Chapter 5 - The Seven-Thirty Summons
At exactly 7:28 p.m., Mrs. Farrow walked with measured, precise steps down the main corridor of the east wing. Her heart was beating a frantic rhythm against her ribs, but her face was a mask of absolute, professional calm.
She reached the service entrance of the grand ballroom just as the string quartet was transitioning from a classical Vivaldi piece into a softer, ambient melody.
Standing near the doorway, supervising a row of caterers setting out silver canapés, was Arthur Pendelton, who had somehow wandered past the service barrier. He spotted Mrs. Farrow and frowned, waving a dismissive hand.
“You there—head housekeeper, right?” Pendelton snapped, walking over. “Tell the kitchen to speed up the caviar service. The American delegation expects promptness, not a leisurely country club pace.”
Mrs. Farrow looked down her nose at the billionaire developer with a level of chilling composure that caught him entirely off guard.
“Mr. Pendelton,” Mrs. Farrow said, her voice carrying clearly over the chatter of the room. “You are standing in a restricted service zone.”
Pendelton scoffed, his face flushing red. “Listen here, domestic. I’m a personal friend of Edward Moore. I donate millions to his philanthropic foundations. I’ll stand wherever I damn well please.”
Before Mrs. Farrow could reply, a heavy hand descended onto Pendelton’s shoulder.
Pendelton spun around, ready to unleash a fury of corporate threats, but the words died instantly in his throat.
Standing behind him was Prince Edward himself. The billionaire businessman looked down at the American real estate mogul with eyes like frozen steel.
“Mr. Pendelton,” Edward said, his voice dangerously low. “Mrs. Farrow speaks with my direct authority. If she asks you to step back, you step back. Do I make myself clear?”
Pendelton swallowed hard, sweating profusely under his stiff collar. “A-absolutely, Edward. Of course. Just a misunderstanding.”
Edward dismissed him with a single flick of his wrist, turning his attention to the housekeeper. “Is everything ready, Mrs. Farrow?”
“Yes, Your Royal Highness,” Mrs. Farrow said clearly.
A few nearby American guests—including Senator Vance—froze mid-sentence. Did she just call him... Your Royal Highness?
Before anyone could process the words, Edward nodded. “Proceed to the east drawing room. Bring the designated parties.”
May you like
Mrs. Farrow gave a crisp nod and turned away.
Edward walked briskly toward the grand staircase, leaving a trail of deeply confused American billionaires staring after him in absolute bewilderment.
