Prince Charming

Lucius Orleans covered the phone's receiver, turned to Paul Orleans, who was nervously standing beside him, and confirmed the young man's identity. Once it was verified, Lucius spoke into the phone, "Yes, it's him."

On the other end of the line, Andrea was momentarily speechless. He hadn't expected anyone to insult Fan Muir. This was not just unacceptable—it was inconceivable. Without Fan Muir, Andrea's accomplishments today would have been impossible. Forget the Mason family—if Fan Muir so much as wanted the world overturned, Andrea would rush into the fray without a second thought.

What was Adam Alexandros thinking? Just severing ties with the Mason family? But since the decision had already been announced and Fan Muir had not objected, Andrea decided to let the matter rest.

Gathering himself, Andrea delivered words that left Lucius Orleans thoroughly stunned: "Lucius, there's nothing more to discuss. The decision stands. Tonight, everything Adam Alexandros has decreed will reflect the Alexandros clan's stance, as long as Fan Muir Elder does not object. And let me be clear—don't let something like this happen again. Otherwise, our relationship may not survive it."

It was a blatant warning.

Despite their long-standing friendship, Lucius couldn't help but feel a wave of frustration. Yet Andrea's tone also made it clear just how gravely he had underestimated Fan Muir. Not just anyone could hold the title of "elder" within the Alexandros clan.

The Alexandros clan, known for their decorum and reciprocity, rarely displayed such aggressive dominance. For Andrea to jeopardize decades of camaraderie for Fan Muir spoke volumes.

Lucius struggled to process it all. How could this young man, standing before him, be so significant? Surely, even Andrea wouldn't take such a drastic step for anyone less than the clan's most powerful figure.

Looking at Helena clinging to Fan Muir, equally stunned, Lucius suddenly had an idea. The Orleans and Mason families shared centuries of history—he couldn't simply stand by and let the Mason family's fate be sealed. Discreetly, he sent Helena a knowing look.

Helena quickly understood the unspoken plea. She, too, grasped the Mason family's importance. However, the revelation about Fan Muir left her reeling. The "fool" she thought she knew was, in reality, a figure of extraordinary power and influence within the Alexandros clan.

Gathering her courage, Helena tugged at Fan Muir's sleeve. In a soft, hesitant voice, she pleaded, "Fan Muir, let it go. Nelson didn't really mean any harm."

Fan Muir glanced at her. Seeing Helena's sincere expression, he sighed and relented. Waving his hand, he chuckled, "It's all just a misunderstanding. Adam, no need to frighten the youngsters. Let's leave it at that—we're here to celebrate Mr. Orleans' birthday, after all. No need to spoil the festivities!"

Fan Muir's response left Helena's heart fluttering with sweetness. What even Lucius Orleans couldn't resolve had been handled effortlessly, all because she had uttered a few simple words.

Adam Alexandros, perceptive as always, recognized the influence of a charming woman and understood that Helena was someone of great significance. He resolved to strengthen ties with the Beaupay family, seeing the value in maintaining a strong relationship.

The group of young aristocrats and heirs scattered like frightened birds, desperate to avoid the fake couple. But Naiden, being Adam's subordinate, wasn't so lucky. Adam dismissed him on the spot, ordering him to leave and never return to the security bureau. The decisive move only reinforced Fan Muir's image as a man of remarkable stature.

This little episode was soon forgotten, overshadowed by the lively banquet. Since only a few people had witnessed the confrontation, and those involved were too embarrassed to speak of it, the incident quickly faded from memory, leaving the evening's festivities undisturbed.

However, as the crowd dispersed, Fan Muir realized he would much rather face those shallow aristocrats than endure being alone with Helena.

Curiosity is a woman's instinct. Moments ago, Helena had been uneasy about Fan Muir's enigmatic identity. Now, her mind buzzed with questions: Who exactly was his master? What was his true background? Why hadn't he told her all this sooner?

In a cozy, dimly lit corner that exuded a romantic atmosphere, the pair appeared to be an affectionate couple, lost in whispered conversations. But only Fan Muir knew the truth—it was all for show.

"Well, I must say, I'm surprised. You really are a member of the Alexandros clan—and an elder, no less!" Helena's smile was dazzling as her captivating eyes sparkled with mischief, her voice sweet enough to melt ice.

As a vampire prince, Fan Muir was immune to extremes of heat and cold, but at this moment, he felt a chill creep up from his core, spreading to every inch of his body. What was this sensation? Good grief—I'm sweating! He, the mighty master of the Alexandros clan and head of the Huxville family, sweating before a young woman! Fan Muir's internal cries of despair were almost audible: Someone, strike me with lightning and end this humiliation!

Despite his turmoil, Fan Muir kept his composure, though his tone faltered slightly. "Haha, didn't I mention it before? My master is very highly ranked, so naturally, I'm considered an elder. You didn't believe me at the time, so don't blame me now." By the end, his voice had dwindled to a whisper.

"Really?" Helena's soft response, just two words, sent another wave of cold sweat trickling down Fan Muir's spine.

"I-It's my fault for not explaining things clearly before!" Fan Muir stammered, trying to backtrack, but it was too late. If anyone asked him to name the most terrifying weapon in the world at this moment, he would answer without hesitation: "Helena's hands."

Women seem to possess an innate mastery of pinching, but today, Fan Muir experienced the pinnacle of this art. Helena's five-finger technique was nothing short of legendary—sharp, precise, and utterly merciless. Her fingers found every tender spot, applying just enough pressure to maximize discomfort without crossing the threshold into true agony.

As Fan Muir contemplated whether to discreetly channel a sliver of his power to shield his battered skin from further torment, Helena suddenly gasped, "Ah!" Her "demonic claws" swiftly retreated, releasing him from his misery. Instead, her glowing, joy-filled eyes became fixated on two elegantly dressed men entering the hall through the main doors.

The man on the left was as solid as a mountain, his features strikingly handsome. His long, silver-gray hair flowed with effortless grace, and his deep, sharp eyes carried an unsettling chill. Combined with his prominent hooked nose, he exuded an air of calculative and merciless authority. Though his lips curved into a faint smile, Fan Muir instinctively sensed that this man was a master manipulator, a dangerous figure who hid his true nature behind a façade of charm.

The man on the right, appearing slightly older, was equally striking in appearance but carried an eerie pallor, as if he had spent years away from sunlight. His thin lips and hollow eyes betrayed a narrow-minded and vengeful personality.

Though both men appeared youthful and vigorous, Fan Muir's sharp senses told him otherwise. The gray-haired man on the left was already a Heaven-level Martial Warrior, just a single step shy of breaking into the Divine Martial Warrior rank—a step that, without extraordinary talent or luck, might remain forever out of reach. Meanwhile, the man on the right had already crossed into the Divine Martial Warrior rank and was tantalizingly close to achieving the absolute peak of that level.

These two were undoubtedly the most formidable martial artists Fan Muir had encountered since leaving the Alps—at least among those bound to the mortal world. Yet, beyond their incredible skill, what unsettled him the most was the eerie, malevolent energy radiating from their very presence.

Helena, meanwhile, was utterly captivated by the man on the left. Her eyes lingered on his hooked nose and flowing gray hair, her gaze soft and dreamy. As if lost in her own world, she murmured, "Orlando Browne… Orlando!"

Helena's ecstatic expression struck Fan Muir like a dagger to the heart. For the first time in his long life, he felt a sting of jealousy that he couldn't suppress.

Suddenly, Helena turned to him, her tone urgent. "Later, no matter what, don't say you're my boyfriend. Promise me!"

Fan Muir didn't need an explanation—he wasn't a fool. It was obvious that the gray-haired man with the hooked nose among the two newcomers must be Helena's first love. They had agreed from the start that his role was a pretense, but hearing her emphatic command to deny their relationship still hit him harder than expected. A wave of bitterness and betrayal surged within him, impossible to ignore.

Swallowing his pride, Fan Muir forced a half-hearted smile. "So, the silver-haired prince is your dream man, huh? Now that the real deal is here, I suppose it's time for this imposter to bow out gracefully."

"Thank you," Helena replied, her voice unusually sincere. Caught up in the thrill of seeing her teenage crush, she failed to notice the pain flickering in Fan Muir's eyes.

Her gratitude, given solely for the sake of another man, cut deeper than Fan Muir cared to admit. The ache in his chest was far worse than the physical pain he'd endured under her earlier "discipline."

The arrival of the two men caused an undeniable stir, particularly the presence of the silver-haired man. Young elites from prominent families flocked to greet him, eager to leave an impression. Even Lucien Orléans, the head of the Orléans family, made a point of stepping forward to exchange pleasantries.

"Who's he?" Fan Muir asked, feigning indifference, though his curiosity was piqued by the man who had captured Helena's full attention and the crowd's admiration.

"That's Orlando Browne," Helena said, her gaze fixed on the man in question. "He's the eldest son of the Browne Martial Heritage Family from the UK and the next heir to their legacy."

"Ah, just another family heir," Fan Muir muttered, his voice tinged with sarcasm and unspoken jealousy.

Helena, her ears unusually sharp when it came to Orlando, immediately caught his tone and shot back, "Orlando isn't just any heir! At eighteen, he was already a rising star in the EU underworld, a leader among the younger generation. He's one of the 'Four Leopards of the EU,' alongside Marcus of the Western Church, Jacob Ferrari from the Alexander family, and Joshua Guardi from the Apennine region. Five years ago, he was chosen by a legendary martial artist to train under, leaving the underworld behind. Seeing him here today… it's incredible. His skills must be unmatched now!"

Her voice brimmed with admiration, her eyes glimmering with awe, and every word pierced Fan Muir's heart anew. Regret washed over him—regret for being here, regret for playing this unflattering role. The crowded hall, the loud chatter, the suffocating air… it was all too much. He suddenly felt an overwhelming urge to leave, to escape this place and the emotions it stirred.