Chapter 559:
“Exactly! I canceled an important dinner just to be here,” complained a woman in a sequined gown, her brow furrowing. “Don’t tell me she failed to get them and is making fools of us.”
“No way!” A short, stout man immediately objected, his expression full of confidence. “She’s Mr. Morgan’s girlfriend; something this minor should be effortless for her. She’s probably just caught in traffic.”
“Right, let’s wait a little longer,” the others murmured, attempting to console themselves. Yet their eyes betrayed them, constantly flicking toward the grand entrance as one dignitary after another glided past, each bearing a gilded invitation. With every passing figure of status, the group’s sense of exclusion deepened, resentment simmering just beneath the surface.
Just as hope threatened to flicker out, a low, commanding rumble echoed from the distant road leading to the venue.
All heads turned. A sleek convoy of five black Rolls-Royces approached with measured precision, their polished frames reflecting the ambient glow of the night lights. The iconic Spirit of Ecstasy on each hood gleamed like a herald of prestige.
The convoy radiated an intangible authority, casting a chill through the air as it passed, an invisible pressure that made onlookers instinctively hold their breath.
“My goodness! Whose convoy is this? Such grandeur!” someone exclaimed in astonishment.
“Five Rolls-Royces in a row? No way. That’s got to mean Mr. Felix Owen is here himself. He was the one who pitched this whole project,” said a man, his voice carrying both shock and admiration.
“Don’t be so sure. It could just as easily be the Morgan family,” Beatrice replied, leaning forward as if an extra inch might bring her closer. Her earlier worry about the invitation faded, replaced by a wide-eyed fascination with the grand display.
“It’s the Morgan family!” another person nearby recognized the lead Rolls-Royce, exclaiming excitedly. “They use that exact model when they’re meeting someone important. I saw it once years ago, and they even brought a helicopter that time. Never did figure out who they were picking up.”
Beatrice’s eyes lit up, and she clasped her hands together. “It’s Zaylee. It has to be Zaylee. Nobody else would get this level of attention,” she answered with absolute certainty.
Her conviction made the nearby parents stir uneasily, especially the ones who had been busy passing around the bear attack story.
The procession came to a smooth stop in front of the red carpet. Well-trained bodyguards swiftly alighted from the cars, moving in perfect synchronization, solemnly standing on either side to form a silent wall of protection.
From the central car, one guard stepped forward and pulled open the rear door with practiced precision.
Every pair of eyes locked onto the opening.
A silver-heeled foot appeared first, resting lightly on the pavement, followed by the sweeping hem of a champagne gown. Then, with her head lowered just enough to veil her expression, a young woman stepped into view, her every movement exuding quiet confidence.
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