"Father." Mary nodded slightly, performing a standard curtsy.
"How are the preparations?" The Duke's gaze swept over her, his eyes devoid of warmth, containing only cold scrutiny.
"Everything is fine," Mary said indifferently.
"That is good." The Duke nodded slightly. "Although tonight's party is just student nonsense, many of those attending are the children of Cabinet Ministers and peers of the House of Lords. For example, the child of Ethan Roy's family, and the daughter of the Admiral..."
He rattled off several names as if enumerating family valuables, each representing a deeply entrenched power.
"I know you are not interested in these things," the Duke changed the subject, his tone allowing for no rebuttal. "But you need to build good relationships with them. If the family's trade lines want to gain more convenience in Parliament, we need these future supporters. This is beneficial for you, and for the entire Morstan family."
It was like this again.
Tools, bargaining chips, exchange of interests.
Since Mary could remember, this was what she heard the most.
The young girl's life was like a precise blueprint that had been planned out; everything served the family's interests, with family interests reigning supreme.
Mary lowered her eyelids, her long lashes concealing the sarcasm and disdain that flashed across the bottom of her azure eyes.
"I understand, Father."
She spoke words that did not come from her heart.
"Very good."
The Duke seemed quite satisfied with her obedience.
He stepped forward and arranged a lock of silver hair on her shoulder like a caring father, but the movement was so stiff it didn't resemble a father at all.
"Remember, my child."
His voice was peaceful and casual, as if discussing an insignificant trifle.
"Do not forget your own identity."
An understated sentence, yet it seemed to awaken certain dusty memories. Mary's voice became soft and submissive, as if that moment of rebellion just now had never existed.
"I understand, Father."
"The carriage is waiting outside. Don't be late."
The door was closed, and silence was restored to the room.
The maids didn't dare to breathe loudly, carefully putting a pair of small sapphire earrings on Mary.
The cold touch from her earlobes made Mary's thoughts increasingly clear.
She looked at the flawless Miss Morstan in the mirror and suddenly felt a bit annoyed.
So, she picked up a hairpin from the dressing table and casually pulled her long silver hair into a loose bun behind her head.
A few strands of broken hair fell naturally by her neck, breaking the original rigidity and dignity, adding a touch of laziness and spontaneity.
This was the few bits of rebellion the young girl could enact.
"Let's leave it like this," she said faintly.
Any more dressing up would be meaningless.
At six o'clock in the evening, the Icebreaker Party was in full swing at the Imperial College auditorium.
Melodious waltz music, glittering crystal chandeliers, men and women in fine clothes holding champagne... everything appeared so glamorous, overflowing with the beauty of youth.
As the host, Timmy Roy was shuttling through the crowd with boundless pride, rightfully enjoying everyone's pursuit and praise.
While enjoying the flattery, his gaze swept over the venue's entrance from time to time, as if waiting for the arrival of a certain important figure.
Charlotte Holmes.
As long as she was willing to come, it proved that he, Timmy Roy, had enough face that even that arrogant genius had to give him some respect.
As for that hillbilly Russell Watson?
He wished the other party wouldn't come.
A guy without even an invitation letter; coming would only be humiliating himself.
Just then, a small commotion came from the entrance of the venue.
Timmy looked over immediately, the smile on his face becoming increasingly brilliant.
Charlotte Holmes—she really came.
Charlotte was still wearing that oversized trench coat, hands in her pockets, looking no different from usual.
Compared to other students who had dressed up specifically for this, she looked like a passerby who had accidentally wandered in.
But that didn't matter.
It didn't matter what she wore; what mattered was that she came, and the identity she represented.
Charlotte Holmes, the sister of Mycroft Holmes, the man known as the British Government.
Moreover, even without dressing up, Charlotte's looks alone standing there were enough to knock everyone down.
Just as everyone's gaze fell on Charlotte, a silver-haired girl in a moon-white dress appeared close behind her.
Mary Morstan.
If Charlotte's arrival was an expected surprise, then Mary's appearance was a miraculous descent that exceeded everyone's expectations.
Countless gazes—shocked, admiring, or jealous—instantly focused on the moon-white figure at the entrance.
She stood there quietly, with the deep night behind her and the brilliant lights before her.
Light and shadow converged on her, making her look not like a mortal, but more like a cold Moon Goddess walking out of a myth.
Timmy Roy went up to welcome her almost immediately, the ingratiating smile on his face even more brilliant than if he had seen his own father.
"Miss Holmes, Miss Morstan, welcome. Your presence truly brings light to this humble party."
However, faced with this enthusiastic and eager flattery, Charlotte just glanced at him faintly, didn't speak, and walked straight past him.
She wasn't even willing to give him a fraction of her attention.
Ignored, Timmy's expression stiffened, and he could only cast his gaze toward Mary.
"Miss Morstan..."
"Mr. Roy," Mary smiled, cutting him off just perfectly.
"Have fun."
After saying that, she also skipped past Timmy and walked toward the direction Charlotte was in.
Timmy Roy's smile thoroughly solidified on his face.
Mary walked to Charlotte's side, and Charlotte seemed to have sensed her gaze as well.
The eyes of the two genius girls met across the air.
There were no flying sparks, nor were swords drawn and bows bent; they didn't even exchange the most basic greetings.
There was only a tacit calm between worthy opponents.
The eye contact between the two lasted only a few seconds, and then they each withdrew their gazes.
Mary stood by the drinks table, holding a glass of lemonade, quietly watching the spinning figures in the center of the dance floor.
Her gaze would occasionally sweep across the entire venue, as if admiring the layout of the whole space, and then she would withdraw it without leaving a trace.
She was looking for someone.
The guy who said, "If I can make it in time, I will go."
Time passed minute by minute; the dance music changed song after song, and the people in the dance floor changed batch after batch.
The glass of lemonade in Mary's hand had already bottomed out, but that familiar figure still had not appeared.
He wouldn't really... not come, right?
As soon as this thought rose, it was forcibly suppressed by Mary herself.
She unconsciously tightened her grip on the glass, the cold touch calming her chaotic thoughts slightly.
What exactly am I expecting?
Expecting him to come?
And then?
Invite me for a dance?
Or is it that I simply want to see a different, vivid existence in this occasion filled with hypocrisy and calculation?
Mary couldn't explain it clearly herself.
She only knew that when her gaze swept over the empty entrance for the umpteenth time, the inexplicable irritability in her heart was about to become impossible to suppress.
Just as that irritability was about to rise into dissatisfaction, or even condense into malice, a cold voice suddenly sounded in Mary's ear:
"He should be at St. Jude Orphanage right now."
Hearing this, Mary subconsciously turned her head and met those grey-blue eyes that seemed capable of perceiving everything.
Charlotte Holmes.
She was holding a glass of champagne she had swiped from somewhere, leaning lazily against a nearby Roman pillar, completely out of tune with the entire party, like a dividing line.
"Apologies, Miss Holmes," Mary's expression returned to that impeccable elegance. "I don't quite understand what you mean."
"No, you understand." Charlotte's voice was flat but carried absolute certainty.
"You are looking for someone, a person who is absent, and I happen to know where he went today."
Mary fell silent.
This detective was even trickier than she had imagined.
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