Oliver leaned in just slightly, voice pitched low enough to keep the moment contained between us.
"You're causing a stir," he murmured, eyes scanning the room casually. "Exactly as planned."
'I didn't plan anything,' I thought dryly, keeping my posture relaxed.
[Don't ruin the illusion, Cedric,] the system chimed. [A mystery thrives best when it appears deliberate.]
"I'll take your word for it," I replied to Oliver, tone light.
He smirked. "That's what makes you dangerous, you know. You're not trying, and they're still falling over themselves to figure you out."
Thomas Blake returned then, carrying a drink of his own and a fresh one for me. He handed it over with ease, nodding once.
"They're scrambling," he said under his breath, lips barely moving. "I passed by three different circles arguing about where you're from. Someone floated the idea that you might be the heir of a hidden offshore conglomerate."
"Or a disavowed royal," Oliver added with a quiet laugh. "Theatrics aside, you've made your mark."
I accepted the new glass, nodding once. "Glad to be useful."
That earned a laugh from both of them.
"You know what's funny?" Thomas said, shifting beside me. "Not even the board members are questioning you. They're just assuming you belong."
"They're not wrong," Oliver said smoothly. "He belongs more than half of them. Watch how he stands—balanced, confident, understated. That Luxeon suit's not doing all the work."
I didn't respond. Just let the silence stretch a moment as I sipped again, gaze skimming across the room.
Dozens of eyes looked away when I met their stares. Some lingered, trying not to seem caught. The questions behind their expressions were nearly visible: Who is he? Why now?
[This is the part where you either vanish like a legend or stay long enough to rewrite the social map,] the system mused.
'Vanishing sounds good.'
[No can do. You're in too deep. Besides, Oliver's just getting started.]
And sure enough, Oliver turned toward the slowly growing cluster near the piano lounge and said with that casual charisma he wore like a second skin, "Shall we introduce you to a few people?"
I met his gaze, then gave the faintest nod.
"Lead the way," I murmured.
The room shifted with our movement, subtle and slow—like the tide pulling focus wherever we passed. And though I was still memorizing names and fighting the urge to overthink every word, to them… I was the one setting the tempo.
As Oliver led me through the lounge, introductions came in smooth succession—names of heirs, daughters of legacy families, junior board members, and promising young investors. Each exchange was brief, pleasant, and tinged with curiosity. Most offered their hands. A few tried subtle probes.
I gave little away.
Just enough to be polite. Just enough to keep them guessing.
And then, a soft chime rang through the main hall—clear and melodic. Conversations paused. Heads turned. At the far end of the room, a steward stepped forward and gave a slight bow, his voice carrying with trained precision.
"Ladies and gentlemen, honored guests. If we may have your attention."
A hush fell over the room. Even the background music faded to a softer note.
"The Reed family thanks you all for gracing this celebration tonight. We now formally commence the banquet."
From the grand staircase, Jonathan Reed and Elena Reed descended together. Jonathan moved with commanding ease, his expression a mask of quiet pride, while Elena, radiant in a deep garnet gown, smiled with refined warmth.
"On behalf of the Reed family," Jonathan began once they reached the center floor, "we are deeply honored to host this evening among such exceptional company."
Applause followed. Polite. Well-practiced.
"Tonight is not simply a celebration of success or legacy," Elena continued smoothly, her voice clear, "but of the future. The next generation. The ones who will carry the name forward, build beyond it, and lead in their own right."
Jonathan glanced toward Oliver, who stood near me now, glass still in hand, face composed but faintly touched with emotion.
"Allow us to present our son—Oliver Reed."
The applause this time was more than polite. It surged with real energy. Some clapped with genuine admiration. Others followed suit to keep up appearances. But all eyes were on him.
Oliver stepped forward with practiced grace, offering a small bow to the crowd before looking back toward his parents.
"Thank you all for coming," he said simply. "I know these gatherings often feel like polite wars dressed in tailored suits, so I appreciate those of you who came for more than networking."
A few light laughs rippled through the crowd.
He smiled faintly. "I'm honored by your presence—and your patience."
He raised his glass.
"To the future we'll shape together. And the stories we've yet to write."
The room followed, a chorus of clinks and echoing toasts filling the air.
And just like that, the banquet began in earnest.
Dishes were uncovered. Music rose again. And conversations resumed—this time with a fresh current beneath them.
But even with the spotlight momentarily shifting, I still felt eyes on me. Even as Oliver stood at the heart of his celebration, I remained the quiet question walking in his shadow.
A position I didn't mind… for now.
As the applause faded and guests returned to their seats, the Reed family remained at the center of attention. A slight gesture from Jonathan quieted the room again, his tone now shifting into something a touch more ceremonial.
"As is tradition," he began, "we would like to present our personal gifts to our son. A symbol of trust, and a gesture toward his growing responsibilities."
Elena stepped forward, her smile unwavering. "Oliver has already shown diligence and judgment far beyond his years. It's only right that we entrust him with something that reflects his place in the family's future."
A steward approached with a velvet-covered tray, and on it sat a sleek folder bearing the Reed insignia in gold.
Jonathan took it, opened it with deliberate care, and held it up for Oliver—and the watching crowd—to see.
"Effective immediately," he declared, "Oliver will hold a minority stake in Reed & Aurum Holdings."
A quiet stir moved through the room.
Even among legacy heirs, such a gesture was no small matter.
"One percent, with full voting rights," Jonathan added. "And a seat at the executive advisory board. Your voice," he looked at Oliver, "will shape our next decade."
The applause returned—measured, but heavier than before.
Oliver gave a short bow, murmuring something to his father as he accepted the document, then turned to offer a quiet thanks to his mother as well.
Elena wasn't done.
"For my part," she said with gentle pride, "I've arranged a private mentorship with Alaric Dorne himself."
Gasps now. A few audible.
Even I blinked.
Alaric Dorne was practically a ghost—one of the most elusive figures in global finance, rarely seen, and never known to take on protégés.
"You always said you wanted to learn from the best," Elena said, her gaze softening as she looked at Oliver. "So I made sure the door opened, just once, for you."
The crowd applauded again—this time with more energy, more whispers between guests as the magnitude of the gifts set in.
Oliver, for all his usual composure, looked genuinely struck. He nodded gratefully, then leaned in to hug his mother in front of everyone—an unspoken, rare crack in his otherwise perfect posture.
From beside him, I tilted my glass and took a slow sip.
'Well,' Ithought, 'no pressure, birthday boy.'
And judging from the looks some of the other heirs were casting his way—jealousy barely veiled behind polite smiles—things were only just beginning.
After the applause died down and the buzz of whispers mellowed into the soft hum of clinking glasses and shifting conversation, Oliver slipped through a small cluster of guests and returned to where I stood. His expression was relaxed, but there was a glint of purpose behind his eyes.
"Come with me," he said quietly.
I followed without question, weaving between sharply dressed figures and politely nodding heads. As we neared the central dais where the Reed family stood, Elena turned first, sensing her son's approach. Her smile remained gracious, though it sharpened slightly when she saw me beside him.
"Mother. Father," Oliver began smoothly, "I'd like you to meet someone important."
Jonathan Reed turned toward me fully, tall and composed in a crisp charcoal suit, eyes scanning me with the kind of practiced measure that came from years of boardrooms and power plays.
"This is Cedric Ravensleigh," Oliver continued. "A personal friend—and someone I hold in very high regard."
Elena's expression barely shifted, but I noticed the faint lift of her brows—subtle, but unmistakably intrigued.
"A pleasure," I said, offering a polite bow of my head. "Thank you for hosting such an elegant evening."
Jonathan extended a hand first. His grip was firm, testing. "Cedric Ravensleigh," he repeated, as if turning the name over in his mind. "We've heard the murmurs."
"Oliver speaks well of you," Elena added, her voice as smooth as silk over ice. "And that's rare praise."
"I'm honored," I said evenly, letting the weight of the moment settle before offering a calm smile. "He's been a generous friend."
She gave a knowing glance toward her son. "And he doesn't extend that lightly."
There was a pause. Brief, but charged. Jonathan gave a small nod, something like approval passing through his features.
"I assume we'll be seeing more of you, Mr. Ravensleigh," he said.
"If I'm fortunate," I replied simply.
Oliver clapped a hand to my shoulder. "You will be."
The moment held—tense for only a second more—before Elena turned to gesture toward one of the stewards.
"Cedric," she said, almost warmly now. "You must join us for the private toast later."
"I'd be honored."
As Oliver and I stepped back into the current of the room, I could feel the eyes still on me—not just from the other guests, but from the Reed parents themselves.
'Great,' I thought, schooling my expression. 'Now I've been vetted by the high table.'
[Congratulations, Cedric,] the system whispered, [You've officially entered the lion's den. And they didn't bite.]
'Yet,' I muttered internally.
[But they're curious. That's much more dangerous.]
I smiled faintly as I caught Oliver's glance.
He smiled back like he knew exactly what I was thinking.