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Anna smiled slightly, elegantly extending her long hand toward Pox, her fingertips hovering before his eyes, her delicate and fair palm seemingly capable of leading him into the unknown temptation. Her gaze was deep, laced with a hint of mischief and calculation, the corners of her mouth lifting gently as she spoke in a soft tone that carried an irresistible pressure, "Oh... Mr. Pox, please take me to meet that... chubby uncle."
Pox was taken aback, his gaze flickering between her fingertips and the distant Andaro. He swallowed hard, as if enchanted by her words and actions. At that moment, his heartbeat thundered in his ears, and his palms began to sweat slightly. He knew Andaro's character well—arrogant and difficult to deal with, he was always blunt and guarded even with acquaintances. Would taking Anna to meet him cause unnecessary trouble? Yet the unique aura radiating from this mysterious woman made it hard for him to resist; he sensed that this opportunity might be an adventure, perhaps a moment to showcase his courage and wit in front of his friends.
Pox's hesitation was evident, but Anna saw through his thoughts. A cold smile returned to her lips, a glimmer of mischief flashing in her eyes as she softly teased, "What's wrong, Pox? Are you scared?" Her gentle tone carried a hint of mockery, as if his hesitation had revealed an inner vulnerability.
She leaned in slightly closer, her voice becoming soft yet suggestive: "Don't worry; I'm just curious about your uncle's 'influence.' Besides, helping me will only make you shine in front of those friends of yours. Just imagine—when you outsmart your friends, will they still dare to laugh at you?"
Pox paused for a moment, uncertainty flickering in his eyes alongside a spark of excitement. Anna's words felt like an enticing promise, gently stirring the pride and competitiveness deep within him. This elegant woman seemed not just a beautiful face but a strategist who was confidently guiding him with undeniable assurance.
"Well... okay then." Pox finally made up his mind, his tone tinged with nervousness and caution. He took a deep breath, mustering his courage as he slightly bowed and reached out his hand toward Anna, tentatively grasping her fingertips. Unable to resist asking, he said, "By the way, miss, I still don't know your name..."
Anna smiled faintly and nodded gracefully, her fingers gently clasping Pox's palm as she whispered, "Just call me Anna." Her voice was calm and confident, a mysterious smile flashing in her eyes as if this were merely the simplest introduction. Her grip was not tight; her fingertips lingered lightly on Pox's palm, evoking an indescribable sense of intimacy and pressure.
"Then... Miss Anna, please follow me." Pox said softly, a flicker of unease crossing his eyes while excitement bubbled within him at this adventure. He gently took her hand and led her through the crowd toward where Andaro was located.
Under Pox's guidance, Anna moved gracefully and composedly through the throng of people, her steps steady and her gaze still focused and profound. Pox led the way with a mix of tension and anticipation; he couldn't help but glance back at Anna. Her smile remained serene while her calm demeanor felt unsettling. He sensed that this stunning woman was not acting on impulse; every movement seemed laden with meaning—a perfect puzzle that made him forget the danger surrounding them.
As Pox's tall figure guided Anna through the banquet hall, they inadvertently became the center of attention. His palms were slightly sweaty and trembled with cautious movements; he felt both astonished and proud to be accompanying such an extraordinary woman. He dared not look at Anna's face directly but maintained their connection carefully, fearing that any clumsiness might shatter this precious moment. In contrast to him, Anna moved lightly with an indifferent gaze and a barely-there smile on her lips, completely ignoring the envious or astonished looks directed their way as if she were born for such scrutiny.
As they progressed forward, whispers began to rise among the crowd—some laced with jealousy and mockery while others were purely expressions of envy. A few women exchanged cold glances filled with disdain as they murmured:
"Another vase trying to climb the social ladder," one sharp female voice whispered derisively. "A woman like her will be forgotten after tonight; she'll soon be played out by those young masters."
"Exactly," another person lightly scoffed, sneering in agreement. "This kind of woman is just a clown seeking attention; it won't be long before she's cast aside."
Anna's ears caught these malicious words, yet she seemed utterly unconcerned, even allowing a faint smile to grace her lips. She understood the implications of their words and recognized the mindset of these women. She had long seen through the venom and jealousy behind their remarks. The deep hostility in their gazes was not merely directed at her as a "decorative vase," but rather at all women who stole the spotlight. She knew that such comments were nothing more than projections of their inability to be the center of attention, coupled with an unwillingness to accept others' success. Anna was acutely aware that these women craved the same kind of attention; unable to attain it themselves, they turned their resentment towards others, seeking to soothe their own feelings of inadequacy.
She chuckled inwardly, recalling the phrase often uttered by those around her: "Why must women make things difficult for other women?" Yet she had long understood that the most ruthless oppressors in this world were often their own kind. In their quest for male approval and to satisfy their vanity, they became enemies to one another, playing the most insidious and cunning roles in this power game—undermining each other, slandering one another, and even willing to sacrifice others for a mere advantage. To her, these words were nothing but background noise; she understood these people's mentality too well and knew that their cold mockery was merely a feeble counterattack.
Her steps remained steady and graceful, as if she were dancing to an unspoken melody, exuding an innate confidence and composure. Her smile was effortless, radiating a calm aura that rendered the surrounding judgments meaningless, as if everything around her was merely inconsequential background noise. Pox stole a glance at her, feeling his own tension ease slightly; from her expression, he sensed an inexplicable stabilizing force, as if he had grasped onto something solid that compelled him to straighten his back. He felt that this woman before him was not just a beautiful "vase," but possessed a depth that he could not quite reach—one that evoked a sense of reverence.
He held Anna's hand as if caught in a whirlpool of social interaction, while her unflappable demeanor resembled a sturdy vessel navigating through the turbulent currents of the banquet hall with elegance and fearlessness.
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