The Unintended Bond

Chapter 2: Unexpected

Rachel Morgan had just stepped into the grand hall when a crisp coolness, tinged faintly with the scent of wine, drifted through the air.

A voice called out from behind her.

“Where have you been? I’ve been looking for you forever.”

Rachel turned to see Julia Dawson.

Julia had been her classmate during their time at Harvard Law School, and also happened to be the daughter of one of the founding partners at Silverridge Sloane Law Firm.

After graduating with her master’s degree, Rachel had been all but coaxed by Julia into joining Sloane.

Julia seized her hand and gave her a once-over.

“Did you know the power just went out? It was pitch black—completely terrifying.I was so worried about you. You’re so slim, if there had been a stampede, you’d have been the first casualty!”

Rachel pressed a hand to her forehead.

Couldn’t this woman say something reassuring for once?

They found a quiet corner to sit, and Rachel recounted the incident with the little girl.

Julia raised a brow. “Domestic abuse? You should report that. But are you really planning to take it on?

It sounds like a nightmare to deal with. Haven’t you already accepted multiple pro bono cases this month?Tsk tsk, I’m starting to worry you won’t have rent money.”

Rachel gave her arm a playful squeeze. “Then lend me some. Just a little, to tide me over.”

Julia shot her a sidelong glance.

If it weren’t for Julia’s backing, the firm likely wouldn’t be so tolerant of Rachel’s choices.

Julia was about to scold her when her gaze fell on a group of people approaching from across the room.

Heads turned as they entered. Rachel followed suit.

They looked like a family of three. In the center stood a distinguished middle-aged man, with a poised woman—presumably his wife—on his right arm, and a young woman on his left who bore a striking resemblance to him. Likely his daughter.

Rachel leaned over and asked softly.

Julia responded, “That’s Richard Hawthorne, founding partner of Hawthorne Legal Group, with his wife Eleanor Hawthorne and his niece, Sophie Hawthorne.”

“His niece?”

Julia Dawson explained that the Hawthornes never had children of their own. “They’ve raised their niece as if she were their own daughter. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have chosen her to inherit the legacy they personally built.”

Rachel Morgan didn’t immediately grasp her meaning.

Julia nudged her. “You didn’t know? Your college classmate got engaged to her last month.”

“Which classmate?” Rachel asked, momentarily stunned.

“Nathaniel Reed!”

Rachel truly hadn’t known—Nathaniel Reed was engaged.

That news made her glance more carefully at Miss Hawthorne.

She had delicate, charming features framed by cascading waves of glossy hair. A soft ivory satin dress clung to her slender figure, its hem catching the light and reflecting a refined, opulent sheen.

Just then, Nathaniel Reed passed by.

He greeted Mr. and Mrs. Hawthorne, guiding them inward, then fell a step behind and, without hesitation, reached out and gently took Sophie Hawthorne’s hand.

Julia Dawson clicked her tongue. “They’re a sight to behold—our legal world’s golden couple.”

She turned to Rachel. “Don’t you think so?”

Rachel laughed. “They do look the part.”

A waiter arrived with a tray of hors d’oeuvres. As Julia nibbled, she chattered on about Sophie Hawthorne: how she taught piano at a university, how she and Nathaniel had met while studying abroad.

She added, “Richard Hawthorne thinks the world of Nathaniel. He personally brought him into Hawthorne Legal Group, made him a partner, and now he’s marrying him into the family. Unless something dramatic happens, Nathaniel Reed is all but confirmed as the firm’s future successor. To be handpicked as the heir to one of the top red-circle firms at such a young age—it’s the kind of career others only dream of.”

Rachel was quietly astonished. In that rarefied legal echelon she barely touched, Nathaniel Reed had risen to such heights.

“I remember Hawthorne Legal Group has another founding partner—Stephen Wallace. Does he share the same view of Nathaniel?”

Julia replied, “Mrs. Hawthorne is actually Stephen Wallace’s cousin.”

“We’re all family—why wouldn’t we have faith in him? Besides, Nathaniel Reed’s talents are solid and undeniable, not some hollow reputation. Plenty of firms are eager to recruit him. My father even extended an olive branch back then, but let’s be honest—he had far better offers and wouldn’t spare a glance at our modest firm…”

As Julia Dawson continued her animated chatter, she veered off into various tangents until, just before the banquet commenced, her conversation took an abrupt turn—back to Rachel Morgan.

“Look at you two—college classmates. One’s soaring high like Nathaniel Reed, and the other…” She eyed Rachel meaningfully. “Financially? You’re broke to the point of echoing coins. Love life? Two failed attempts and nothing to show for it. The only thing you’ve got is that name of yours—somehow still ringing slightly louder in the public’s ear than Nathaniel Reed’s.”

Rachel passed her a small pastry. “Isn’t that enough?”

“You’re hopeless.”

…

The banquet unfolded in an orderly and seamless fashion, steered deftly by Nathaniel Reed’s poised hosting.

Rachel Morgan, meanwhile, replied to a few client messages and glanced at her phone now and then, hoping for a call from the girl’s mother—but none came.

Soon, the evening transitioned into the mingling phase.

Rachel, an outsider in this elite circle, sat quietly in a corner. Now and then, Julia Dawson returned from her rounds of socializing and engaged her in brief conversation.

Outside, the rain had not let up—on the contrary, it intensified, pattering softly against the tall glass windows before gathering into slender rivulets that traced downward like threads of silver.

When Julia Dawson returned again, she brought someone with her—Sophie Hawthorne.

Rachel Morgan shook hands with her—a formal gesture marking their acquaintance. The three exchanged a few pleasantries, though Rachel mostly remained a quiet listener.

Suddenly, a figure emerged from behind the sofa.

The man carried a faint trace of red wine on him. His voice, slightly huskier than it had been in the bamboo grove, softened as he addressed the woman seated before him.

“Sophie.”

Sophie Hawthorne looked up. “Nathaniel? What brings you here?”

“Nothing much. I’ve got a bit of a headache—did you happen to bring any painkillers?”

Sophie paused, then shook her head. “Doesn’t the hotel medical station have some?”

“They’ve run out, just my luck.”

She frowned. Both Rachel Morgan and Julia Dawson rifled through their bags, but neither had any on hand.

Sophie rose to her feet. “I’ll find someone to get them now. You must be exhausted. Why don’t you rest for a bit? Didn’t we reserve the entire guest floor for this very reason? Go lie down for a while—I’ll bring the medicine to you once I have it.”

Nathaniel Reed cast a reluctant glance back at the banquet hall.

“You should go,” Julia Dawson urged. “You really don’t look well. There’s been a wave of flu going around Silverridge lately—you might be coming down with it. Don’t try to push through.”

Rachel also turned to examine his expression.

Perhaps it was the wine, but his face was tinged with a flush—yet it wasn’t the usual kind. A faint web of bloodshot lines had crept into his eyes.

He didn’t look well at all.

At this point in the evening, the banquet had eased into its mingling phase—there was nothing pressing that required his presence.

Rachel nodded subtly in agreement with Julia Dawson’s suggestion.

After a moment’s hesitation, Nathaniel Reed consented and turned to Sophie Hawthorne, drawing her aside to speak.

They stopped beside a floral arrangement on the dessert table, where blush-pink and cream blooms cast a romantic glow over the two of them.

One stood tall and striking; the other, graceful and delicate.

Julia Dawson nudged Rachel Morgan with a wink. “A sight for sore eyes.”

Rachel glanced over.

He was resting a reassuring hand on his fiancée’s shoulder. “If anything comes up with Uncle, call me immediately.”

“I will.”

With that, Nathaniel Reed saw Sophie off—then made his way back.

He was about to retire to the guest suite for some rest and bid the two of them farewell.

Sophie Hawthorne kept her eyes on him until his figure disappeared around the corner before she finally turned back.

Julia Dawson teased, “You might as well go with him—I doubt Mr. Reed can spare even a minute without you.”

A flicker of discomfort crossed Sophie Hawthorne’s face. She looked down and began dialing Ethan Brooks to arrange for the medicine.

Just then, music swirled to life from the dance floor nearby, and someone approached Julia Dawson with an invitation.

A hand extended toward her. “Miss Dawson, may I have this dance?”

“Well, well! Owen Hayes—you’re back in Silverridge?!” Julia Dawson didn’t take his hand. Instead, she pulled him into a seat beside her.

Owen Hayes greeted them all with a warm smile. “Ms. Morgan. Miss Hawthorne.”

Rachel Morgan recognized him.

Much like her own connection with Nathaniel Reed, Owen Hayes had been a university classmate of Julia Dawson. They all studied law at Silverridge’s most venerable legal academy. Julia later went on to Harvard for her master’s with Rachel, while Owen spent two years abroad for further studies.

He was tall and lean, with a prominent nose and thin-rimmed glasses that softened his intelligent gaze. His smile radiated quiet warmth.

“I’m not allowed to return to Silverridge now?” he joked to Julia. “Does switching firms mean I have to cut ties with my past?”

His words jogged Rachel Morgan’s memory—he had once worked at Hawthorne Legal Group as well. But due to a family illness, he transferred to a boutique firm in Sterling Heights to be closer to home.

Julia said, “I thought you left because Hawthorne Legal Group wasn’t paying you enough.”

She made no attempt to lower her voice, even though Sophie Hawthorne was seated right beside her.

Sophie merely offered a polite smile.

Owen chuckled. “You’re not wrong—Hawthorne Legal Group wasn’t offering much. I’d never even seen Miss Hawthorne while I was there. But the moment Mr. Reed arrived, she got engaged.”

Julia burst out laughing. “Now that’s a benefit package worth fighting for—not just anyone can land that.”

Sophie lowered her head shyly, while Julia chuckled on with delight.

“Just teasing,” Owen Hayes came to her rescue with a smile. “Miss Hawthorne, please don’t take offense. You’re getting married at the end of the year—if Mr. Reed sends me an invitation, I’ll certainly attend. I only worry that he may not even remember me.”

Sophie Hawthorne lowered her head with a hint of shyness. “You flatter me, Mr. Hayes.”

The music in the ballroom shifted to a new tune. Taking the cue, Owen stood and once again extended his hand to Julia Dawson. “Miss Dawson, may I have this dance?”

She accepted with a grin and followed him onto the dance floor.

That left only Sophie Hawthorne and Rachel Morgan. They chatted idly for a while as a server arrived with a fresh tray of hors d’oeuvres, quietly replacing the old one.

They continued talking, sharing half a plate of the delicate pastries.

Then Sophie’s phone lit up with a call from Ethan Brooks. She quickly stood and excused herself. “I need to fetch the medicine and bring it to Nathaniel.”

“Go on,” Rachel Morgan waved her off.

Outside the windows, a sudden gust of wind howled against the panes.

Rachel glanced out—the rain had thickened into a steady curtain.

A new jazz number drifted from the ballroom speakers, its rhythm languid and almost hypnotic.

Under the sway of the music, Rachel’s vision began to blur. The golden haze of light outside the window spread softly before her eyes.

She pressed her fingers to her brow, trying to clear her head, but the fog only thickened. Shaking her head didn’t help either. A server approached.

“Miss, are you feeling unwell? Would you like to rest in one of the guest rooms?”

Rachel hesitated, checked the time, then glanced toward the dance floor.

Julia was still thoroughly enjoying herself—the festivities likely wouldn’t end for at least another hour.

She nodded and followed the server.

The guest suite area wasn’t far, but the hallway leading there was dim compared to the brightly lit banquet hall.

As they approached, a staff member from the guest services team came out to meet them.

Near the utility room, two maintenance workers were inspecting the backup power supply. The guest services attendant raised his phone to light the way for her.

“Due to the rain, we’re still sorting out some circuit issues,” he explained. “Right now, we’re prioritizing power supply to the ballroom.”

“It should be resolved soon.”

Rachel Morgan said nothing as the attendant led her to the third floor, which had been entirely reserved by Hawthorne Legal Group.

He opened the door to Room 321 for her. The room, too, was without power—shrouded in dimness, illuminated only by the faint green glow of the emergency exit sign seeping through the doorway, casting vague shadows across the interior.

Rachel tried calling Julia Dawson, but the call went unanswered. She left a voicemail, noting her room number.

She stepped inside, closed the door behind her, and secured the lock.

The haze clouding her mind grew heavier. The murky darkness made it hard to see—only the rain-dimmed glow from the window offered the faintest patch of light on the floor.

A dense, damp odor permeated the air, tinged with an indistinct undertone she couldn’t quite place. Rachel lacked the strength to decipher it; a sharp ache had begun to pulse in her temples, dragging her further into disorientation.

She had never experienced anything like this before. Could the flu this season be particularly virulent?

Something felt wrong, terribly wrong—but her awareness was slipping fast. Guided by the meager light, she fumbled her way to the edge of the bed and collapsed onto it.

Almost the moment her eyes closed, she was swallowed by darkness.