Chapter 518 The Locked Room

Wyatt had Yunice now. He didn’t care about Nora anymore. If anything, he was probably hoping Nora would never wake up.

Morgan grew even more certain of Wyatt’s true intentions when Maine didn’t refute it.

Maine had always been close to his sister. Among everyone, she was the only one who kept standing up for her. If there was even the slightest chance his sister would wake up, Maine would have told Wyatt first.

But judging by the look on her face, it was obvious she’d already tried – and hit a wall.

Once she was done packing, Maine slung the bag over her shoulder and said to Morgan, “Let’s go.”

Morgan followed her out. Maine headed straight for the hallway surveillance system and wiped the footage, erasing any trace of what Morgan had done.

Meanwhile, Paul had received an anonymous message: Elsie had been assaulted and was now dumped in a hotel, waiting to be rescued.

He sat in front of the mirror, eyes fixed darkly on the deep scar carved into his face.

He hadn’t stepped outside in a long time.

He’d already seen through that bitch Elsie and had no patience left to play games with her. But now…

Paul’s expression twisted as his fingers brushed the scar on his cheek.

He had to save himself somehow…

And right now, Elsie had just handed herself to him on a silver platter.

At Pavillion Hall, Yunice sat at a table, stacking credit cards into a tower.

A row of housemaids stood behind her, each with a different expression as they watched her idly building a card house out of boredom.

Eight layers tall now, forming an octagonal tower, and she still had a whole pile of unused cards left.

The housemaids, marveling silently at the kind of life only the rich could afford, finally stepped forward to remind her, “Mrs. Cooper, sir called earlier. He said he’s taking you to a charity gala tonight. Your dress and stylist have been arranged. When would you like to try them on?”

Yunice tilted her head. “A charity gala?”

“Yes,” the maid replied. “It starts at nine tonight. There’s still time.”

Yunice blinked and twirled a card between her fingers. Charity galas were a rich man’s play.

On the surface, it was all about good causes and public welfare, but behind the scenes, it was nothing more than a game of covert power plays.

Especially for the women – it was the easiest way to form connections in that circle.

Young women used these events to show their faces, scout wealthy families, and lock in potential prospects.

Married women used them to integrate into elite social circles, helping their husbands gain influence in more subtle ways.

In that world, men only brought their legal wives. Bringing mistresses or illegitimate children would get them socially exiled.

Wyatt suddenly taking her to an event like this? It smelled a lot like he was finally going to present her to high society as the legitimate Mrs. Cooper.

But why now?

They’d been married for over a year. He had never once taken her to a public event – not even people close to him knew she existed.

The public only knew that he’d married a woman unfit for the spotlight – so unworthy he couldn’t be bothered to take her anywhere.

Yunice had never complained about it. In fact, she liked it that way.

She wasn’t ready to be dragged into the messy world of business and social alliances.

But now Wyatt suddenly wanted to pull her in?

“Mrs. Cooper?” the maid called anxiously, checking the time. It was still early, but if Yunice didn’t cooperate, they’d have to find a way to make her.

Yunice gently placed the card in her hand down. Her finger brushed the base, and the eight-layer octagonal tower collapsed into a scattered pile.

She stood up and said, “Let the stylist in.”

Then she headed for the walk-in closet, two maids trailing behind her, ready to take orders.

As Yunice reached the closet, her gaze drifted toward a door on the fifth floor – a room that had never once been opened.

Drawn by something she couldn’t explain, Yunice walked toward it and tried to open it.

A maid behind her suddenly warned nervously, “Mrs. Cooper… Sir gave strict instructions. No one’s allowed near that room.”

Yunice glanced sideways. “Even me?”

The maid froze. “He didn’t say that specifically.”

Yunice turned the doorknob, but it was locked. She didn’t press the matter, just gave it a try, then let it go.

Her gaze lingered on the door she’d never been allowed to enter. And then she remembered something Wyatt had once told her.

He said that every piece of clothing on her was made by his own hands.

Back then, she’d been too focused on Nora to really care about that comment.

But now, standing in front of the room next to her closet, she remembered her clothes – none of them had logos. Could they all really have been made by Wyatt?

What kind of obsession was that?

Was it because he’d grown up poor, with barely enough to wear or eat, and developed some kind of intense need to make everything himself?

Yunice turned and walked into the closet.

Just as she was picking a gown, the stylist arrived.

“Mrs. Cooper, I didn’t expect you to have such great taste. This dress is absolutely perfect for you!” the stylist gushed in a high-pitched voice, clearly surprised by her fashion sense.

Yunice caught the subtext immediately. Outsiders all thought she was uncultured and unpresentable. But growing up, she’d had her father’s love, Margaret’s care, and a seat at the Powell family table. She’d absorbed the habits of high society since childhood.

It was only after Elsie entered the Saunders family that she lost everything – lost the right to choose, to dress, to even live like a person.

When you’re just trying to survive, who has the luxury to care about fashion?