From Outcast to Overlord The Unyielding Heir (Leander Ashcroft) novel Chapter 501

"Crap!" Leander had been keeping his head down in the back, pretty much invisible from where Maeve stood. She shouldn't have noticed him at all—until Nathan blurted that word out loud enough to turn every head, including hers.

"Ms. Maeve? You okay?" Denzel walked alongside her, only to see her come to a sudden halt. He shot her a puzzled look, wondering what made her freeze like that.

When he followed her eyes, he realized she wasn't reacting to him at all. She was locked onto something across the room, standing stiff like someone had hit the pause button.

"Ms. Maeve?" He called her again, but she didn't budge. She stood there like she'd turned to stone.

"What the…" He finally tracked her line of sight and spotted a young guy dressed so plainly he practically blended into the furniture. The guy was slouched on a couch with one leg thrown over the other.

Nothing about him screamed for attention—ordinary clothes, relaxed posture, nothing flashy. Yet for some reason, he had completely captured Maeve's focus, as if the rest of the room didn't exist.

…

"Leander, are we actually going or what?" Nathan was completely oblivious to the weird mood settling over the place. He wandered toward Leander, rambling about the bonfire party, while only Celia and Aurora seemed to pick up that the air had suddenly turned strange.

Leander let out a silent sigh and shot him a look that basically said, "not now."

Nathan froze, totally lost on why he was getting glared at.

Before he could ask anything else, Maeve suddenly broke her stillness. She didn't spare Denzel—standing right beside her—so much as a glance. She simply stepped out and headed straight toward Leander like she'd made up her mind in an instant.

The moment she started walking, the entire hall seemed to shift. She wasn't just a celebrity—she was the kind of global star who could flip a room's energy just by breathing—and her presence alone pulled every pair of eyes in the room toward her.

By then, every tiny move she made had the whole crowd glued to her. She drifted forward with that effortless, floating kind of walk, heading in Leander's direction.

Livia and the other girls—who had only just squealed their way through getting her autograph—looked like they were about to explode from excitement when they realized she was actually walking their way. "No way… She's actually heading this direction. Are we hallucinating? Does she… know who we are?"

Before they could finish whispering theories, Maeve was already right in front of them. Her long gown swept across the floor as she stopped beside the window shutters, close enough to Leander that he only needed to lean forward a bit to touch her.

"Funny how life works, huh? Guess we were meant to run into each other." She flashed a soft smile—bright enough to light up a garden—and her eyes were fixed solely on him.

When she spoke up, the girls around her finally snapped out of their excitement. Only then did they realize she hadn't approached because they'd gotten her attention—she had walked straight past them for Leander.

But that made zero sense.

Earlier, when they'd gone up to ask for her autograph, Leander hadn't even moved from his seat. He didn't say a word, nor show the slightest sign he knew her. So, why is an international superstar now acting like she knows me?

"If that idiot hadn't yelled, you wouldn't have even spotted me, right?" He didn't bother straightening up. Still sunk into the couch, he jerked his chin toward Nathan, his tone dry and uninterested.

Running into Maeve had been the last thing on his mind.

Nathan's perfectly timed shout just dragged him straight into it.

Her smile didn't carry even a trace of superstar distance. If anything, she looked disarmingly down-to-earth as she settled right beside him—close enough that their sleeves could've brushed. The whole move felt casual, almost playful.

They glanced at one another, shock written all over their faces, and quietly gave him a nod of respect. If someone on Maeve's level—the kind of superstar everyone idolized—treated him with that kind of attention, then really… who wasn't somehow under his orbit?

He hung back for a few minutes, but Maeve didn't even hint at leaving Leander's side. If anything, she seemed more animated, her laughter and chatter growing livelier by the second. Impatience gnawed at him until he finally decided to cut across the room.

"I'm visiting Yelem for a little downtime," she explained warmly, eager to share every recent milestone with Leander. "The company also had me film some outdoor scenes for the next music video!"

Before he could respond, a large hand shot out, stopping just short of his face. "Anyone who's a friend of Ms. Maeve is automatically a friend of mine. Pleasure to meet you—I'm Denzel Benjamin."

Denzel stood tall, over six feet, looking down like the world itself tilted in his favor. Every movement, every glance radiated the weight of someone born to command.

"Denzel Benjamin?" Leander stayed silent, but Nathan and the others visibly stiffened. Their expressions shifted instantly.

Their trip to Dechor wasn't a spur-of-the-moment decision—it had been meticulously planned. They'd researched the country inside and out, learning what was safe to approach and what could get them in serious trouble.

And the Churchill family? That was a name that carried weight—and fear. The kind of force in Dechor comparable to Jesund's clans or the overseas societies: untouchable, untamed, and completely off-limits.

Even without Denzel bragging about his status, simply introducing himself was enough. In Dechor, anyone who dared carry that name demanded instant respect… and caution.

The atmosphere shifted instantly. Everyone could sense it—Denzel's intentions toward Maeve weren't innocent, and her easy closeness with Leander made it clear he hadn't come just to make small talk.

They knew Leander had strong connections back home with the Ashcroft family of Highcliffe, and people like Ethan and Daphne. But here in Yelem? That influence counted for nothing. Even the four major elite families of Highcliffe couldn't exert the same reach here.

While unease spread through the group, Leander remained unbothered. Still lounging with one leg crossed, he casually reached for an apple on the table. "I don't know you," he said coolly. "And I don't shake hands with strangers."