Chapter 923:
Yolanda’s head leaned softly into him, her voice carrying the measured sweetness of cherished days gone by. Each word struck his heart like a smith’s hammer on molten steel.
The storm of his thoughts eased at once, replaced by a heavy wash of guilt. Yolanda’s heart was entirely his, her dreams woven with visions of growing old by his side. How could he let his mind drift toward Christina? They had vowed to love until death—no separation, no change, no end. He could not allow himself to break that promise. Yolanda was pure of heart, gentle, and unspoiled—how could he possibly let his gaze wander to another? He should never have let it.
“Once their dance ends, let’s have our own. Just you and I.” Brendon took her hand, his fingers threading firmly through hers. His eyes, like melting stars, and his voice, a lullaby, calmed the storm Christina had stirred in his heart. The waves of emotion slowly dissolved into the calm shores of Yolanda’s presence. Yolanda was the woman truly deserving of his unwavering care and love.
“Alright, Brendon, you’re the best!” Yolanda lifted her gaze to him, feigning playful innocence, her eyes brimming with calculated adoration.
Gazing at her tender expression, Brendon’s smile deepened into something softer. Her heart and gaze were filled with him alone—how could he ever betray that?
They gazed into each other’s eyes, smiles curving their lips, as if the whole world had melted away.
Just as Brendon leaned in, overcome with feeling, ready to press a kiss to Yolanda’s lips, a sudden cry shattered the moment, though no one knew from whom it came. “Holy hell! There’s another man bold enough to compete with Mr. Scott for a woman!”
At once, Brendon pulled back and turned toward the center of the dance floor. There, just as expected, a lean figure in a lavender suit had stepped forward, his features concealed beneath a clown mask.
What had started as a duel for a woman’s attention now threatened to become a three-way contest.
𝖢𝗁𝖾𝖼𝗄 𝖈𝗈𝗉𝗒 𝖕𝖗𝖔𝖔𝖋: 𝖌ⱥ𝗅𝗇𝗈ν𝖊𝗅𝘀⧸𝖼𝗈𝗆
Dylan, once confronted by only a single rival, now found himself facing a second—and a formidable one at that—his expression darkening by several shades.
The man in bright purple had barely had his outstretched hand pushed away before the one in lavender made his move to claim Christina’s hand.
Dylan intercepted the attempt, swiftly seizing Christina’s hand before the man in lavender could. With a deft motion, he raised her arm and twirled her in a quick, elegant spin, leaving the lavender-suited man grasping at nothing.
The three men became locked in a strange, almost theatrical struggle, their contest unfolding like an unspoken duel in the language of dance.
Then, without warning, another figure burst onto the scene, leaping into view and sweeping onto the floor to join the fray.
A sharp intake of breath swept through the crowd, freezing their expressions in stunned disbelief—as if the very air had turned to ice.
It was already a spectacle when three men vied for the attention of one woman, but now, with four, the scene bordered on the surreal.
As those figures moved across the dance floor, the guests stared in astonishment, jaws slack in disbelief. It took them a moment to snap back to reality.
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