Chapter 320 Ballroom Glimmers 

Night had already folded itself over Doria when the three stepped into the grand ballroom, its chandeliers humming with crystal fire. Quinn scanned the sea of faces, hunting for Leander. Harlan and Julius flanked her like impeccably dressed sentries, every polished line of their suits broadcasting silent authority. 

Their presence acted like a spark in dry grass. Conversations faltered, necks craned, curiosity surged. 

Women in silk gowns drifted over, smiles lacquered with intent, each hoping to secure even a fleeting exchange. 

Polite indifference did little good. The numbers only grew. 

Local power brokers soon joined the crush–steel–haired magnates, fresh–minted heirs, the sort who measured value in favors traded. 

Many recognized Julius; Whitethorn Group’s factories and docks dotted Doria’s coast, after all. 

To Quinn’s surprise, several greeted Harlan as well, lauding Weston’s law firm and the cross–border verdicts he had wrestled from reluctant courts. All that sudden attention formed an accidental barricade, slowing Quinn’s search to a crawl. 

Quinn drew a tight breath. “Let’s split up–we’ll cover more ground.” 

“Hold on–are you sure?” Harlan asked, worry knitting his brow. 

Quinn shook her head. “No more caution,” she said, taking a step away. Julius shot out a hand and caught her wrist, movement swift as a hawk. “I’ll find you in a minute,” he murmured, voice meant for her alone. 

“All right,” she answered, the faintest smile flickering before she slipped free and vanished into the crowd. 

A tycoon leaned toward Julius. “It’s rare, Mr. Whitethorn, to see you escorting a lady. Forgive the curiosity -who is she to you?” 

“She’s my girlfriend,” Julius said without a hint of hesitation. 

Harlan’s jaw tightened, disapproval flashing before he masked it beneath a neutral facade. 

The surrounding moguls exchanged startled glances. 

“Seems the young lady is truly fortunate,” one whispered, half–awed, half–envious. 

Julius kept his gaze fixed on Quinn’s retreating silhouette. “No–if anyone’s fortunate, it’s me,” he said softly. 

He had once seized that radiant beam of light and convinced it to linger at his side. Now, terrified of losing it, he fought with every breath to keep that brilliance from slipping back into darkness. 

Harlan pulled Julius into a shadowed alcove, voice low and edged. “She ended things with you. Stop parading her as your girlfriend.” 

“We’re only apart for a while,” Julius replied, unwavering. “She’ll come back to me.” 

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Chapter 320 Ballroom Glimmers 

Harlan’s stare turned ice–cold. “If you try to force her, I don’t care if the Whitethorn family rule; jexburgii I’ll tear your dynasty apart. I keep my promises.” 

Julius narrowed his eyes. “You really believe you can do that?” 

“Try me.” Harlan shot back, challenge blazing. 

Tension crackled between them–one man wrapped in frost, the other smoldering with anger, the ballroom’s glitter now a brittle backdrop to their silent duel. 

Quinn wove through the glittering rows of crystal–laden tables, her heels clicking a restless tattoo against the marble floor as her eyes swept every corner of the ballroom, hunting for a face that haunted her waking hours. 

Would Leander Fane really come tonight, just as Julius had promised? I have scoured the room, yet he remains a ghost. If I miss him now, where else can I possibly look? He isn’t even a local–he’s from Celosia–and for all I know, he could fly home tomorrow and vanish forever. 

Just then, her stride broke, a sudden jolt as though the air itself had wrapped invisible hands around her ankles. 

In that heartbeat, a familiar silhouette flooded her vision–unbidden, impossible, unbearably near. Rowan? Leander? Or have I been chasing a single man wearing two names? 

Before her mind could catch up, her body lunged forward, cutting across the lacquered floor in a sprint born of pure instinct. 

Not again–not this time! I can’t let Rowan slip through my fingers once more. If I fail to hold on now, he’ll dissolve into the crowd, and I may never see him again. 

When awareness finally slammed back, Quinn found her fingers locked around the man’s wrist while he stared down at her, wide–eyed, as though the music had cut mid–note. 

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