Chapter 280

Adrian Valdemar had memorized every line of this scene.

Professor Eloise Fairchild had meticulously dissected the emotional journey of the Young Marquis for him.

During the first rehearsal, his performance was riddled with flaws.

After countless corrections from his mentor, he finally grasped the essence—only then did he dare accompany Sophia Laurent to the audition.

"Action."

At Lucas Sheridan's command, the set fell into complete silence.

All eyes locked onto Adrian.

Under the weight of their gazes, his body trembled imperceptibly.

He curled his lips into a roguish smirk, his voice dripping with languid amusement. "What's so glorious about military achievements? A life of wine and song is far more pleasurable."

His delivery was unexpectedly polished, capturing the essence of a spoiled nobleman with startling accuracy.

Were it not for the faint tremor in his limbs, it would have been flawless.

Just then, a servant from the Marquis's household rushed in. "Young Master, stop drinking—you must return home at once—"

The Young Marquis swirled his wine cup lazily. "Why the hurry? The night is still young."

The servant's face crumpled. "My lord... your father... he was stabbed by rebels outside the city walls. His body... has just been brought back to the manor."

The smile froze on the Young Marquis's face.

For several seconds, he stood motionless. His voice cracked. "What... did you say?"

His first instinct was disbelief—surely this was some cruel jest.

But he dismissed the thought instantly.

No servant would dare fabricate such news about the Marquis.

The Young Marquis staggered to his feet, knocking over his wine cup. He stumbled toward home, his movements unsteady.

As he turned, the playful glint in his eyes shattered into raw panic.

When he reached the manor gates, the sound of wailing from within rooted him to the spot.

After a prolonged silence, he pushed open the doors to his father's courtyard with trembling hands.

The sight of the Old Marquis's lifeless body engulfed him in tidal waves of grief.

The light in his bright eyes dimmed instantly.

A single tear traced down his cheek unnoticed.

The audition ended.

The set remained eerily quiet.

Lucas was the first to snap out of it.

He studied Adrian with a furrowed brow.

Sophia stood nearby, equally perplexed.

Both had noticed Adrian's trembling from the moment he stepped on set—a stark contrast to his flawless performance during last night's rehearsal.

Was it nerves?

The crew gradually regained their composure.

Their glances at Adrian carried pity.

His lines and expressions had been impeccable.

But the disjointed body language ruined it.

Lucas was notoriously exacting, and Richard Lowell's provocations had only intensified his demands.

Otherwise, the role of the Young Marquis wouldn't have remained uncast for so long.