Something silently exploded in Summer Thorne's mind.
The others present were just as shocked.
"Is that him?"
"He's so good-looking."
"Wasn't he supposed to be sickly? He doesn't look ill at all."
"That's what the rumors said. Why else would he have stayed out of the public eye for so many years?"
As the crowd murmured, Summer Thorne snapped back to her senses and took a deep breath.
The rumored third son of the York Family, Timothy York.
It was him!
'But… the sickly man who's supposedly been recovering abroad for years?'
Summer Thorne recalled the physique she had seen earlier in the restroom—
The firm but not over-the-top muscle definition, the taut abdomen, the vibrant, masculine energy radiating from him… where was the slightest trace of a sickly man?
'Or… is he all for show and no go?'
A flurry of thoughts raced through Summer Thorne's mind. By the time she refocused, the group had already drawn near.
Everyone else at her table consisted of high-society elites who had come with their partners. Only Summer Thorne was alone, seemingly oblivious to any potential awkwardness.
Shane Walsh, the Vice President of the York Group, personally made the introductions for Timothy York, finally turning to Summer Thorne.
"This is…" Shane Walsh hesitated, unsure, and glanced at the person beside him.
Summer Thorne stood, turning to meet the man's calm, placid expression. She took the initiative and extended her hand. "Hello, Mr. York. I'm Summer Thorne."
His gaze lingered on her face as he reached out and took her slender, fair hand.
His exquisite, dark gray, tailor-made suit was immaculate, its lines clean and sharp. It was free of accessories, save for a single silver cufflink at his wrist that glinted with a cool light, exuding an air of restraint and decorum.
"Hello, Mrs. Crawford."
His voice was deep and steady, his demeanor perfectly composed, as if he had never seen her before.
Even Shane Walsh was surprised that he could identify her as "Mrs. Crawford" so readily, but Summer Thorne simply offered a gentle smile.
'They really shouldn't have met before.'
'It was highly inappropriate.'
The banquet began at eight o'clock. Timothy York was seated at the head table, right in the center, enduring the deluge of gazes from all directions.
After the host's opening remarks, the stage filled with graceful dancers and soft music. The guests had already made their donations; the only important business left was to socialize.
Soon, Timothy York was surrounded, the crowd packed so tightly it was impenetrable. Men and women alike, each employing their own tactics, vied to exchange a few words with the third son of the York family who had appeared so suddenly.
"Looks like the York Family has chosen its heir."
"Him? It's too soon to tell if he's got what it takes. Given all the past failures, that top spot in the York Family won't be an easy one to hold."
"He's incredibly handsome, though. Mason Crawford isn't here tonight. If he were, he'd probably be outshone, don't you think?"
"Tch! What makes you think he can compare to Mason Crawford? His face? Does he have Mason's capabilities? Don't forget, the York children are all a bunch of useless disappointments…"
"No matter how useless they are, when Mason Crawford sees him, he still has to call him Mr. York, doesn't he?"
Summer Thorne took a glass of red wine and drank it quietly.
That was true. The Carrington and York families were distant relatives. When it came to generational seniority, Mason Crawford did indeed have to address him as 'uncle.'
And so would she, as the nominal Mrs. Crawford.
Summer Thorne slowly lifted her gaze, looking toward Timothy York.
The crowd was still a swirling mass of people, but just as Summer Thorne looked over, a gap opened, revealing the handsome, sharp lines of Timothy York's profile.
He was leaning down slightly, inclining his ear to listen to a beautiful young woman beside him.
Renee Rowan, the youngest daughter of the Rowan Family. She was known as the family's precious jewel, with impossibly high standards, but right now, she was gazing up at Timothy York, her eyes filled with a brilliant smile.
Summer Thorne silently looked away.
'No matter who this third son of the York family was, as a member of the York Family, he was undoubtedly on Mason Crawford's side.'
For a moment, Summer Thorne wasn't even sure what she was thinking. After finishing the last of her wine, she stood, grabbed another glass, and headed in the opposite direction.
The banquet was filled with guests, each one wealthy or influential, and any one of them was worth approaching for a greeting.
But Summer Thorne walked straight toward a specific spot.
The banquet hall opened into a Chinese-style inner courtyard. By a window, a few well-dressed men were gathered, chatting and laughing.
Summer Thorne walked up to the group, and with a sudden motion, swung the wine glass in her hand forward.
The deep red liquid cut an arc through the air, splashing directly across one of the men's faces.
Gasps rippled through the onlookers. The man who had been splashed was stunned, but upon recognizing Summer Thorne, he froze, his expression turning awkward and strained.
"Who is she?"
"Is she trying to cause trouble?"
"That's Mason Crawford's wife… from the Sutton Family…"
Amid the hushed chatter, Summer Thorne placed her empty glass on a passing waiter's tray and then spoke. "So sorry, Mr. Young. I didn't expect to see you here. My hand slipped. No offense."
Wyatt Young. A long-time friend of Austin Sutton, and the man who had directly orchestrated the Sutton Group's current crisis.
Wyatt Young's face was beet red. He hissed through clenched teeth, "Summer Thorne, this is a York Family event. Don't you dare cause a scene—"
Before he could finish, Summer Thorne had already grabbed another glass of wine and thrown it in his face again.
She looked at Wyatt Young's pathetic state and smiled, her expression both frank and innocent. "My apologies. I couldn't help myself that time."
Wyatt Young was seething, grinding his teeth in fury. Summer Thorne added, "If you take offense, Mr. Young, feel free to throw one back at me. I won't mind."
As she spoke, she picked up another glass of wine and held it out to Wyatt Young.
The area fell silent. Everyone stared, wide-eyed, watching the drama unfold.
Wyatt Young was trapped, unsure whether to take it or refuse. But in the next instant, Summer Thorne simply lifted the glass over his head and turned it upside down—
Another glass of wine drenched him from above.
Everyone present was a prominent figure in Valois. None had expected Mason Crawford's quiet, unknown wife to be so brazen and arrogant. They frowned and shook their heads, keeping a wide berth.
Humiliated so publicly, Wyatt Young was trembling with rage. His right hand flew up uncontrollably and swatted the empty wine glass from Summer Thorne's hand—
SMASH!
The glass flew through the air and shattered on the floor, right in front of a pair of black Oxford shoes that had just come to a stop.
There were gasps all around.
Even Wyatt Young's face paled.
Only then did Summer Thorne turn her head toward the sound of the shattering glass. As she raised her gaze, she met Timothy York's dark eyes.
York Group staff had already hurried over, politely but firmly separating her from Wyatt Young.
"Mr. York, I didn't mean to cause trouble at a York family event, but this woman—" Wyatt Young wiped his face and hurried over to Timothy York, shooting a venomous glare at Summer Thorne.
Although many senior executives from the York Group were present, Timothy York was the only one whose surname was actually York.
Despite this being his public debut, all the top executives deferred to him. His status was self-evident.
Wyatt Young knew very well that he could not afford to offend such a person.
"Take Mr. Young to get changed."
Timothy York didn't spare him a glance. He gave the order, and someone immediately led Wyatt Young away.
Then, he turned his gaze back to Summer Thorne, his eyes still as calm as an undisturbed lake.
Separated by the glass shards on the floor, neither of them moved.
The onlookers waited, eager to see what would happen next.
The woman was brazen and reckless, causing a scene without any regard for the occasion. People thought it was no wonder that, despite her beauty, she couldn't win Mason Crawford's affection and was never allowed out in public.
After a scene like this, surely she'd be thrown out?
But in the next moment, Timothy York's calm, cool voice cut through the silence.
"Mrs. Crawford has had too much to drink. Please see her to a lounge to rest."