Felicity asked, "What do we need cinnabar for?"
"Felicity, just don't ask questions. Do exactly as I say."
"Alright, I'll listen to you. I'm going right now."
...
Dusk was falling.
Ever since Pierce took over Prescott Holdings, Alistair had picked out a villa at Summit Manor, planning to enjoy his retirement there.
His grandson was indeed exceptional. Under Alistair's own hands for half a century, the corporation had merely maintained its scale. Yet, in the brief three or four years since Pierce had taken the helm, he had steered Prescott Holdings to its current massive expansion.
As a grandfather, Alistair was immensely proud.
But there was one thing he was deeply dissatisfied with—Pierce was stubborn to a fault, practically banging his head against a brick wall and still refusing to turn back.
Alistair had assumed that during Pierce's three years abroad, with Lyra accompanying him, he would eventually come around and appreciate her gentle attentiveness.
For the head of a major corporation, a gentle, virtuous wife was ideal. Even if she couldn't offer much help with his career, she could at least ensure he had a warm meal and a peaceful harbor to rest in when he came home every day.
That Seraphina was a doctor, always run off her feet. When would she ever have time to take care of a husband?
And that was secondary.
What Alistair cared about most was Seraphina's reputation.
Even back in her school days, rumors about her personal conduct had run rampant, which was why Alistair had strongly disapproved when Pierce first started dating her.
The Prescott family had a reputation to uphold.
Especially now, as their business grew larger by the day.

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