Meanwhile
Soft music, the clatter of utensils, and lively chatter filled the grand banquet hall of Governor Wilby's manor.
Guests were dressed to impress in their finest attire.
At the center of attention stood Patricia, radiant in a silver, glittering gown that hugged her luscious figure with effortless grace. Her hair was braided and styled to perfection, dusted with shimmering glitter. Around her neck hung a silver horse-shaped necklace that caught the light with every movement. She was the femme fatale of the evening—and no one dared to challenge it.
"I must say... I'm truly impressed by your performance, Ms. Milton," said one guest, a fellow derby racer in a sharp black suit. "You've barely competed in a full horse derby season, yet you're already on the fast track to claiming the title of Second World Horse Derby Racing Champion. That's incredible. You must share your secret."
"Indeed," another racer chimed in. "Tell us how you do it. Not that we'll be able to pull it off—but hell, we'll certainly try our luck!"
Laughter rippled through the group.
Patricia smiled.
"Well... honestly, it's not really about skill. It's about knowing your game and running with the flow. Your instincts will guide you when you're facing a challenge. Sure, it's complicated—but with a little faith, you can pull it off. Without that, everything can come crashing down before you even realize it."
The racers murmured in agreement.
"Indeed. Just a little faith can make the impossible... possible."
A new voice joined the conversation.
All heads turned to see Congressman Saccoth waltzing toward the group, dressed in an impeccable silver suit that perfectly matched Patricia's ensemble.
Patricia's smile deepened. She was genuinely glad someone she cared for had come to the party.
Trailing behind him was Bernard, striking in a black suit with a silver tie. His hair was styled in a tousled, effortless way that made him look disarmingly handsome. He smiled as he locked eyes with Patricia and approached the group at a measured pace.
Patricia returned a faint smile, then quickly averted her gaze—turning instead to Philip, who was also beaming at her. She feared her expression might betray her. A blush was already creeping up her cheeks, and she didn't want Bernard to misunderstand that she was attracted..
Or was she?
"Guess it's true—you're the one who inherited Milton's golden charm after all, Philip. Who knew she'd blow us away with such incredible performances in her debut season? If that's not a golden prodigy, then what is?" said an elderly man, a former derby racer, with a knowing smile.
"Indeed," Philip replied. "Ms. Milton is a golden prodigy—one of a kind, and even better than her father. I trust you'll all treat her with the respect she deserves. I know this game is a clash of fierce titans, each chasing the winner's circle. But if we keep competing without recognizing the joy of friendly rivalry, we risk losing what makes this sport beautiful. Childish pettiness leads to downfall far quicker than healthy competition."
The group murmured in agreement.
"That's right, Mr. Saccoth."
A smooth, slightly husky voice echoed from behind them.
Steven stepped into the circle, thankfully dressed in a dignified red and black formal suit. His tousled brown-blond hair was neatly combed, giving him the air of a gentleman—perhaps because his father was also present, watching him like a hawk from across the room.
Any slip up or mischief could land him into serious trouble.
He strolled up to Patricia and stopped in front of her.
"That's exactly what I told Ms. Milton earlier today," he said with a charming smile. "This is a friendly competition, not a bloody war. The Bulldog is looking forward to a clean match—not a violent spectacle. I assure you, the upcoming marathon race will be fair and square. No need to keep your guard up. Just train hard and enjoy the game."
"That would be believable... if it were true, Steven."
All heads turned toward the voice.
It was Bernard.
He stepped forward and came to stand beside Patricia.
She flinched slightly at his sudden proximity. His deep cologne filled her senses, stirring something inside her she didn't want to acknowledge. The scent clung to him, making his already devastating handsomeness even more unbearable.
And she hated it.
'Oh my God, Patricia—snap out of it!
Yes, he's handsome. Yes, he's a down-to-earth heartthrob. But he's not your agent. He's not the love of your life. This is just petty attraction—nothing more. So get a grip and don't fall for it.'
She gave herself a mental slap and forced her attention back to the conversation.
"Oh... my apologies. I didn't realize the great White Knight of the derby was gracing this party with his presence," Steven said smoothly. "It's truly a pleasure to see you, Mr. Crisby. I thought we'd see you in the competition this season. Guess you dipped your hand in the wrong bucket for the Golden Horse not to choose you for the thrill show. Tsk. That's got to sting."
Bernard's jaw twitched at the jab.
"Well, it's not all that bad. I needed a break from the thrill show anyway—and unlike the nonsense you're spouting, my reason's actually believable."
Steven gasped in mock offense.
"Excuse me? Me, spouting nonsense? How incredibly rude, Mr. Crisby. I'm merely echoing Mr. Saccoth's sentiment—that the derby should be a friendly sport, not a bloody war. What part of that is nonsense? Are you saying Mr. Saccoth is wrong? That the derby is a war and not a friendly match?"
A ripple of murmurs spread through the group, some casting disapproving glances at Bernard.
He sighed.
"Oh, cut the crap, Steven. You know damn well I wasn't contradicting Mr. Saccoth. You also know exactly what kind of nonsense you just spewed."
He turned to the group.
"Everyone here knows the Bulldog's reputation—and we all know it's anything but 'friendly.' So don't you dare try to sugarcoat this for us—or for Patricia. This competition isn't going to be fair and square. Those are sweet words from a venomous snake, waiting to strike once its prey is lulled into a false sense of safety. I can't believe someone as smart as you would fall for that. Tsk."
Steven smirked.
"Well, I'm sorry. I didn't think some people were still clinging to the past, nursing grudges. But you're right—you all have every right to doubt the Bulldog's transformation. I'm sure he won't hold it against you. He hasn't exactly been... the best sport. But maybe this season, he'll prove us wrong. Maybe it's time for a change."
He turned to Patricia, his tone softening.
"Rest assured, Ms. Milton. This race will be a friendly thrill of a lifetime. Excuse me."
He nodded politely to Mr. Saccoth, then turned and walked away.
"Well, that was quite the showdown, don't you think?" the elderly man chuckled.
"Now then, what do you say we give Ms. Milton a break from all this flattery and sass, and make our way to the buffet table, hmm?"
Laughter followed, and the group began to disperse, leaving only Philip, Bernard, and Patricia behind.
Patricia heaved a sigh.
"Finally, some air. I was beginning to suffocate under their intensity."
Philip chuckled.
"Well... this is only the beginning. They'll mob you again and again, probing for a weak spot they can exploit. This derby really is a bloody war. There's no such thing as friends here. Maybe—just maybe—it would've been different if your father had taken the golden throne. Things might've been better."
"This game is full of jackals, wolves in sheep's clothing, and venomous snakes in silk," Bernard added.
"Watch your back—or things will turn ugly fast."
"It's okay, guys. I know exactly what I'm up against," Patricia said calmly.
"I just hope things don't go the way they're planning. I just want to get through this unscathed. That's all that matters."
"It's alright, my dear," Philip said gently.
"You don't have to worry. Things will work out—I know it. Just stay alert and be ready to face the challenge. You've already proven you're not an easy target, and that's got them on edge. The more nervous they are, the easier it'll be to beat them. So don't worry. You've got this."
Patricia smiled.
"Thank you, Uncle Philip. I really needed that."
Philip nodded and placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder.
"You're welcome, my dear. Now, if you'll excuse me—I need to speak with old man Oliver before this party ends. There are a few things we need to discuss."
He excused himself and walked toward the elderly man from earlier, now chatting with Governor Wilby. The three men began conversing like old friends at a reunion.
"Guess we're on our own now," Bernard said.
Patricia turned to him.
"Yeah, I guess we are."
"Mmm... garden?" Bernard asked, raising an eyebrow.
Patricia gave a small smile.
"Sure. Of course."
Bernard returned her smile, then extended his arm. Patricia rolled her eyes but hooked hers through his. Together, they made their way out into the garden.