Mr. Liberty Takes Center Stage

(Henry's POV)

The moment I stepped further into the banquet hall, a ripple of recognition spread through the crowd.

Eyes turned.

Voices hushed.

And then—applause.

A group of elite businessmen, collectors, and high-profile socialites surrounded me, their faces filled with admiration.

"Mr. Liberty!" One of them, an older man in an expensive suit, stepped forward with a pleased smile. "It's an honor to finally meet you in person. Your recent exhibition in Oslo was simply breathtaking!"

Another chimed in, his voice filled with enthusiasm. "The way you capture emotion in your art… it's unlike anything we've seen in decades. Truly, a once-in-a-generation talent!"

I smirked, adjusting my cufflinks. "I appreciate the kind words."

A woman, elegantly dressed in a designer gown, stepped closer. "Your work carries so much depth, Mr. Liberty. It's as if each piece tells a story of pain, resilience, and triumph."

I gave a small chuckle. "Maybe because it does."

They had no idea.

No idea that the art they praised wasn't just skill—

It was the rage, the sorrow, the victories of three lifetimes.

Everything I had endured, every battle I had fought—I had put it all onto the canvas.

And now, they worshipped it.

They worshipped me.

A man extended a hand. "If I may ask, Mr. Liberty, how do you achieve such perfection in your work?"

I took his hand in a firm shake, my golden eyes locking onto his. "Simple."

I leaned in slightly, my voice calm yet sharp.

"I don't paint for the world."

"I paint for myself."

The crowd hushed for a moment, as if absorbing the weight of my words.

Then, the older businessman laughed. "Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant!"

Another man clapped my shoulder. "You, sir, are truly a master of your craft."

Mr. Liberty. The artist. The enigma. The man they admired.

I smirked.

If only they knew the man behind the mask.

I leaned against the polished bar counter, the golden glow of the banquet lights reflecting off my black suit.

"One JD, neat."

The bartender nodded, pouring the amber liquid into a crystal glass before sliding it toward me.

I took the drink, swirling it slightly before taking a slow sip.

Smooth. Strong. Perfect.

As I lowered the glass, I glanced forward—and there she was.

Katerina Maa.

Dressed in an elegant dark-red gown, standing among business elites, her posture rigid yet poised.

I knew she would be here.

I knew she would be watching.

But as if I cared.

She was nothing to me now.

I was no longer hers.

And I intended to make that crystal clear.

A soft, confident voice pulled my attention.

"Mr. Liberty, what a pleasure to see you here."

I turned slightly, my smirk widening.

Windy Zhong.

A ruthless businesswoman, sharp as a blade, and—Katerina's biggest rival in the industry.

A perfect opportunity.

She smiled, her red lips curving in amusement. "I must say, your presence here is a pleasant surprise. It's not every day I get to meet the man behind such extraordinary art."

I took another sip of my whiskey, my golden eyes locking onto hers.

"The pleasure is all mine, Ms. Zhong."

She stepped closer, brushing her hair back in a casual, yet deliberate gesture.

"You know, I've always been a fan of your work… but more than that, I admire the way you carry yourself." Her voice lowered slightly, teasing. "Confident. Untamed. Unlike most men in this room."

I chuckled, setting my glass down. "I take that as a compliment."

She leaned in, her fingers lightly tracing the rim of her own glass. "And you should."

Across the room, I could feel it—

Katerina watching.

I didn't even need to look her way to know.

She saw me.

She saw who I was now.

She saw how much I had moved on.

And that?

That was the best revenge.

I lifted my glass toward Windy in a casual toast. "To new beginnings?"

She smiled, clinking her glass against mine. "To new beginnings."

And with that, I took another slow sip, enjoying the taste of victory.

(Samuel's POV – The Truth About Women and Power)

The banquet was in full swing, yet I found myself in a quieter corner, sipping on a glass of whiskey.

Across from me, Belle Ross tilted her head slightly, her oceanic blue eyes shimmering under the dim banquet lights.

There was a hint of curiosity in them, the kind that made people dangerous.

"So, Mr. Gebb," she began, swirling the wine in her glass, "do you have someone in mind?"

Her voice was casual, teasing, but I could tell she was genuinely interested in my answer.

I leaned back against the sleek black leather of my seat, taking another slow sip before answering.

"No."

Her brows raised slightly. "No one at all?"

I chuckled, my emerald green eyes meeting hers.

"After my failed marriage, I've stopped believing in love."

She blinked, slightly taken aback by my bluntness. "That's a strong statement."

I exhaled, my fingers tapping against my glass.

"It's the truth." I gave her a sharp look. "Women, once they get power, only know how to cheat. They forget the men who stood by them when they had nothing."

Belle stared at me for a moment, as if studying me.

Then she smirked. "That's a rather cynical view, don't you think?"

I chuckled, shaking my head. "Maybe. But it's a view earned through experience."

She leaned forward slightly, resting her chin on her hand. "So, you think all women are like that?"

I shrugged. "I haven't met one who's proven me wrong."

She watched me, amusement flickering in her eyes. "Then maybe you've been looking in the wrong places."

I smirked, raising my glass. "Maybe."

Belle didn't push further.

She simply smirked, taking a slow sip of her wine, her oceanic blue eyes never leaving mine.

The silence between us was comfortable yet charged.

A game was being played here.

One neither of us was admitting to.

She wanted to challenge my views.

And I?

I simply didn't care enough to entertain it.

Let her think she could prove me wrong.

Women always thought they could.

And in the end?

They always proved me right.

I finished my drink, setting the glass down with a soft clink.

"Enjoy the banquet, Belle."

I stood up, ready to move on—

But then she reached out, catching my wrist.

I glanced down at her, raising an eyebrow.

"Dance with me."

Her words weren't a request.

I smirked. "Is that an order?"

She smiled. "Take it however you want."

I exhaled, shaking my head slightly. "Fine."

If she wanted to play this game, I'd let her.

But she should know—

She was already losing.

As I led her to the dance floor, the eyes of the banquet followed.

Abigail's.

Joshua's.

Katerina's.

They were all watching.

And that?

That was the real victory.