The Billionaire’s Secret Quartet novel Chapter 1186

The man was none other than Alaric.

He had a look that set him apart from the crowd, with piercing, narrow eyes that seemed to hold secrets of their own, and a sinfully handsome face that blurred the lines between masculine charm and feminine allure.

His presence was magnetic, a walking invitation to both envy and desire, and there was no mistaking him for anyone else.

By his side trailed three women. The one keeping pace with him, Hertha recognized immediately—it was Angelina, with whom she had crossed swords just a few days ago.

Trailing behind were two more women. One of them, a young lady, was all too familiar to Hertha. It was Georgia, the rake-thin beauty whose advances Alaric had declined twice with Hertha's help. Despite her high-end fashion and meticulously applied makeup, the gauntness of her cheeks betrayed a certain world-weariness.

Georgia was arm-in-arm with a middle-aged woman, dripping in jewelry and dressed to the nines, obviously a woman of wealth. Hertha surmised that this must be Georgia's mother.

What could bring Alaric and his mother, along with Georgia and her own, to a restaurant like this? A brief flicker of thought and Hertha realized—they were likely discussing a union between the two families.

While Hertha's gaze lingered on Alaric's entourage, she caught his sharp eyes glancing her way. In that split second of eye contact, she swiftly diverted her gaze, feigning ignorance of his presence.

Her hand, hidden beneath the table, clenched tightly as she turned to face Spencer with a forced smile. "There's nothing like hitting a bar for a drink and some music now and then. If you're into painting, Spencer, I could show you a trick or two when I'm free."

She had intended to shock him with her supposed vices and send him packing, but Alaric's presence had thrown her off. The fiery words she had prepared got stuck in her throat, and she found herself speaking to Spencer with a demure tone that masked her inner turmoil.

Spencer, who had initially been taken aback by her mention of bars, thinking her to be a party girl, relaxed when she continued. His scholarly smile returned, soft eyes behind his glasses offering a look of gentle understanding, as he tried to cover his brief lapse in composure.

"Then let me express my thanks in advance, Ms. Kensington. I'll toast you," Spencer said, pouring coffee into Hertha's cup and raising his in a toast.

Hertha responded in kind, clinking cups with Spencer and downing her coffee in one go—a bold gesture that he matched by finishing his own.

As Alaric walked into the room, passing by Hertha's table, his gaze lingered on her and Spencer. He observed their easy rapport, the intimacy of getting-to-know-you gestures—clear signs of a date.

His expression darkened as he approached Hertha. His sharp gaze focused on her, sending a palpable wave of intensity that made Hertha's breath catch and her scalp tingle.

Beneath the table, her hand found Thalassa's leg and gripped it tightly, seeking to steady her nerves and resist the urge to look back at Alaric.

Thalassa winced slightly at the grip but understood Hertha's anxiety. She turned to glance at Alaric and then back at Hertha, offering a silent squeeze of comfort.

Since Hertha had resolved to act as if she didn't know Alaric, Thalassa followed suit, pretending not to recognize him either.