels too generous, you can call yourself beta instead.”