Scars Of A Broken Bond by Calv Momose

Chatper 1322

Meanwhile, Shane ventured out in search of Horace, while a servant swiftly entered, bearing a tray

laden with tea.

Gesturing wordlessly, Tyrone signaled the servant to place the tray on the table. He scanned the

study’s layout briefly, then withdrew his scrutiny.

Shane rapped lightly on Horace’s bedroom door, securing permission before gently pushing it open.

“Sir, Tyrone’s arrived.”

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Horace, now garbed in a pristine suit, meticulously adjusting his collar, asked, “Did he say something?”

A furrow appeared on Shane’s brow as he replied, “I asked him, but all he mentioned was an

impending discussion with you. He didn’t mention the subject at hand.”

Seasoned and weathered, Shane, having served Horace through myriad triumphs and tribulations, had

mastered the art of maintaining composure through any storm.

Yet, the look Tyrone had just cast in his direction sent an unexpected ripple of nerves through Shane.

Little wonder Tyrone bore the mark of Horace’s lineage, a figure of unmistakable distinction.

“Proceed with your work. I’ll come shortly,” Horace directed.

“Understood.”

Coming to a halt at the study’s door, Horace drew a deep breath, willing himself to an even keel, before

pushing the door open.

“Mr. Fowler.” In deference, Tyrone stood and extended his hand in a composed manner.

“Very well, Mr. Blakely, do take a seat.”

Horace shook hands with Tyrone and gave him a sidelong glance to check whether Tyrone had known

about his true identity.

Looking at Tyrone’s composed countenance, Horace surmised the latent power within him, who had

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unexpectedly assumed control of the Blakely Group upon Cesar’s passing.

Sporting a genial smile, Horace positioned himself opposite Tyrone, adopting a familiar tone.

“Given your temperament, you truly merit the accolade of Mathias’ most illustrious entrepreneur. I’ve

seen your interviews and desired this meeting, though your unexpected presence catches me off

guard. Please, indulge in some tea.”

Tyrone offered a polite smile.

“Your praise is generous, Mr. Fowler.”

“I’m telling the truth. Should it not trouble you, let us dispense with formalities. You may call me Horace,

and I, in turn, shall address you as Tyrone. How does that strike you?”

“That won’t be necessary.”

Horace’s smile faltered, replaced by a bemused expression on hearing Tyrone’s refusal.

Traditionally, such a statement would elicit immediate compliance.