From that moment on, Fanmuir and Helena seemed to have become inseparable friends. The Bugatti slowed down to a more relaxed pace, and their conversation grew animated, focusing primarily on martial arts. The more they talked, the more Helena marveled at Fanmuir's insights. Her admiration deepened as she realized that the old man who trained him must have been a legendary figure. Problems in martial arts that had stumped her for years were solved effortlessly by Fanmuir's straightforward explanations, leaving her in awe of his skill.
"Could Fanmuir be stronger than Orlando?" she wondered.
Had Fanmuir known Helena was comparing him—a supreme, unrivaled master—to a martial arts heir like Orlando, he probably would have been dumbfounded.
"The Alps must be full of hidden prodigies," Helena mused. "If even an unassuming youth like him is this strong, maybe Orlando won't have an edge over this blockhead when he finishes his training!" To Helena, her childhood hero Orlando remained invincible in her mind.
Time passed quickly in Helena's company, even as their conversation revolved around topics Fanmuir considered almost trivial. When they arrived at the dormitory, he found himself reluctant to leave.
"We're here. Out you go!" Helena said, feigning a stern tone. "And don't forget—be at the school gate at seven tonight. Don't make me wait again, or you'll regret it!" She raised her fist in mock threat, then chuckled at the memory of Fanmuir's cluelessness. "Don't be late!" she repeated with a playful glare.
Helena's mock fierceness, paired with her teasing glance, left Fanmuir completely entranced. As the Bugatti disappeared from sight, he stood there reminiscing about the fleeting beauty of the moment. His first encounter with Helena came vividly to mind—a memory that even someone as powerful as Fanmuir couldn't shake.
Back at the dormitory, Ronnie Spencer and his gang caught sight of Fanmuir's return, complete with luxury car and dazzling beauty in tow.
"Whoa!" they exclaimed, swarming him in excitement. Before Fanmuir could react, they hooked their arms around him and dragged him into the dorm.
"Alright, spill it! That knockout—wasn't that Helena?" Ronnie demanded.
Their eyes quickly fell on Fanmuir's luxurious suit, diamond-encrusted phone, and Omega watch. Among the French elite, these items were unmistakable symbols of affluence. The only plausible explanation was that Fanmuir had somehow won the favor of Helena, the sole heir to the Beaupin empire.
"Unbelievable! If Fanmuir's really made it big with Helena, we're in for a cushy ride!" They oscillated between envy and joy, leaving Fanmuir scratching his head in confusion.
In an age dominated by firearms and nuclear weapons, conflict still permeated human society.
Martial arts, magic, sorcery, and vampires hadn't vanished—they'd simply adapted to the modern world.
The martial arts families, with their centuries-old legacies, remained powerful players. With their accumulated wealth and influence, they thrived in the modern era as much as they had in the age of swords. Their strength endured, proving they were elites then and remain so now.
The Beaupin, Orléans, Brownie, and Avery families had been renowned martial arts clans since Roman times. Today, they're not only silent powerhouses in martial arts but also dominate Europe's corporate world through their sprawling conglomerates.
The Beaupin Group and French Olive Tree Group, based in Paris, belong to the Beaupin and Orléans families. Meanwhile, the Brownie and Avery families oversee GSK and New Valley from London. These families wield immense wealth and frequently form alliances, making them nearly invincible in the business world.
However, recent developments had upset the long-standing balance. A prodigy from the Brownie family, chosen by a legendary martial artist, had gained extraordinary power. This tipped the scales, with the Avery family now aligning itself with the Brownies. The Beaupin and Orléans families, feeling threatened, braced for a potential shift in the power dynamics.
Paris's 9th arrondissement is a haven for the wealthy, where real estate prices soar, and every square meter is precious. The city's finest entertainment venues and luxurious residences are nestled here.
The Union Poly Clubhouse, located along the Seine, is the crème de la crème of elite clubs. Its visitors are exclusively dignitaries and billionaires, with membership fees starting at a steep one million euros.
Tonight, this prestigious venue plays host to the 70th birthday celebration of Thomas Orleans, the patriarch emeritus of the French Olive Tree Group. The clubhouse is illuminated in splendor, and its entrance is a parade of luxury cars. Dashing men and elegant women mingle with the city's elite, creating a dazzling scene that seems to encompass all of Paris's who's-who.
Thomas Orleans, once the head of the Orleans family, passed the reins to his eldest son, Lucie Orleans. Maria, whom Fan Muir had a chance encounter with in the Alps, is Lucie's daughter. This grand occasion, celebrating the legacy of the former president of the French Olive Tree Group, has drawn an illustrious guest list, including business tycoons, martial arts prodigies, and even high-ranking government officials.
The clubhouse boasts security measures rivaling those reserved for heads of state. Guards and elite family protectors discreetly patrol every corner, ensuring a safe and seamless event.
The second floor of the clubhouse is an epitome of grandeur and sophistication. With gleaming marble floors, massive crystal chandeliers, and the soft hum of classical music filling the air, the ambiance is nothing short of regal.
Waitresses in form-fitting dresses glide gracefully through the crowd, their trays brimming with champagne flutes. A long table, adorned with fresh blooms, displays an array of delicacies and fruits for guests to enjoy at their leisure.
Men in tailored suits radiate an air of refinement, while women in stunning evening gowns exude elegance. Smiles are exchanged with polished ease, whether between acquaintances or strangers, as guests clink glasses in polite acknowledgment. Conversations range from soft murmurs to hearty laughter, with the more outgoing attendees expertly navigating the room. Despite the convivial atmosphere, the smiles often betray a hint of superficiality—hallmarks of the high-society events where networking reigns supreme.
When Fan Muir and Helena entered, they became the center of attention. The young aristocrats couldn't resist sneaking glances at Helena's striking figure, while Fan Muir, standing by her side, found himself under scrutiny.
Although Fan Muir's facial features were unremarkable, his athletic build, the elegance of his bespoke suit, and the sparkle of a diamond watch added a touch of mystery. His composed demeanor and noble smile gave him an air of distinction, leading many to assume he must hail from a prominent family.
Helena, radiant and poised, had her arm gently linked with Fan Muir's. Her pale blue off-shoulder gown highlighted her impeccable figure, enhancing her charm and sophistication.
As they mingled, a tall, graceful woman in a matching pale blue gown approached. It was Maria, Helena's childhood friend and Fan Muir's acquaintance from the Alps. With a teasing smile, she chided Helena, "What took you so long? I've been waiting forever!" Her curious gaze then landed on Fan Muir. Despite finding him vaguely familiar, she couldn't reconcile the polished and gentlemanly figure before her with the clumsy boy she had once met in the Alps.
"Oh, when did you find yourself a boyfriend? And you didn't even tell me! I thought I was your best friend!" Maria teased, pretending to pout in mock annoyance.
A rosy blush spread across Helena's cheeks as she rolled her eyes at Maria. She walked over, entwined her arm with Maria's, and leaned in to whisper something into her ear.
"So that's the story? Only a little trickster like you could come up with such a plan!" Maria chuckled, her eyes sparkling with amusement as she snuck a glance at Fan Muir, who stood poised and composed not far away. "Not bad, not bad at all!" she added softly, her laughter bubbling out again and drawing curious glances from nearby guests.
"Ugh, nothing good ever comes out of your mouth! I'm done talking to you!" Helena retorted, her cheeks flushing a deeper shade of pink. She playfully pinched Maria's arm, shot her a mock glare, and turned to head toward Fan Muir.
As she approached, Helena's gaze lingered on Fan Muir, who was exuding effortless charm while politely greeting the guests. There was a faint glimmer of admiration in her eyes, but her heart grew heavy as she thought to herself, If only he were Orlando… That would be perfect. I wonder who the Bronte family will send to the banquet tonight.
Her musings were interrupted by an unwelcome figure—Paul Orleans, Maria's cousin. Though dressed impeccably and feigning the demeanor of a gentleman, Paul's coarse mannerisms betrayed his true nature. "Helena, you're looking more stunning than ever!" he said smoothly, flashing what he probably thought was a charming smile.
Because of the longstanding ties between the Beaubon and Orleans families—and her close friendship with Maria—Helena frequently ran into Paul at social events. While Paul hid his lecherous thoughts well, Helena's sharp instincts picked up on his true intentions. The sight of his smile made her stomach turn, though her polished manners prevented her from showing her disgust. Instead, she offered a reserved smile and nodded politely. "Thank you for the compliment," she said coolly.
Helena's refined upbringing and experience navigating high-society circles had taught her to mask her true feelings when dealing with insufferable socialites. Yet, this charade felt exhausting and insincere, which was exactly why she had brought Fan Muir along—to ward off unwanted advances like Paul's.
Not far away, Fan Muir continued exchanging polite greetings with unfamiliar guests, his posture and smile radiating gentlemanly grace. Yet, his sharp gaze remained fixed on Helena. He quickly noticed her discomfort and the distasteful smirk of the man standing before her. Fan Muir could easily discern Paul's unsavory intentions and disliked him instantly.
Without hesitation, he strode over to Helena. With a calm and confident air, he wrapped a protective arm around her waist and, in a soft but firm voice, said, "Helena, aren't you going to introduce me to your friend?"