Drew a Husband, Ditched the Scum, Seduced the Uncle

"Right here, Miss Henson," a senior servant said, stepping forward with deep reverence and presenting an ornate, velvet-lined wooden box to her. Inside the box rested several polished silver balls, each containing the name of an eligible Davenport bachelor.

Aurore slowly reached her slender hand into the box. The metal was cool against her skin. Just like in her past life, her fingers immediately brushed against the tampered silver ball. It wasn't perfectly smooth like the others; it had a tiny, almost imperceptible diamond-like bump glued to its surface.

As long as she picked up this specific ball and discreetly flicked the tiny bump off with her thumbnail before handing it over, she would step right back into J. C.'s meticulously crafted trap. She would bind herself to a man who would spend the next fifteen years siphoning her family's wealth while raising a family with another woman.

Aurore's lips curved into a faint, knowing smile.

Seeing that smile from across the table, J. C. mirrored it with a subtle, triumphant one of his own. His heart beat a frantic rhythm of anticipation. Soon, he would marry Aurore Henson. With the vast resources of the Henson Group at his disposal, he would finally secure his rightful place in the Davenport Empire, crushing his arrogant cousins under his heel.

Under the cover of the wooden box, Aurore's thumb found the tiny bump. With a sharp, deliberate flick of her nail, she dislodged the fake diamond. But instead of pulling that ball out, she let it drop heavily back into the pile. She swirled her hand around the box, her fingers gliding over the cool metal until she grabbed a completely different, perfectly smooth ball at random.

"Done," she announced, pulling her hand out and presenting the gleaming silver sphere. She didn't open it herself. Instead, she turned and handed it to her father, Arthur Henson. She smiled brightly, her eyes clear and innocent. "You open it, Dad."

Arthur Henson took the ball. His hair was still entirely dark, slicked back neatly without a single strand of gray. Since her mother, Eleonora, passed away five years ago, Arthur had buried himself entirely in his work to cope with the grief. Years of long hours and endless business banquets had given him a slightly heavier build, but despite his crushing schedule, he never failed to call Aurore and her siblings every single day.

Seeing her father alive, healthy, and looking exactly as he had before the tragedy and bankruptcy ruined him, Aurore's eyes instantly welled with hot tears.

Arthur noticed the sudden moisture in his daughter's eyes and his thick eyebrows drew together in immediate concern. "What's wrong, my little Aurore? Are you feeling unwell?"

Aurore quickly shook her head, forcing a bright, reassuring smile to mask her overwhelming emotions. "Nothing, Dad. I'm just a little nervous. Open it quickly."

Her tone was light, airy, and eager. To J. C., who was watching her every move like a hawk, it sounded as though she was simply impatient to finally make their secret engagement official. The man's gaze grew even more tender and indulgent, entirely convinced of his impending victory.

The silver ball required only a simple twist to open. In those two or three agonizing seconds, J. C., Julian, Zachary, and their respective parents all stared in breathless, suffocating anticipation. The dining room was so quiet one could hear a pin drop. Whoever married Aurore Henson would become the ultimate winner in the high-stakes game of Manhattan's elite circles.

Amidst the thick, palpable tension, a large, elegantly masculine hand reached out across the far end of the table and calmly picked up a crystal glass of water. The movement was smooth, unhurried, and completely ignored by the anxious crowd.

Arthur twisted the silver ball open. It yielded with a soft click. He pulled out the tightly rolled slip of premium parchment paper and slowly unrolled it.

He stared at the name written in bold, black ink. His eyes widened, and he blinked hard, as if struggling to comprehend the letters.

It wasn't J. C.

It wasn't Julian.

It wasn't Zachary.

It was Kane Davenport.

Kane Davenport-the youngest son of the Davenport patriarch, the true, iron-fisted ruler of the Davenport Empire, the man who held the entire family's fate in his hands. And crucially, a man who wasn't even supposed to be in the drawing.

Arthur had explicitly set a strict age limit for his daughter's alliance: the groom could be no more than six years older than Aurore, fearing a generational gap would lead to an unhappy marriage. Aurore was twenty-two. Julian was twenty-eight, Zachary twenty-seven, and J. C. twenty-four.

They all had to respectfully call Kane Davenport "Uncle." Kane was thirty-one, a full nine years older than Aurore. He had been excluded from the candidate list from the very beginning.

Yet, there it was. His name, clear as day.

Arthur froze, utterly bewildered, staring at the paper before slowly handing it to the Davenport patriarch, Cornelius, and his wife, Madam Davenport. The two elders looked at the slip, their expressions mirroring Arthur's profound shock.

"Kane?" Cornelius muttered, his deep voice breaking the silence.

The entire dining room erupted in a collective, breathless gasp.