Guardian of Beauty

When Fanmuir's firm, masculine hand rested on Helena's slim waist, her heart skipped a beat. Yet, she felt no resistance or discomfort—instead, she was filled with joy at his timely arrival.

Helena gracefully looped her arm around Fanmuir's, looking up at him with affectionate eyes. She introduced him softly, "This is Paul Orleans from the French Olive Tree Group, Maria's cousin."

Helena's tender demeanor toward Fanmuir only deepened Paul Orleans' irritation. Though Paul was nothing more than a privileged playboy, his upper-class upbringing allowed him to mask his displeasure. He forced a polite smile, extended his hand, and said, "Pleasure to meet you. May I ask…"

Despite sharing Helena's distaste for Paul, Fanmuir remained courteous and reached out to shake his hand. Before he could introduce himself, Helena quickly interjected, her voice sweet yet assertive: "This is my boyfriend, Fanmuir, a member of the Alexandros family from the Alps!" Clearly, she wanted to ensure there were no slip-ups.

"Oh, from the Alexandros family? A pleasure indeed!" Paul's expression stiffened slightly at the mention of the Alexandros name. The family's patriarch, Caesar Alexandros, was a legendary martial artist whose influence extended across both legitimate and underground circles in Europe, far outshining the Orleans family.

"Which master are you descended from, Mr. Fanmuir?" Paul asked, his tone feigning camaraderie. "Andrea? Adam? Duccio? Michele? I happen to know all of them quite well."

Andrea and Adam were Caesar's sons, while Duccio Ferrari and Michele Andrew were two of his most accomplished disciples. Collectively known as the "Four Tigers of Alexandros," they were giants in their respective fields, commanding immense respect across Europe.

Paul's claim of familiarity with such figures was, at best, an exaggeration. For someone of his modest standing, it was laughable—something only Lucius Orleans, the family patriarch, could credibly boast about.

Helena's eyes flickered with disdain. She despised the empty boasting and self-aggrandizement so typical of these heirs.

"None of them," Fanmuir replied modestly. "I only picked up a bit of martial arts while I was there."

Fanmuir's humility caused Paul to puff up with self-importance. If Fanmuir wasn't connected to any of the Four Tigers and was merely a peripheral figure in the Alexandros family, then Paul felt no need to regard him as an equal.

Growing bolder, Paul's gaze turned condescending, his jealousy simmering as he noted Helena's closeness to Fanmuir. Smirking, he called out to a nearby group of young men, "Nelson, Naden, come here! Let me introduce you to a rising star from the Alexandros family!"

The group, who had been sneaking glances at Helena all along, eagerly converged on Paul's invitation, bringing a few others along. Their eyes openly roamed over Helena, their behavior making her increasingly uncomfortable.

Helena, no stranger to the antics of entitled socialites, sensed trouble brewing. She knew this crowd valued lineage and prestige above all else. Paul's earlier boast about knowing the Four Tigers was proof enough of that. While she admired Fanmuir's martial prowess, this wasn't the time or place for him to demonstrate it.

Helena discreetly tugged on Fanmuir's sleeve and smiled at Paul. "Excuse us, we have something urgent to attend to," she said, her tone polite but firm.

Paul's suspicions only deepened as he noted Helena's unease and her haste to leave. To him, it confirmed that Fanmuir was nothing more than an ordinary Alexandros member—a far cry from the Four Tigers. Paul, like many of his peers, assumed everyone shared their obsession with status and appearances.

Paul Orleans, burning with jealousy, wasn't about to let Fanmuir slip away so easily. Grabbing his arm as he turned to leave, Paul sneered and said, "Mr. Fanmuir, why rush off? These gentlemen here are some of the brightest of our generation. Surely, a bit of mingling wouldn't hurt?"

Helena sighed inwardly, knowing they couldn't walk away without creating a scene. Her mind raced with worry. "This idiot better not tell them he learned from some random old man! That would be beyond embarrassing!" She couldn't have guessed that for Fanmuir, even someone as renowned as Andrea Alexandros would never dare claim to be his teacher.

Sensing the crowd's attention, Paul, clearly enjoying himself, feigned curiosity and asked, "By the way, Mr. Fanmuir, you still haven't told us which master from the Alexandros family you studied under."

"Oh, just an unknown old man," Fanmuir answered casually, his tone calm and unbothered. He was fully aware of their mockery but lacked the experience to navigate the pretentious games of high society, where heirs thrived on boasting and making others look foolish.

The group erupted into laughter, their tone dripping with scorn.

Fanmuir caught the ridicule in their eyes but remained unfazed. Their mockery barely registered. As the leader of the Huxwell family and the true head of the Alexandros lineage, he wasn't about to lower himself to argue with these shallow heirs.

"Dignity must be maintained," he thought. "When a dog barks, you don't bark back." To Fan, these people weren't even worth comparing to dogs. If not for Helena's presence, no amount of wealth or status could have convinced him to attend this charade.

While Fanmuir could dismiss the laughter, Helena couldn't. Watching them ridicule the "foolish" man beside her, she felt a sudden pang of pain. Her face flushed with anger as she turned to Paul and snapped, "What's so funny? His master is from the Alexandros family—what's the big deal?"

The laughter only grew louder.

"Miss Helena, don't let this pretty boy fool you! For all we know, he's never even been to the Alps!" jeered Nelson Mason, his smirk widening. His eyes gleamed with contempt, convinced that Fanmuir was an imposter. "If he were truly from the Alexandros family," Nelson thought, "he'd have proudly named his master instead of standing there quietly."

As the heir to Strasbourg's Mason family, Nelson was no stranger to Helena. His polished hair, designer suit, and gold-accented wrist made him the perfect caricature of a wealthy playboy.

"Mr. Mason, I won't allow you to insult my friend!" Helena's fiery glare made Nelson falter for a moment. But he quickly masked his unease with a sneer. "I'm just saying—it seems pretty obvious he's faking it."

Paul Orleans couldn't have been happier to see Nelson Mason tear into his rival. In Paul's mind, if he could bring Fanmuir down a notch, Helena would naturally come running back to him. What he failed to realize was that Helena hadn't paid him any real attention the entire evening.

Paul, his expression dark and scheming, seized the moment. "Nelson makes a great point!" he said with a smirk. "Naden, aren't you close with Adam Alexandros, the Deputy Director? He's Caesar Alexandros' fourth son, after all!"

Naden, a middling agent planted in the European Intelligence Agency by a martial arts family, was more than willing to join in. For someone like him, currying favor with a member of the Orleans family—one of Europe's prestigious martial arts clans—was a rare opportunity.

Besides, seeing Helena leaning against this plain, unremarkable guy—who probably wasn't even an actual Alexandros heir—stirred up a storm of jealousy in Naden. Here was his chance to win points with Paul and embarrass Fanmuir in one stroke.

Naden sneered, "Mr. Fanmuir, pretending to be part of the Alexandros family is no trivial matter. I'd advise you to leave now before the Deputy Director gets here—you won't want to be caught out as a fraud." Turning to Helena, his tone softened as he added, "Miss Beaupain, you're a lady of such distinction. Don't let yourself be fooled by someone like this."

Helena, raised in the lap of luxury and adored by all, had never faced such outright humiliation. Her cheeks flushed with anger, and tears shimmered in her eyes, threatening to spill over.

Fanmuir, for his part, could shrug off insults aimed at himself, but seeing Helena so upset stirred something within him. He had his principles. If he couldn't even protect the dignity of his so-called girlfriend, what kind of man was he?

The growing commotion had drawn the attention of other guests, who began glancing their way. Feeling their stares, Helena grew even more flustered. Grabbing Fanmuir's hand, she tried to pull him away, only to realize he wasn't moving.

Standing firmly in place, Fanmuir's face was cold as he scanned the crowd. His voice cut through the room: "Laugh at me if you must—I can forgive that. But your disrespect toward the lovely Miss Helena is absolutely unacceptable."

There was something about his tone and the piercing sharpness of his gaze that sent an icy chill through the group. For a moment, a few of them felt a pang of regret for their actions.

Helena, meanwhile, was startled by Fanmuir's words. Somehow, they brought her a sense of warmth and comfort. Suddenly, the ridicule she had endured didn't seem to matter so much.

Paul Orleans and the others, however, weren't used to being challenged, especially not by someone they considered beneath them. Their earlier discomfort at Fanmuir's stare quickly turned into indignation. Laughing loudly, they mocked him even more openly, their voices dripping with derision.

The onlookers couldn't help but join in, amused by what they saw as Fanmuir's naive bravado and lack of self-awareness.