The Plaything Plays Them All

Chapter 4 Lorenzo Anderson

"He refused."

"Instead, he started talking you up."

"Said if I gave him the necklace, he'd give you to me—for three years, as my mistress."

"So you agreed?"

Even though Catherine already knew what kind of man Alvin was, hearing it said out loud hit her harder than she expected. Her chest tightened, and it took everything she had to keep her smile in place.

She forced herself to remain calm, pushing a loose curl behind her ear, letting her expression shift into something shy, almost coy.

"I appreciate the compliment, but I have to say—you've made a poor deal."

Her eyes dropped, feigning insecurity. "I can't imagine you've ever seen Daisy in person. That's the only way you'd choose me over her so easily. If you saw her smile, I swear you'd feel young again. One kiss from those untouched lips, and you'd have the energy you had decades ago."

She looked at Brayley intently, as if she genuinely believed she didn't compare to Daisy.

Brayley's face darkened for a moment, but then he let out a bark of laughter.

"Catherine, you're right. I am getting old, and sometimes I do find myself drawn to those naive little girls."

He paused, his smile widening as his eyes gleamed. "But there aren't many women as clever and aware as you. With you, I feel a deeper sense of enjoyment in life."

'Damn it,' Catherine thought, her irritation barely hidden beneath her fake smile. 'He's not falling for it.'

She raised an eyebrow and said sweetly, "Thank you for the compliment."

Brayley's smile grew sharper. "I have to apologize. I admit that I wanted to see you squirm. But since you're my type, let's talk about what you want. I'm open to negotiation."

"Negotiation?"

"Yes. Unlike those stingy old men, I'm always generous with the women I keep around."

He gestured toward the mint-blue table in the garden, inviting her to sit.

As she sat down, he looked at her the way one might admire a priceless artifact. "Now, Catherine, tell me what you need."

"I think you're mistaken," Catherine said, sitting up straighter.

"I'm not interested in agreeing to anything, Uncle Brayley. After all, I'm still Andrew's fiancée. Your nephew's fiancée. And don't forget that this deal was made between you and my father—not with me. I have every right to refuse."

"You've forgotten what your mother left behind for you..."

He was threatening her now.

She took a deep breath, a slow smile spreading across her face. She stood up, leaning forward as if she were about to reach for him—

But her hand hovered in the air, not quite touching him.

Nothing. No reaction.

"You see, if it were a younger man, he'd already be hard. You're so fixated on young girls because you can't function the way you used to, right? And if you can't please them, it's easier to blame it on their youth than your own shortcomings, isn't it?"

Catherine felt the bile rising in her throat. She needed an excuse to leave. "I'm feeling cold. I should find Andrew before he wonders where we've gone. Excuse me."

"Catherine!"

Brayley's voice cracked as he tried to hide his growing frustration. He stood up and grabbed her hand, pulling her back toward him.

"You'd better get used to disappointment. Don't forget your place. Drawing attention to yourself won't help you."

Catherine wanted to yank her hand away, but Brayley was right.

A few guests stood on the terrace nearby, enjoying the evening breeze. She couldn't afford to make a scene, not now. Reluctantly, she allowed him to lead her back to the ballroom.

Meanwhile, in the garden, Louis stood just behind the hedge, holding two cocktails. He glanced over at his twin brother, Lorenzo Anderson.

"I thought we agreed you'd wait for me at the table," Louis said, raising an eyebrow.

"It's quieter over here," Lorenzo replied.

The sunlight caught their faces, highlighting the golden hues in their hair. The two brothers were almost too perfect, their features so identical that people often struggled to tell them apart.

God knew how many times they'd been mistaken for each other over the years.

But despite their outward similarity, their personalities couldn't be more different.

Where Louis was playful and lighthearted, Lorenzo was steady, responsible, and had long since taken on the role of the family heir.

Louis, on the other hand, had chosen a life of indulgence, now a Hollywood superstar known by all.

Lorenzo took the drink from Louis' hand, glancing toward the ballroom. He noticed two figures disappearing inside, the woman's silhouette oddly familiar.

"Who's that girl?" he asked.

Louis followed his gaze. "Oh, that's just old pervert Brayley. The girl with him is his nephew's fiancée—Catherine Duncan."

"His nephew's fiancée?" Lorenzo frowned.

He'd overheard parts of a conversation earlier and had been about to walk away. But something in the girl's voice kept him there, like he had heard it somewhere before.

Young girls with powerful older men—it wasn't an unusual sight for Lorenzo. He'd seen it more times than he could count.

But a fiancée and her uncle-in-law?

Lorenzo sipped his drink, his frown deepening. He turned to his brother and changed the subject to something more pressing.

"Your decision to get married—it's too hasty. I think you should reconsider."

Louis instantly knew Lorenzo was against his engagement.

But Louis had made up his mind, and once he did, no one could change it.

"I'm sure I've found the love of my life. And I want you at the wedding—it's going to be at Serenvale. I'm even thinking of buying my future wife a castle. So, dear Lorenzo, don't break my heart..."

*****

Since the argument days ago, the servants in Catherine's house had been walking on eggshells, careful not to provoke her. They provided flawless service, trying to avoid confrontation.

A maid rapped lightly on the door, but before she could speak, the sound of shattering glass rang out from inside.

The maid paled, frozen in place, but before she could gather herself, the door swung open with a bang.

"I'll take that."

Catherine stood barefoot in the doorway, glass shards scattered around her feet. She reached for the tray of food in the maid's hands.

"But, Miss—your feet..."