Chapter 181: "My Dear Old Friend"

Jordan had insisted on carrying Biscuit that morning.

He picked up both Aren and Biscuit from the front gates of the Sartori estate in a car he had arranged himself, intending to take them directly to the Grand Imperial Opera House.

The chauffeur, however, looked distinctly confused when Jordan gave him the destination. Apparently, the man had been told they were attending a press conference, not an opera house.

Jordan himself was hardly less confused. Then again, he knew Jeremiah Castellano well enough to recognize the man’s particular brand of extravagance. Perhaps he shouldn’t have been surprised.

Even so, a faint irritation settled in his chest as he looked out the window. He had disliked the entire idea of Aren signing with the Castellano Club from the beginning, after all.

Fortunately, the annoyance didn’t survive the drive.

Biscuit spent almost the entire journey sprawled across Jordan’s lap, repeatedly demanding attention with shameless persistence, while Aren chatted happily beside them about all the places she wanted to visit with Jordan around Borgata.

Between Biscuit’s relentless nudging and Aren’s bright voice, there was little room left for Jordan to dwell on the problem that was Jeremiah Castellano.

By the time they arrived, Biscuit seemed to have decided that leaving Jordan’s side was completely unacceptable.

The moment Jordan shifted to get out of the car, Biscuit straightened and planted both front paws against Jordan’s free arm, staring up at him with such determination that the message was unmistakable:

’Carry me.’

’Now.’

Aren immediately frowned when she recognized Biscuit’s intention.

"Biscuit, come on. Jordan still isn’t healed," she pleaded, reaching toward the dog with both hands. "Don’t burden him any more. Come to my side. I’ll carry you."

Biscuit, unfortunately, seemed to regard her suggestion as beneath consideration. His tail continued wagging happily as he pressed himself even closer to Jordan’s chest, displaying absolutely no intention of moving.

Jordan couldn’t help laughing softly at the sight.

"It’s okay, Ariana." He tightened his hold around Biscuit. "He seems to have missed me. I should make it up to him for not seeing him the last time he visited the compound."

His gaze lifted from Biscuit to Aren, and the indulgence in his eyes deepened.

"Besides..." His voice softened. "You’re the star today. Go ahead and get out first. We’ll follow right behind you."

Aren’s frown only deepened. His reassurance had done little to ease her concern.

She reached over and touched the arm holding Biscuit, and the simple contact sent an instant flush creeping across Jordan’s face.

"We’re a team," she said softly, her other hand reaching for the door. "Let’s go out together."

The door swung open with a soft clack.

The instant the reporters and fans outside realized who was stepping out of the car, the quiet of the cabin was obliterated by a deafening storm of voices.

"It’s Ariana Lombardi!"

"Over here, Ariana!"

"Who’s the young man with you? Is he your new boyfriend?"

"Ariana, how many boyfriends do you actually have?"

"Why is he all bandaged up? Did you hit him?"

"Is this domestic violence?"

The barrage hit Aren all at once. Her eyes darted from one reporter to another, trying to determine whom she should answer first.

But then Isidore’s instructions from their training session returned to her with painful clarity.

He had warned her not to answer anything when she first arrived. The actual questions would come during the scheduled Q&A, where she could respond according to everything they’d practiced.

She drew a slow breath, placed a steadying hand on Jordan’s arm, and leaned slightly toward him.

"Jordan, don’t mind them. Let’s go inside."

Beside her, Biscuit looked thoroughly frightened by the noise and the sheer number of people surrounding them.

Jordan, meanwhile, looked more irritated than frightened. His expression tightened at the ridiculous questions being thrown at Aren, but the moment he heard her voice, his features softened.

"Let’s go inside, then."

His broad frame cut through the crowd with surprising ease, shielding Aren and Biscuit as they made their way toward the entrance.

They had barely crossed into the opera house when the atmosphere changed completely.

The shouting outside faded behind the doors, replaced by the sweet fragrance of flowers and the overwhelming grandeur of the white-decorated interior.

Aren stopped dead in her tracks.

She blinked once, then again, her mouth falling slightly open as she took in the sight before her.

"White peonies?" she murmured, staring at the endless arrangements with wide-eyed wonder. "Why are there so many white peonies? They’re all so pretty!"

She turned toward Jordan, her expression brightening with even more excitement.

"I wonder if we could ask them to let us bring some home after the event. It would be such a waste to throw all these peonies away."

"Of course you can."

The voice that answered her was utterly charming, somehow sweeter than the floral fragrance filling the foyer.

"In fact, I could arrange to have every peony here sent to you, if you wish."

Aren recognized the voice immediately.

She turned to find Jeremiah Castellano approaching from the entrance in calm, measured strides, carrying himself with the effortless elegance of a fashion model.

He wore another immaculate white suit, holding a large white peony in one hand. With a familiar warm smile on his face, he looked perfectly at home among the flowers.

He stopped before Aren, reached for her hand, and, with a flourish so polished it might have belonged on a stage, lowered his head and pressed a gentle kiss to her knuckles.

Cameras erupted around them.

The rapid clicking was almost deafening.

"But that comes only after today’s main event, my dear Ariana," Jeremiah added gracefully. "For now, allow me to present the most beautiful lady here with the only thing worthy of matching her beauty."

He lifted the peony toward her with exquisite elegance, looking up at her with a smile charming enough to make half the fangirls outside the opera house swoon.

Aren stared at the flower, her face warming.

"...Um, thank you very much, Mister Castellano."

She lowered her head politely and tentatively accepted the flower. Bringing it closer, she inhaled its delicate fragrance, and her expression softened — until a flicker of uncertainty crossed her face.

"But... I remember you ordering plenty of other flowers. I can’t quite remember their names now, but... why are there only white peonies today?"

Jeremiah’s expression instantly transformed into one of utter devastation.

"Ah, my dear Ariana." He pressed a hand dramatically against his chest. "You’re breaking my heart all over again. Of course I had the entire original order burned to ashes and replaced it with this one."

He shrugged as though the explanation were perfectly reasonable.

"All because of you."

Aren’s eyes widened.

"B-because of me?"

"Of course." Jeremiah looked puzzled by her surprise. "Who else is this event for? Naturally, I have to tailor everything to the tastes of my number-one superstar."

Then, just as quickly, something dreamy entered his expression. He stepped closer, leaning toward her ear until his voice dropped to a soft, almost seductive whisper.

"And besides... how should I put it? Whenever I look at these pure flowers, they simply make me think of you."

Nearby, Jordan — who wasn’t particularly famous for possessing an abundance of patience — could already feel that limited supply draining away by the second.

He fixed Jeremiah with a steady glare.

"Enough with the drama. Are you going to keep her standing here all day, or are you going to let her go inside and get ready?"

Jeremiah heard every word, but he chose to ignore Jordan a moment linger. He leaned closer to Aren instead, then casually slipped an arm around her shoulders with open intimacy.

"My, how careless of me." He laughed softly. "I almost didn’t realize you’d brought companions with you today, Ariana. It seems we’ve made him feel a little left out."

Only then did Jeremiah turn his attention toward Jordan, finally acknowledging his presence. His charming eyes swept over the younger man, lingering meaningfully on the sling securing his injured arm.

"Still impatient and hot-headed as ever, aren’t you?" he asked, a warm smile touching his lips. "I have to admit, recently I’ve started missing seeing you at the Pit, my dear old friend."