Perfect Socialite, Cruelest Lover

Randall Group's PR team moved fast. By the next day, the scandal and vicious comments online had already largely vanished.

"Mr. Boyer, Ms. Randall ordered all of these for you."

The luxury items delivered by Caitlin's secretary, Sue Miller, filled the entire living room.

I gazed calmly at those lavish gift boxes, knowing full well that this was nothing more than Caitlin's guilty attempt to make amends.

Today was the birthday of Caitlin's mother, Maureen Walton. With little enthusiasm, I casually picked out a suit.

By the time I arrived at the old estate, I found the guests in the ballroom all looking at me with complicated expressions.

I had no idea why until a soft laugh drifted over.

Shane descended from the second floor, supporting Mrs. Randall by the arm. He was dressed in a black suit, his posture tall and commanding, instantly drawing everyone's attention to him.

It was only then that I noticed the formal wear we had on was the exact same style.

"A pleasure to meet you. Thank you for looking after Caitlin all these years."

Shane smiled and extended his hand toward me, his handsome face showing not the slightest trace of ill will.

"People always say the two of them look alike, but now that they're actually standing side by side, the difference is just staggering."

"Right? How does the same suit look so tacky on Terry? He can't hide that shabby, low-class air of his no matter what."

The guests covered their mouths, sizing me up and snickering.

I stood awkwardly in the center, like an ugly duckling exposed under a spotlight.

Then, a cold, indifferent voice cut through, "I was the one who picked out that suit. Do you have a problem with that?"

Caitlin walked over, her expression icy.

She smacked away Shane's hand and shot a warning glance at those who had been gossiping about me. Then, she turned back to Shane and said mockingly, "How hideous. You can't even begin to compare to Terry."

Shane's expression stiffened.

Having no desire to be part of this, I lowered my head and quietly sat down in the corner.

A while later, the sound of a piano filled the ballroom.

Shane sat before the piano, fingers dancing over the keys. It was a vision so beautiful it could have been a painting.

"Ms. Randall, I've heard that you're quite accomplished in music as well. Why not go up and play a duet with Mr. Tate?"

By the time she was eight years old, Caitlin had already achieved Grade 10 in piano.

But in the face of the guests' prodding, she merely raised an eyebrow and, without looking back, walked over and sat down beside me.

"I don't know how to play the piano. Shane's clothes are tacky, and his playing is even tackier. He can't even compare to a single finger of Terry's."

It was as if Caitlin had made it her mission to embarrass Shane in front of everyone.

After catching him play several wrong notes, she ridiculed him even more mercilessly. "Is this all you've learned after all these years abroad? Tsk! You're utterly unpresentable."

She took my hand, interlacing her fingers with mine in a way that brooked no argument. Yet, her gaze remained tightly fixed on Shane, as if she were unwilling to miss a single flicker of expression on his face.

Someone laughed, stepping in to smooth things over. But the words that came out made Caitlin's expression darken instantly.

"Ms. Randall, you must be joking. Everyone knows Terry is deaf, so there's no way he knows how to play the piano."

"That's enough," Mrs. Randall said coolly, taking her seat at the head of the table.

Alan, ever quick on the uptake, immediately presented the gifts everyone had brought.

When it was my turn, he made a special point of emphasizing, "Mrs. Randall, Mr. Boyer knew how much you enjoy theater, so he specially and meticulously prepared a short performance for you."

Beaming, Alan pulled up the video I had recorded in advance on the large screen.

But in the next second, the smiles on everyone's faces froze solid.

Instead of the planned theater performance, what played on the screen were photos of Shane being violated by various men.

The crowd instantly erupted into chaos. All eyes snapped toward Shane like knives.

"I heard Mr. Tate offended someone abroad, and his enemies rounded up a dozen vagrants to rape him. Never thought it'd turn out to be true."

Shane's face went deathly pale in an instant. Even with the piano for support, he could barely stay on his feet.

The household staff panicked, momentarily unable to find the switch.

Just then, a sharp pain suddenly shot through my hand.

Caitlin had already shot up and rushed forward, smashing the screen to pieces. In her desperate haste, she scraped my finger with her ring, drawing several lines of blood.