Even separated by a phone call, Maxwell Peary could feel his young wife’s plummeting mood. In Provence, within a splendid, star-rated Grand Hotel, a high-end banquet was currently taking place. Sitting on a couch in the middle of the banquet, Maxwell Peary absently frowned. Crossing his legs, he held a phone in his right hand and gently swirled a glass of red wine in his left. The noble aura he unintentionally exuded deterred people from approaching, making it seem that even getting close would be a desecration. "What’s the matter? You seem so down?" The movement of Maxwell Peary’s left hand, swirling the wine glass, halted. His expression flickered. This slight change in Maxwell Peary’s expression immediately set everyone at the banquet on edge. Meanwhile, in Capital Town, upon hearing Maxwell Peary’s words, Nia Mitchell felt far from elated. She continued walking, step by step. "Nothing," she murmured, continuing to walk. Even amidst the bustling Main Street, her heart felt unusually calm. "Haven’t you gone home yet?" Though it was a question, Maxwell Peary was confident he hadn’t misheard; the sound of car horns honking was distinct. He glanced at his watch. So, if I’m not home, she stays out late? Hmm? Nia Mitchell didn’t answer. Her mind was filled with the image of his hurried departure that day and the words spoken by the secretaries in the Office Room. Uncle Peary went to Provence. Is it really because there... there was... She dared not think, much less ask. "Uncle, I..." ᴛʜɪs ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ɪs ᴜᴘᴅᴀᴛᴇ ʙʏ 𝓷𝓸𝓿𝓮𝓵·𝓯𝓲𝓻𝓮·𝓷𝓮𝓽 "Miss Mitchell, is that you?" Nia Mitchell’s words were cut short. She was startled by two men in black suits who suddenly blocked her path. Nia Mitchell, no longer focused on her call with Maxwell Peary, warily sized up the strangers before her. At the banquet, as soft music flowed, Maxwell Peary suddenly stood up. He called out her name tentatively, but Nia Mitchell’s hand holding the phone had already dropped to her side; she hadn’t heard him. "Miss Mitchell, our master would like to invite you to come with us." One of the men in black, his expression stony, gestured for her to get into the car. Following the man’s gesture, Nia Mitchell’s gaze fell upon a black Rolls-Royce parked nearby. "Who is your master? I don’t know you." Nia Mitchell instinctively stepped back, trying to put some distance between herself and the two men. But for every step she took back, they advanced one, giving her no room to withdraw. "As for who our master is, won’t you find out once you get there?" Nia Mitchell clenched her fists, her mind in turmoil. Maxwell Peary is the CEO of MC, a prominent figure who naturally attracts attention. Could these men be his business rivals? But their marriage hadn’t been publicly announced. Then who could this "master" be? "If you don’t tell me who it is, I’m not going with you." Her voice trembled as she spoke. This street was usually bustling, but now, passersby hurried along, leaving her with no one to turn to for help. "Nia Mitchell! I command you to speak!" Maxwell Peary suddenly roared. He kicked away the obstructing coffee table in front of him and casually tossed aside the wine glass in his hand. Throughout the vast banquet hall, everyone stopped their conversations, their movements frozen. All eyes were fixed on the figure at the center of the room—Young Master Peary, who was erupting in fury. Damn! The rumors about Young Master Peary being inscrutable were true. It was rare enough to see any change in his expression, let alone outright fury! But today, Young Master Peary was truly enraged. Witnessing Young Master Peary’s wrath was like seeing a once-in-a-century explosion; they could all go buy lottery tickets now!