Chapter 449

The shock was evident even on Alistair Prescott's usually composed face. In their elite social circles, marriages were rarely matters of the heart—they were strategic alliances, carefully orchestrated affairs where whispers traveled faster than formal announcements.

For someone like Alexander Kensington, one of the most sought-after bachelors in Garnet Springs, to suddenly announce an engagement? It was unheard of.

Alexander had always been the epitome of devotion—to his family, to his empire. Women vied for his attention, but none had ever claimed his heart. Until now.

"Fiancée?" Julian Prescott blurted out, his gaze snapping toward Evelyn.

"Julian!" Alistair reprimanded sharply, his voice cutting through the tension before turning back to Evelyn with practiced politeness. "This is unexpected but delightful news. And how should I address you, young lady?"

Evelyn extended her hand gracefully. "Evelyn Carter. It's a pleasure, Mr. Prescott."

Alistair hesitated, his brow furrowing slightly. "Carter…" He studied her for a moment before realization dawned. "You wouldn’t happen to be Reginald Hawthorne’s granddaughter, would you?"

Evelyn’s lips parted in surprise. The Hawthorne family was notoriously private, their inner circle impenetrable. Few outside their immediate connections could place her lineage so precisely.

Yet Alistair had.

She inclined her head. "Yes, I am."

"Ah." His expression shifted, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. "Well, Alex, you’ve certainly chosen well."

Alexander smirked, his arm brushing against Evelyn’s. "I know."

Evelyn cleared her throat. "Mr. Prescott, if it’s alright, I’d like to speak with Julian privately for a moment."

Alistair glanced at his son, then nodded. "Of course. Julian, don’t keep your friends waiting."

With that, he strode back toward the banquet hall, leaving the air lighter in his absence.

The moment he was gone, Julian turned to Evelyn, his expression unreadable. "Evelyn Carter," he repeated slowly, as if testing the weight of her name.

She met his gaze evenly. "Julian Prescott."

The name settled between them like a revelation. The unassuming woodcarver she’d met in that tiny shop—he wasn’t just a craftsman. He was a Prescott.

And he was looking at her as if seeing her for the first time.