Chapter 18: The Decline

"8 million pounds?"

Barron raised an eyebrow at Viscount Bute's offer, his expression darkening slightly.

"I'm afraid that's not a very sincere price, Your Excellency."

Viscount Bute remained composed, as if expecting such a reaction. He offered a calm smile and responded, "I understand your concern, Lord Barron. If this were a normal residential plot, given its location, it would easily be worth at least 20 million pounds."

He paused for a moment before continuing, "However, your land was previously used for gas storage. Even though the tanks are no longer operational, the property is still classified as industrial land. If you wish to develop it commercially—perhaps for residential or commercial purposes—you would first need to apply for a reclassification. That process is neither simple nor quick."

Barron listened in silence, though he already knew the truth in Bute's words. In Britain, just like in other parts of the world, land was categorized into agricultural, industrial, residential, and commercial zones. Ownership didn't grant absolute freedom; all developments had to adhere to strict zoning laws. Any attempt to change a plot's classification required government approval, and without it, construction would be illegal.

"The value of industrial land is significantly lower," Viscount Bute continued, leaning forward slightly. "And more importantly, your plot contains three enormous, abandoned gas storage tanks. Their removal alone would be a costly affair. Factoring in these challenges, the price of 8 million pounds is entirely reasonable."

Barron remained impassive. He had no doubt that Bute's reasoning was valid, but the fact that the viscount was so eager to acquire the land suggested that it held significant potential value.

If Barron were truly facing a financial crisis, he would have no choice but to sell. Under those circumstances, he might shop around for better offers, but ultimately, the final sale price wouldn't be much higher than what Bute had just proposed.

However, Barron had already secured a solution to his financial difficulties. With that burden lifted, his perspective on the land had shifted. A prime plot near central London was not something to be discarded lightly—especially since he knew that in the coming years, property values in the city would skyrocket.

Land in good locations would only become scarcer and more expensive.

Moreover, beyond financial considerations, Barron had come tonight for another reason—to determine whether Viscount Bute had played any role in leaking information about the Devonshire family's supposed financial troubles.

"For something of this magnitude," Barron finally said, "I'll need to consult others before making a decision."

Viscount Bute's eyes flickered with amusement. He chuckled lightly and nodded.

"Of course, Lord Barron. You're still new to managing the family's affairs. I just hope I won't have to wait too long for an answer."

The meaning behind his words was clear.

---

After dinner, as Barron prepared to leave, he shook hands with Viscount Bute and offered polite words of farewell.

"Thank you for your hospitality. I hope to return the favor soon."

"The honor would be mine, Lord Barron," Bute replied with a smile. "And regarding the land, my offer stands. You're welcome to contact me at any time."

Just as Barron turned to leave, a soft voice called out from behind him.

"Mr. Barron..."

He turned and saw Bonnie approaching, her expression light and casual.

"I'm heading home as well. If it's on your way, may I share your ride?"

Barron glanced at her, then smiled. "That's no problem. I'd be happy to give you a lift."

Thus, when he stepped into his Rolls-Royce, the strikingly beautiful Bonnie slid gracefully into the back seat beside him.

---

"Where should I drop you off?" Barron asked as the car pulled away from the estate.

"I'm staying in Bayswater. If it's too far, you can just leave me somewhere nearby."

"It's not far at all. I live in Kensington, and Bayswater is right next to it."

Bonnie nodded before adding, "I live alone. My family is in Southampton."

Barron raised an eyebrow. "Then we should drop the formalities. Just call me Barron."

She smiled. "Alright, Barron."

"You studied psychology at university," he remarked. "So how did you end up as a television host?"

Bonnie chuckled. "It was never part of the plan. I did some part-time modeling, then entered a competition. That led me to meet someone from the industry, and before I knew it, I was given a chance to try hosting. I ended up liking it."

She glanced at him curiously. "To be fair, how many people actually work in their field of study after graduation?"

Barron nodded in understanding. "That's true. If you're lucky enough to find something you enjoy and succeed in it, then that's what matters."

His words were drawn from personal experience—though, of course, he didn't share the details. In his previous life, he had dreamed of becoming a manga artist. He had the talent for it, but reality had forced him into the financial world instead. Now, fate had thrown him into yet another unexpected situation.

Bonnie regarded him with mild amusement. "Well, my life can't compare to yours, Barron. You were born into nobility. Things that people like me can only dream of are already within your grasp."

Barron smiled faintly. "The privileges of birth come with their own burdens. It may look easy, but every advantage comes at a price. I still have to fight to secure my family's future."

He turned his gaze toward the window, watching the London streets blur past under the glow of streetlights.

The shifting light played across his face, highlighting the sharp lines of his features. From Bonnie's angle, his profile looked almost sculpted, a mix of elegance and quiet melancholy.

For a moment, she felt her heartbeat quicken.

---

Before they knew it, the Rolls-Royce slowed to a stop in front of a modest apartment building.

"We're here," Barron noted.

Bonnie glanced outside, reluctant to move. "That was quick."

"It was a pleasure meeting you today, Bonnie."

She smiled. "Likewise, Barron."

As she reached for the door handle, Barron spoke again.

"Before you go, could I have your phone number?" He hesitated for just a second before adding, "I might need some insights about television… or maybe we could grab a drink sometime?"

Bonnie turned back to him, eyes glinting with amusement. "I'm not much of a drinker, and I doubt I'm qualified to advise you on television."

Then she smiled playfully.

"But I'd be happy to give you my number."