Chapter 10
Beatrix, simmering with indignation, a torrent of retorts brewing, was silenced by a sharp, commanding male voice that sliced through the tension like a knife. An imposing figure, broad-shouldered and impeccably tailored, entered. His charisma hit harder than any verbal attack. His hair, the kind women threw themselves at, framed his features perfectly; but it was the hard press of his lips and the dangerous glint in his gaze that truly commanded attention. The crowd instinctively parted, creating a clear path to Aurora. He removed his suit jacket and draped it over her shoulders with a possessive gesture that sent ripples of whispers through the room.
Aurora glanced at the jacket; the familiar material sent a shiver down her skin. It reminded her of her death in her past life, when this very man—or one strikingly similar—had offered her the same comfort. The warmth felt the same. It always had. A fleeting memory, a flicker of softness, played across her eyes as she looked at Daxon. Unlike everyone else, she wasn't intimidated by his presence.
Many in the room didn't recognize Daxon, but the sudden stiffening of the most powerful families spoke volumes. "Mr. Harrison," Beatrix’s voice wavered, betraying a flicker of unease that Daxon, a Jydratic himself, readily detected. Her usual composure faltered; she instinctively stood, the tension in the air crackling. She was so rattled she didn't even notice the sting of her fresh cuts.
Daxon didn't give her a glance. His focus remained on Aurora's injured hand, his brow furrowed with concern. Sensing her opportunity slipping, Beatrix tried again, asking tentatively, "Mr. Harrison, do you know Miss Aurora Crawford?"
A cold sweat broke out on her back. If Daxon was supporting Aurora, this was no longer simply about revenge. The consequences were far greater. In a desperate attempt to regain control, Beatrix ripped the bandage from her face, revealing the wound. "Mr. Harrison, you don't know the half of it. Aurora, with no respect for her elders, struck me, leaving this wound." She dramatically pointed at Jaxon, attempting to implicate him in her twisted narrative. "She even tried to attack her own father. She's cruel and out of control, with no sense of propriety."
Jaxon raised an eyebrow but didn't correct her. Unsure of Daxon's connection to Aurora, given her recent return, he let Beatrix's assumptions slide, seeing no need to intervene. Daxon's eyes narrowed as they swept over Beatrix's face, making her believe her words had landed. Feeling a surge of confidence, she continued, "And look at the tiara she's wearing! I was simply being kind, suggesting she not wear a fake, but she insulted me. I tried to correct her, and she hit me! Who behaves like that? She's nothing but a violent, ungrateful brat."
Beatrix, assuming Daxon would help, wasted no time launching every petty accusation, hoping to paint Aurora in the worst possible light. Her words tumbled out in a rush, as if she feared Daxon would change his mind.
Chapter 11
Maura couldn't help but stare at the breathtakingly handsome man defending Aurora. She stepped forward. "Aurora, why don't you just apologize to Mr. Newton? You made Mom buy you that ridiculously expensive dress, and then you spilled juice on mine. We're family, I can let that slide, but you're acting like the world owes you something. You can't just do whatever you want."
Everyone expected Daxon, faced with these complaints, to condemn Aurora. But his response was a slow, deliberate verdict. "Hurting your enemy at the cost of wounding yourself. Not a wise strategy," Daxon said plainly, as if summarizing a failed business deal.
Aurora raised her hand, blood still trickling from the cuts. She blew softly on the wound, a nonchalant smile playing on her lips. Daxon studied her. How could someone not fear pain? He sensed something lost, something broken in her; she reminded him of… something. He turned to Patrick, the family doctor. "Come here and tend to her wound." A flicker of desperation crossed Patrick's eyes, revealing Daxon's power.
Aurora remained silent, her own face still untreated. The mere mention of her maiden name was enough to make her tremble, a memory like a knife in her heart. But now, Daxon, someone far more powerful than her father, addressed her without the usual patronizing politeness, and she didn't dare protest. Even though her father was a Chapman from Jydratica, they were a minor branch. Daxon, however, was the head of the Harrison Group.
"Assault and defamation. Which course would you prefer—legal action or compensation?" Daxon’s tone was as calm as if he were discussing a business deal. He picked up a crystal glass from the table and tapped it lightly. The sharp, melodic chime was a striking contrast to the tense room. Only Daxon and Aurora remained seated; he was completely at ease. The accusations Beatrix hurled at Aurora had boomeranged with full force.
Everyone knew the Harrison Group's lawyers were undefeated. Beatrix knew she couldn't deny the assault charge, but she wouldn't accept defamation. "Mr. Harrison, might I ask how I've committed defamation?" Beatrix struggled to maintain her composure, her voice wavering slightly.
Daxon's attention shifted briefly to Aurora, who sat calmly as her wound was treated. Her uninjured hand propped her chin; her eyes sparkled with mischief as she watched him. There was no fear or greed, only sharp curiosity and wicked amusement. She's still enjoying the show, Daxon thought, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
"You publicly accused her tiara of being fake," he said smoothly, smiling. "That tiara, by the way, was designed and delivered personally by Lavalier Jewel's head designer to me. I then gifted it to Miss Aurora Crawford. Do you really think I would give her anything counterfeit?" His words were measured, but the challenge was clear.
Beatrix's face turned ghastly pale. She knew Daxon could obtain a Lavalier tiara, but the idea that he casually gifted one worth tens of millions to Aurora was hard to believe. That brand was a symbol of prestige. "Oh, Mr. Harrison, you must be joking," Beatrix's voice wavered, fear creeping in. She realized that in accusing Aurora, she had indirectly insulted Daxon. And offending Daxon was a mistake few dared to make.
"Well then, maybe we'll opt for compensation. How much do you think is appropriate?" she stammered, her voice shaky.
"The person you wronged is Miss Aurora Crawford. Why don't you ask her?" Daxon said coolly, his eyes lingering on Aurora's injured hand.
Relief flooded Beatrix's chest. Aurora, in her mind, was a country girl. A few hundred thousand dollars would settle the score. Forcing a smile, Beatrix said, "Miss Aurora Crawford, I'm terribly sorry for staining your dress. How about I offer you the entire new season's collection from Thom & Gortex as compensation?"
The collection's value approached three million dollars—a sum Beatrix wouldn't have considered if Daxon weren't involved. But Thom & Gortex clothes didn't interest Aurora. She wanted cash. Her eyes flickered towards Daxon, who seemed to be enjoying the show.
Aurora didn't miss a beat. "Mrs. Newton, it's not just about the dress. You accused me of wearing a knock-off—a gift from Mr. Harrison himself. That's not just an insult to me; it's a hit to his reputation as well. Surely, a few dresses won't cover the damage caused by such a claim, don't you think?"