"This... you, you, you... you guys!"
Anton finally snapped back to reality, barely escaping Harry Hunter’s hold, his mouth agape with shock: "Oh my God, Young Master Hunter, you’re not being a monk anymore! You’re actually married! This is headline news, why hasn’t anyone reported it..."
Harry Hunter resisted the urge to strangle this chatterbox, walked over to pick up Isabella Weaver, and as he headed downstairs, he said, "Next ti, don’t say we’re friends! We are a legally married couple."
Isabella’s face turned red: "Put down, I can walk myself."
Anton—and the makeup artists and stylists—hadn’t left yet, they were all watching!
"Your hand is injured, walking is inconvenient, I’ll carry you."
Anton: "..."
Makeup artist: "..."
How odd!
First ti hearing that an injured hand makes walking difficult!
Harry Hunter found too many people at ho botherso, chased Anton and all his crew away, yet he didn’t ask Anton to bring another outfit—because Isabella had ntioned she liked this dress very much.
However, he selected a shawl from the stylist, draped it over Isabella’s shoulders. It perfectly covered her back, didn’t affect the beauty of the dress, and kept her warm.
Harry Hunter was finally satisfied.
"Do you need to accompany you?"
"No, you go about your business, it should be over soon, I’ll be back once I get the prize."
Isabella thought this really wasn’t a big deal.
Ella Weaver often participated in similar events, it had beco a routine for the Weaver Family, and no one paid much attention to it. Christopher Weaver was strongly against his daughter becoming a social butterfly, never allowing her to network for business at banquets—he found it shaful.
Growing up in such an environnt, Isabella didn’t think much of banquets, even if she hadn’t attended any before, she didn’t find them particularly impressive.
But Harry Hunter was too solemn, even invited a celebrity styling team, and the dress was extravagantly luxurious, making her afraid she might damage the diamonds, causing her to walk exceptionally light-footed.
Connor drove a Rolls-Royce to take her to the hotel banquet hall. Sitting in the incredibly spacious car, Isabella touched her dress, suddenly feeling that, without realizing it, Harry Hunter had treated her like a princess.
Such grand preparation for a small evening party was a treatnt even Ella Weaver, who was pampered by her parents, never received.
At the hotel, Connor got out of the car and respectfully opened the door for Isabella: "Young Madam, we’ve arrived."
Isabella nodded: "Connor, thank you for your hard work! Once I get the bonus, I’ll treat you to dinner!"
Connor smiled, eyes curving: "Thank you, Young Madam!"
He increasingly found Isabella adorable, no wonder Harry Hunter liked her. Her heart carried an untainted purity that made people want to protect her.
He watched as Isabella entered the hotel’s splendid hall, sighing inwardly, the Young Master truly acted quickly and efficiently!
He couldn’t imagine that soone as stable and mature as his Young Master would have a whirlwind marriage!
Inside the hotel, Isabella handed over her invitation, smoothly entering the banquet hall.
Several people were already in the banquet hall, all in formal attire, dazzlingly dressed, mingling with each other. The lodious sound of a violin echoed around, creating a relaxed atmosphere.
When Isabella walked in, she didn’t attract much attention.
She didn’t know anyone, so she walked around the large banquet hall, listening to others’ small talk, and then went to grab so food.
"Wow, beautiful lady, are you an angel?"
Isabella turned around and saw a handso young face.
"No."
"Then why are your wings broken? I believe you are a fallen angel with fate bringing us together. How about leaving a phone number?"
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