Chapter 4

Despite the two of them residing in Easternvale's Zenith City, Grace and Oliver had never met each other before. However, she had heard of Oliver before. Oliver was a 28-year-old man. He was successful in his career, and he had a handsome appearance. In Easternvale, he reigned supreme in the economic sphere. Countless lifelines of the region's businesses rested in his hands. He was the object of fear for many, but he now stood before Grace as her groom. Despite his youth, he exuded a powerful demeanor. His stern face subconsciously induced tension in anyone who faced him. At this moment, Oliver appeared disheveled and dusty, as if he'd just flown in from a business trip. He hadn't even bothered to tidy himself up before the wedding. The marriage seemed to be a chore to him. It seemed that he wasn't happy with this marriage either. In that case, they were on the same page. With that thought, a smile played on Grace's lips. As her father placed her hand in Oliver's, Grace's tense fingertips turned icy. Her fingers brushed against Oliver's hand. The warmth of his palm flooded her, and she instinctively tried to pull away. But Oliver was quick to react. He swiftly closed his hand around hers, tightly gripping her hand before she could even attempt to retreat. Their eyes locked. Oliver's gaze swept across her face, lingering on Grace's startled, doe-like eyes. For a fleeting moment, his usually calm and unreadable depths rippled with an unfamiliar emotion. After a moment, he turned his head away and no longer looked at her. The warmth radiating from Grace's fingertips sent a shiver through Oliver. Internally, he scoffed, feeling as though he'd robbed the cradle. Meanwhile, unbeknownst to the guests, the bride-to-be was lost in a world of her own. The priest asked the bride, "Grace Gulliver, do you take Oliver Jefferson to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?" Silence fell upon the grand hall, the weight of the question hanging heavy in the air. Grace's heart hammered in her chest. Oliver, who was standing closest to her, couldn't help but notice her rapid and abnormal breathing. Sensing her distress, Oliver gently interjected, "Answer him." His deep, resonant, and magnetic voice cut through the silence, prompting Grace to tighten her grip on the bouquet in her hands. Grace looked up with her eyes wide in confusion. Oliver waited, the silence stretching painfully between them, but still no "I do" came from Grace. A commotion in the hall caught his attention, prompting him to tighten his grip on Grace's hand. Oliver stole another glance at his wife, her nervousness accentuated by the constant ringing in her ears. Oliver's eyes narrowed. If Grace dared to humiliate the Jeffersons at the wedding, the Gullivers were surely doomed. But Oliver's gaze collided with Grace's. Her clear eyes held him frozen for a moment. Oliver immediately reached out with his free hand, brushing a stray strand of hair from Grace's face. To an outsider, the gesture was undeniably intimate. Despite maintaining a carefully distant posture, Oliver hissed a threat in Grace's ear. "If you daydream again, you'll disgrace the Jefferson name, and the Gullivers won't fare well either!" The words slammed into Grace like a wake-up call, sending her racing heart plummeting to her stomach. Yes. This was a wedding of convenience, after all. A self-deprecating smile tugged at Grace's lips. As she met Oliver's gaze this time, her eyes held a newfound determination. She whispered in Oliver's ear, "Thank you for the reminder!" Grace's warm breath tickled Oliver's ear, laced with a scent that sent a shiver down his spine. His Adam's apple bobbed involuntarily, and his dark eyes darkened further.