Chapter 132 A Gift of Trust
Veyra set the crystal glass back onto the white tablecloth with a sharp, heavy clink.
Her cheeks were flushed bright red, and her chest rose and fell in quick, shallow breaths. She had just spat a mouthful of wine worth more than what most normal people earned in an entire year right back into the glass.
Wesley sat frozen across from her, his fork hovering mid-air. He stared at her like she had suddenly grown a second head, his expression a chaotic mix of utter confusion and pure disbelief.
"What in the world are you doing?" he asked, his voice cracking slightly.
Veyra grabbed a cloth napkin and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, trying to regain her composure.
"I can’t drink this," she said bluntly.
"Why not?"
"Because I’m pregnant."
Wesley blinked, leaning back against his chair. "I know you’re pregnant, Veyra. You literally had a glass earlier."
"That was completely different," she countered, shaking her head. "I only tasted it. I didn’t actually swallow it."
Wesley’s eyebrows shot straight up toward his hairline. "You didn’t swallow it?"
"No," she said casually. "I just let a tiny bit sit on my tongue so I could figure out what it tasted like."
"Then why did you spit it out just now?"
Veyra looked at him with an incredulous expression, as if he had just asked why humans needed air to breathe.
"Because alcohol is a known teratogen," she explained, using a tone that sounded like a tired doctor dealing with a stubborn patient. "It can cause serious birth defects and developmental issues. Pregnant women aren’t supposed to drink any alcoholic beverages at all."
Wesley stared at her. His mouth opened, closed, and then opened again, but no words came out for a solid five seconds.
"You knew that," he said slowly, processing the information. "The whole time you were sitting here, you knew that."
"Yes."
"And you still ordered it and put it in your mouth?"
"I was curious." She gave a light shrug of her shoulders. "I just wanted to know what a million-dollar bottle of wine actually tasted like. Now I know. And I’m done."
Wesley kept his eyes locked on her for a long, quiet moment. Then, his shoulders started to shake, and he burst out laughing. It wasn’t a fake, polite chuckle either, it was a loud, full-bodied laugh that echoed off the high ceilings of the private room.
"You are absolutely unbelievable," he wheezed, shaking his head.
Veyra offered a small, proud smile. "I’ve been told."
Wesley picked up the heavy bottle of Romanée-Conti. He looked at the fancy label, then glanced up at her, and then stared back down at the bottle in his hand.
"So," he began, letting out a heavy sigh, "what you’re telling me is that I have to finish this entire bottle all by myself."
"Looks like it."
"By myself," he repeated, emphasizing every syllable.
"Yes."
"A bottle worth over a million dollar. Just me."
Veyra nodded innocently. "That’s the price of curiosity, Wesley."
Wesley shook his head in half-hearted disbelief, but he didn’t seem truly upset. He tipped the bottle and poured himself a fresh glass, taking a long, slow sip.
"I am definitely going to remember tonight," he muttered, resting his chin on his hand. "The night I drank a million-dollar bottle of wine completely alone because my pregnant guest decided to spit hers back into the cup."
"I’m sure you’ll survive the trauma," she teased.
"Barely."
With the awkwardness stripped away, the atmosphere relaxed. They ended up talking for hours, lost in conversation while the restaurant quieted down around them.
Wesley shared stories about his early years in business, the dirty deals he had to pull off just to stay afloat, the dangerous enemies he had made along the way, and the few loyal allies he managed to keep. Veyra sat back and listened, completely hooked on every word.
She had never met anyone quite like Wesley. He was sharp, calculating, and ruthless when he needed to be, but there was an unexpected honesty to him. He didn’t pretend to be a saint or mask his intentions behind fake politeness.
"You’re pretty different from the people I usually deal with," he noted quietly as he signaled for the check.
Veyra tilted her head. "Different how?"
"Most people who figure out who I am fall into two categories," he explained, swirling the last bit of dark red liquid in his glass. "They either try to suck up to me to get money, or they get terrified and run away as fast as they can." He paused, a smirk touching his lips. "You just sat here, picked my brain, and spat out my expensive wine."
Veyra let out a genuine laugh. "I take it that’s a first for you?"
"Definitely a first."
When the night finally came to an end, Wesley walked her out toward the private elevator.
As they waited for the doors to open, he reached into his inner jacket pocket and pulled out a sleek, small black card. The edges were dipped in solid gold, and a crest was deeply embossed right in the center.
Veyra recognized it immediately. It was the exact same card Professor Sterling had been forced to surrender earlier.
"Here," Wesley said, holding it out toward her. "This is for you."
Veyra blinked, looking from the card up to his face. "The VIP card?"
"Yes."
"Professor Sterling’s card?"
"Formerly his," Wesley corrected smoothly. "Now it belongs to you."
Veyra looked at the gold-rimmed card, but she kept her hands firmly at her sides. "Wesley, I really can’t take this. It’s way too much."
"Take it," he said, his tone turning surprisingly firm. "This isn’t just some standard discount card for the Bordeaux Grand Hotel, Veyra. It’s an official certificate of honor for elite guests of the Ravenwood Society."
Veyra’s eyes widened slightly.
"With this card, you’ll get top-tier treatment everywhere we operate," Wesley continued, nudging the card closer to her. "Restaurants, hotels, private clubs, resorts... anywhere the Ravenwood Society has a footprint."
He stepped a bit closer, lowering his voice.
"More importantly, it grants you immediate protection. If you ever find yourself in real danger, you show this card to any Ravenwood member, and they are obligated to help you. No questions asked."
Veyra looked down at the card, feeling the weight of what he was offering. "Wesley... this is seriously too much."
"It really isn’t," he said gently. "You earned it tonight. You stood your ground against Professor Sterling, against Xiomara, and against everyone else in that room. You proved what you’re capable of."
Veyra stared at the dark card for a moment longer before looking back up at him. "I don’t even know what to say to that."
"Just say thank you and take it."
Reluctantly, Veyra reached out and took the card. It felt heavy and smooth in her palm, still warm from his jacket.
She ran her thumb over the metallic crest on the front, remembering how desperate Professor Sterling had been to hold onto it.
"Professor Sterling looked like he wanted to faint when he gave this up," she remarked softly.
Wesley nodded, a cold grin touching his face. "Of course he did. He knew exactly what he was losing, the safety net, the status, and the access."
Veyra turned the card over, feeling the smooth gold edge under her skin. "Thank you, Wesley. Really."
Wesley smiled, resting his hands in his pockets. "Don’t thank me just yet. Think of this as my initial investment in you."
"An investment?"
"I believe in your potential, Mrs. Thorne. I have a feeling you’re going to do incredible things down the line." He paused, his eyes narrowing playfully. "And I don’t think you’re the type of person who lets her investors lose money."
Veyra held his gaze, her tone dropping into something steady and confident. "I definitely won’t."
"I know."
She slipped the card into her handbag, zipping it securely shut.
The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime.
Veyra stepped inside and turned around to face him. Wesley stayed standing in the hallway, holding the elevator door with one hand.
"Take care of yourself out there," he said smoothly.
"You too, Wesley."
"And remember, Veyra..."
She raised an eyebrow. "Hmm?"
"My offer isn’t going anywhere. One year. Zero pressure. Just an open door whenever you’re ready."
A small, knowing smile touched her lips. "I know. Goodnight, Wesley."
The heavy metal doors slowly slid shut, hiding his smiling face as the elevator started its smooth descent.
Far away from the city, the Silvermist Mountains were completely dead and silent.
Massive, jagged stone peaks rose sharply into the pitch-black night sky, their rough edges cutting through the dark clouds above. Thick, white snow blanketed the higher slopes, glittering faintly under the moonlight while harsh icy winds howled through the deep valleys below.
Suddenly, a rhythmic, heavy thumping noise shattered the quiet.
The deep roar of helicopter blades vibrated through the freezing air.
A midnight-black helicopter breached the mountain ridge, its high-powered searchlights cutting thick beams through the darkness and swirling snow. It descended smoothly over a flat stretch of clearing near the edge of a cliff, the heavy wind from the rotors blowing thick clouds of snow into the air.
The aircraft touched down gently on the frozen rock, its engines slowly winding down.
There was no crew onboard. No bodyguards, no co-pilot, and no assistants.
The pilot was entirely alone.
Dorian stepped out into the freezing night air, pulling his heavy dark coat tight around his shoulders as he looked out across the empty, frozen wilderness.