Rich Radiant and Over Him (Alicia and Vincent) novel Chapter 300

Tyrone had arranged to meet Easton, who showed up early, pedaling his old mountain bike down the winding drive.

The Obsidian Table was tucked away in a quiet corner of Seaview City, its manicured gardens and elegant paths evoking the charm of a storybook manor. Everything about the place spoke of understated luxury, from the fountain’s gentle trickle to the whisper of wind through the laurels.

It wasn’t the sort of restaurant you stumbled into. Here, the clientele were the city’s elite—every parking space out front held a gleaming Mercedes or a bespoke Rolls-Royce. The only exception was Easton, just a teenager, weaving through the line of supercars on his battered bike. With the afternoon sun lighting up his hair, he looked almost out of place, like a page plucked straight from a different life.

Tyrone watched from the window of his private dining room. He sat amid all this cultivated serenity, sipping tea and gazing over the gardens, when Easton came into view—an undeniable contrast to the world around him.

And yet, Tyrone couldn’t help but envy him.

Easton had everything Tyrone never did: a carefree childhood, the brash confidence of youth… Even if his father had been a poor excuse for a parent, at least Easton got the kind of freedom and companionship Tyrone could only dream of.

Tyrone’s own childhood was a nightmare—he’d lost his mother in the most violent way, nearly died as a teenager, clawed his way to the top… only to be betrayed by the grandfather he trusted most, stabbed right in the heart when he least expected it.

“Excuse me, sir, but you can’t leave your bike here,” one of the restaurant staff called, clearly baffled. No one ever brought a bicycle here—there wasn’t even a spot for it.

“Take care of it for him,” Tyrone said quietly, leaning against the intricately carved window frame, his voice carrying just enough authority to settle the matter.

Easton spotted him and waved, a little awkward but happy. “Hey, Tyrone!” he called, a touch embarrassed.

The manager, realizing this was Tyrone’s younger brother, didn’t dare protest further. He wheeled the old bike away, eyeing it with confusion. Was this battered thing really the legendary bicycle worth more than a BMW? Surely not.

Tyrone’s expression didn’t change. He had never been one for warmth; for all their blood ties, he and Easton always felt like rivals more than brothers.