Chapter 125

The sun blazed overhead as Nathaniel Prescott extended an invitation to Mr. Bartholomew and his wife to the prestigious Wye Golf Club, hoping to secure their support for the Westguard development.

The exclusive club was nearly deserted today, save for the Prescott family and the Bartholomews' entourage.

Isabella Sinclair had never been skilled at golf, but she dressed the part impeccably. Clad in pristine white golf attire with minimal makeup, she stood beside her daughter, Evelyn, looking more like sisters than mother and daughter.

Bringing Evelyn here had been strategic—Isabella wanted her to make an impression on the Bartholomews.

At twenty-five, Evelyn was at the perfect age for marriage. Isabella wasn’t about to let her daughter’s infatuation with one man limit her prospects.

"Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Bartholomew," Evelyn greeted with practiced grace, dipping into a polite curtsy.

"Oh, Miss Evelyn! You're even lovelier in person than on television," Mrs. Bartholomew remarked with a warm smile.

The compliment made both Isabella and Evelyn stiffen slightly.

Was this a veiled reference to Evelyn’s public apology scandal?

Though the incident had faded from headlines, the internet still circulated unflattering memes of her humiliation.

Mr. Bartholomew cleared his throat, subtly nudging his wife.

Realizing her misstep, Mrs. Bartholomew quickly amended, "What I meant was, your daughter is truly the most beautiful among Elmsworth’s elite young ladies."

"Thank you, Mrs. Bartholomew," Isabella replied smoothly, steering Evelyn forward. "Why didn’t your son join us today? I heard he and Evelyn attended the same university."

"Ah, he had prior commitments," Mrs. Bartholomew said dismissively.

"What a shame. We must arrange another meeting soon," Isabella pressed.

"Perhaps another time," Mrs. Bartholomew replied vaguely before shifting the subject. "By the way, don’t you have another daughter? Why isn’t she here?"

Evelyn’s smile faltered.

The implication was clear—Mrs. Bartholomew wasn’t interested in her.

Isabella’s grip on Evelyn’s arm tightened. "My younger daughter is rather frail. She prefers staying home."

"Oh? Poor thing," Mrs. Bartholomew murmured, her tone laced with disinterest.

Isabella bristled.

Were her daughters mere commodities to be picked at will?

Meanwhile, Nathaniel and Alexander Kingsley had finished several rounds with Mr. Bartholomew, strolling leisurely across the manicured greens.

"Mr. Bartholomew, the Prescott Group owes this opportunity to your generosity," Nathaniel said, shaking his hand firmly.

"Nonsense! We’ve been friends for years. Of course, I’d think of you first," Mr. Bartholomew chuckled.

"Then let’s celebrate tonight!"

"Ah, tonight is my father-in-law’s birthday. I can’t miss it," Mr. Bartholomew declined. "But after we sign the contract on Friday, we’ll drink properly!"

Alexander listened in silence, his expression unreadable, though tension coiled inside him.

He had to act before Friday.

Once the contract was signed, it would be too late.

Just then, a golf cart rolled to a stop nearby.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Bartholomew, Mr. Prescott."

The voice was crisp, melodic—like wind chimes on a summer breeze.

Alexander’s head snapped up.

There, seated in the cart, was Seraphina Lockwood.

His pulse spiked.

Even after yesterday’s humiliation, the sight of her sent heat rushing through his veins.

Evelyn gasped. "How did you get in here?!"

"Through the front gate," Seraphina replied coolly, barely sparing her a glance.

Evelyn’s face burned with remembered shame.

Isabella paled.

But Mrs. Bartholomew’s eyes lit up.

Who was this stunning young woman? She was exactly the kind of daughter-in-law she envisioned!

Daniel Carter stepped out first, offering Seraphina his hand as she descended.

Dressed in a sky-blue golf ensemble with a wide-brimmed white hat, Seraphina looked effortlessly radiant. The breeze teased the hem of her skirt, revealing toned legs that drew more than a few appreciative glances.

Alexander’s jaw tightened when he noticed their matching shirts.

The coincidence felt deliberate.

"Ms. Lockwood, what a surprise," Nathaniel greeted, though his smile didn’t reach his eyes.

"No surprise, Mr. Prescott," Seraphina said, her gaze sharp. "I came specifically to speak with Mr. Bartholomew."

Nathaniel’s smile vanished.

Alexander’s instincts screamed warning.

Seraphina never appeared without reason.

"Mr. Bartholomew," she began, her voice steady, "I understand you’re overseeing the Westguard project in Elmsworth and seeking a development partner."

She met his gaze squarely. "I’d like to propose a collaboration."

Nathaniel and Isabella froze.

Mr. Bartholomew blinked, glancing between Nathaniel and Alexander.

Alexander’s throat burned as he stared at Seraphina, but she refused to acknowledge him.

"Miss, you are...?" Mr. Bartholomew asked, perplexed.

Seraphina extended her hand. "Seraphina Lockwood."

At first, the name meant nothing to him.

Then she added with a faint smile, "Sebastian Lockwood is my father."