235-236

*Chapter 235: The Obsessive English Rose*

Eileen Campbell, the beloved granddaughter of the Duke of Argyll and the Duke of Cambridge, was a prominent figure in Britain’s aristocratic society. She was the daughter of the only dual duke heir in the entire British noble alliance—an exceptional status that, in certain respects, rivaled the royal family itself.

Eileen was arguably the most powerful female aristocrat in Britain. Her father, as the sole heir to the two dukedoms, had no other children, making her his only descendant. Similarly, her father had no siblings, making Eileen a rare gem in the noble lineage.

In the event she succeeded her father, she would become the only female duke in Britain and, uniquely, hold two dukedoms. Naturally, she was raised in a cocoon of luxury and adoration, treasured by all. Even Her Majesty the Queen treated her with courtesy, like a cherished daughter.

In the days when the aristocracy held unparalleled power, her status would have made her the most valuable woman in Britain—second only to the Queen herself. Even the princesses of the realm might not have surpassed her in rank.

Though the influence of the nobility had waned significantly, Eileen remained one of Britain’s most prestigious women.

Milo had learned much of this the previous evening. Despite calling her "insane" during their phone conversation, he couldn't ignore the fact that she had managed to contact him directly. Even if Milo himself didn’t care, his subordinates, the Kennys, would have investigated to ensure their boss was safe.

Most of Eileen's background was publicly available. A quick search revealed that her grandfather, the Duke of Argyll and Cambridge, held significant sway in the current noble hierarchy. He was also a board member of Standard Chartered Bank and held shares in Lloyds Banking Group and Barclays Bank, ranging from 2% to 5%.

As a prominent figure in British finance, Eileen's grandfather could directly influence Buckingham Palace and Downing Street. However, Milo couldn’t discern why she had taken an interest in him. Was it her grandfather’s doing, her father's, or another power broker using Eileen as a proxy? Or was it Eileen’s own decision?

---

*London City Center – A Café*

Milo sat across from the Baroness of Lorne. Today, she wore a brown plaid high-collared trench coat. Although seemingly simple, the coat was a masterpiece designed by J. Over, a renowned designer for the Windsor family. Its tailoring accentuated her figure with meticulous precision.

The understated, vintage trench coat combined various British elements: intricate lace, gleaming buttons, noble ruffles, dynamic bows, and elegant gathered leg-of-mutton sleeves. Every detail embodied Victorian elegance and the designer's creative brilliance.

To the untrained eye, the coat might seem unremarkable, but anyone familiar with high society could recognize its subtle opulence—a flamboyant style of old nobility that thrived on understated complexity.

“Good day, Baroness Lorne,” Milo greeted her politely, yet directly. “It’s time we discussed your intentions. Why have you been so persistent in seeking me out? Is it your grandfather who wishes to meet me, or is there someone else behind this?”

As he spoke, Milo scrutinized Eileen.

Eileen Campbell resembled Emma Watson but with softer features, a more dignified aura, and a slightly greater beauty. Her high nose, deep-set eyes, and flawless skin made her a stunning figure both in the West and the East—a perfected version of Emma Watson, whose appearance matched her noble lineage.

Eileen met Milo’s gaze confidently, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. She presented her most charming side without hesitation, unaffected by his scrutiny.

She pursed her lips and pondered for a moment. “This is a long story. Are you willing to listen?”

Milo smiled warmly, signaling his willingness to hear her out.

“When I was young, I loved celebrities—idolized them, really. It started with Julia Roberts. I became obsessed with many movie stars, first the dazzling actresses, then the charismatic actors.”

“There was even a time when I secretly traveled to Los Angeles alone. I was only eleven years old then!”

“If not for my father’s intervention through diplomatic channels, who knows where I might have ended up in Los Angeles?”

“That incident was dangerous, but it didn’t stop me. I remained infatuated with these stars—so radiant, so extraordinary in their performances, capable of capturing hearts with a mere gesture.”

“This lasted until my eighteenth birthday. My grandfather invited the most famous European and Hollywood stars to my party.”

“He wanted me to witness how these luminaries bowed and scraped before the nobility and capital. After that, I lost my admiration for them.”

“But perhaps there’s something inherently flawed in my personality.”

“I’ve always felt the need to have someone or something to admire. Without it, I feel empty, like a kite without a string.”

“That phase coincided with my early university years—a time of great confusion for me. Then one day, I stumbled upon a novel. Its contents captivated me. I read it over and over, then watched the films the author had made.”

At this point, she paused, her expression softening into an enigmatic smile.

She looked at Milo, her eyes shining with an almost fanatical light.

“I think I mentioned this earlier—I feel like I have a kind of sickness. It compels me to pursue something or someone. It used to be those dazzling, extraordinary stars.”

“But once they were no longer worthy of pursuit, I felt hollow again.”

“Then I found a new target and began investigating.”

“The more I delved, the more captivated I became. I started collecting information about you, slowly piecing together your story.”

Eileen’s gaze locked onto Milo, her eyes filled with an obsessive fervor.

“Rising from the mills, soaring above noble courts.”

“Of noble blood and unmatched capability! Your existence is nothing short of a miracle.”

Hearing others investigate or even praise him, Milo remained indifferent.

His rise to success wasn’t complicated.

Anyone with a little influence could investigate and easily find out everything about him. His background was clean and transparent, with nothing to hide.

But what did it mean when people said, "Everyone needs a figure to idolize, or life becomes aimless"? Milo figured it out.

This was someone who had too much money and was bored to tears—a young noblewoman with psychological issues and a bit of a yandere streak.

Could he have been wrong? Was the Duke of Cambridge not plotting something against him after all?

Instead, was it his granddaughter—the Baroness Lorne standing before him—who had ulterior motives for him?

Based on Eileen’s demeanor, her gaze, and expressions, they didn’t seem fake.

If they were fake, she might as well compete for an Academy Award for Best Actress in Hollywood.

But if that crazy, infatuated look in her eyes was real—if she truly liked him that much—then why would the Duke of Cambridge, or the Duke of Argyll, allow his granddaughter to throw herself at him for free?

Milo couldn’t understand.

Still, this didn’t stop him from continuing to interact with Eileen. He said:

“So, in other words, you’re my fan? That’s what you mean, right?”

“Fan?”

Eileen nodded, then shook her head. She softly continued, “You could say that’s part of it. But it’s not entirely accurate.”

Milo nodded.

“Alright, my dear little fan. Today, you’ve finally met me. By the way, your grandfather and father…”

Milo resorted to various probing questions, even leveraging the “privileges” he held as Eileen’s supposed idol.

Through their conversation, he arrived at a conclusion that had numerous preconditions and was somewhat perplexing.

If Eileen wasn’t a born actress and her behavior wasn’t all an act, then the conclusion was this: Her meeting with him might truly have nothing to do with the Duke of Cambridge’s intentions.

I hate yanderes!  

He couldn’t help thinking this.

Fortunately, this British rose, suspected to be a yandere, had an impeccable appearance and figure.

Otherwise, Milo felt that even saying one more word to her would make him feel like garbage.

However, Milo had seen too many schemes and plots in his life.

Even with this judgment, he still suspected that these British nobles might be up to something.

Otherwise, it was hard to understand why a third-generation heir of such a prestigious dual-duke family would act this way.

He felt Eileen’s behavior might be genuine, but could the Duke’s intentions really be so simple?

Milo thought about it for a moment and decided to take the initiative.

Regardless of whether the Duke had any schemes, he would play it straight.

After all, he wasn’t without resources in London.

Looking at Baroness Eileen Campbell, he took a sip of ice water and repeated what he’d said earlier:

“So, based on what you’re saying, we have a fan-idol relationship, huh?”

Eileen actually thought about it seriously before replying, “You could interpret it that way.”

The specifics of their relationship didn’t matter. What mattered was that she had come to like Milo as a person based on her past experiences.

Her personality fit into the dependency type described in psychology.

But it had morphed into something peculiar, even more exaggerated than typical dependency.

To be precise, her personality might best be called “vine-like.”

People with this kind of personality were like vines—they needed a towering tree to cling to and depend on.

Milo, playing hard to get, said, “Isn’t it better for idols and fans to maintain a proper sense of distance?”

“I’m not an ordinary fan. If I like something, I want to have it.”

Eileen’s gaze was filled with possessiveness. She enjoyed pursuing people admired by others, and the harder the process, the more she relished it.

Her words left Milo at a loss for words.

It reminded him of a saying:

“Elite prey often appear as hunters.”

Fine. You brought this upon yourself.  

Milo decided to take action.

He wasn’t sensing any real danger.

Suddenly standing up, he towered over her, tracing his finger along her neck and tilting her delicate chin upward. A mischievous smile, the kind that could drive women crazy, appeared on his face.

“So, are you ready, Eileen?”

Eileen was momentarily stunned. She hadn’t expected Milo to be so direct. A trace of panic flickered in her eyes.

Then, a blush quickly spread across her pale face, rippling out like water.

Within seconds, her flawless, beautiful face was entirely pink, with red hues blending into the pink.

She stammered, “What are you planning to do?”

“Hahaha~”

Having made up his mind, Milo walked over, grabbed Eileen’s arm, and pulled her close, wrapping an arm around her slender waist. Even through her clothes, he could feel the taut lines of her abs.

He wasn’t sure if it was an illusion, but her skin seemed smoother, and the sensation better than he’d expected.

“I hear London’s bars have a unique charm. How about we find one, have a few drinks, and get to know each other better?”

Milo’s tone left no room for refusal as he held her tightly against him.

Eileen let out a soft gasp, instantly losing her composure.

When faced with the towering tree in her heart, her vine-like personality emerged, leaving her at a loss for how to advance or retreat.

The two left the café and genuinely went to look for a bar.

As they stepped out of the café, a few burly men, who appeared to be Irene's bodyguards, approached.

However, they were immediately blocked by Milo's bodyguard, Kenny, and his team.

This standoff left Irene momentarily stunned. Then, she snapped, "Charles, what are you trying to do?"

"Miss, you..." The captain of the bodyguard team sent by Duke Argyle stared at the baroness, who was being embraced by another man, his eyes filled with disbelief.

"I'm fine. I'm going to a bar with my friend for a drink. Don’t get in our way!" Irene declared.

"Understood. But please allow us to follow at a distance, as it’s our duty," Charles replied.

Irene didn’t respond immediately. Instead, she looked to Milo, as if seeking his opinion.

Milo gave a slight nod, and only then did she say, "Fine, you can follow us, but don’t interfere unless absolutely necessary!"

When standing before the towering tree in her heart, she indeed displayed a vine-like dependence.

But when dealing with others, as the descendant of a top-tier British aristocratic family from a dual-duke lineage, she transformed into a completely unreasonable heiress!

(End of Chapter)

*Chapter 236: Show These New World Bumpkins How It's Done*

October, 1997.

London, England.

Outside a high-end bar named *Bilderm* in the Prince of Wales district.

Eileen was cradled in Milo’s arms, her thoughts a jumbled mess.

This was nothing like she had imagined.

In her plans, she was supposed to be the one in control, the antagonist pulling the strings. Yet Milo had led her by the nose the entire time.

If Milo knew what she was thinking, he would probably sneer and say, "Amateur."

He wasn’t an ordinary person, and he certainly didn’t have time to play house with her.

For Blackbourne, reality was the only game worth playing.

Bilderm was the most prestigious bar in all of London, and the only one requiring registration and an annual membership fee.

It was a favorite haunt for the elite of England—heirs, heiresses, and the like.

The bar was known for its stringent regulations, with Scotland Yard conveniently located just a stone's throw away.

In fact, rumors suggested that the nearby police station existed primarily for the bar’s protection.

Whether it was security or privacy, Bilderm excelled at offering its clientele the highest level of discretion.

Wealthy individuals or influential figures who wanted to experience nightlife without interruptions knew that if they were in London, Bilderm was the go-to destination.

It was said that even heirs from across Europe visited occasionally, drawn by its reputation.

That said, London’s increasingly lenient policies toward the rich had led to the bar becoming a hotspot for oil princes, sheikhs, and their children from desert regions investing heavily in London real estate.

Of course, local British aristocrats and heirs frequented the bar as well. After all, it offered unmatched guarantees of safety and privacy.

No worries about paparazzi or scandalous headlines.

Though the membership fees and drinks were exorbitant, such costs were trivial for these patrons.

As a young member of an ancient aristocratic alliance, Eileen was a regular at Bilderm.

Typically, she visited once or twice a month.

Contrary to the chaotic image of clubs that commoners might imagine, this bar catered to the nightlife of Europe’s elite—British nobles, heirs, and even royal descendants from the Middle East.

It was usually lively only in the evening.

Now, as dusk approached, the bar was open but far from its busiest hour.

Many of its patrons were likely just waking up.

Though technically operating, the bar had only a handful of guests present.

As Eileen and Milo walked in, a stunning hostess greeted them warmly:

“Lady Eileen Lorne, welcome! And this gentleman... is he your boyfriend?”

It was hard not to notice the intimacy between them—Milo was holding Eileen in his arms, their relationship clearly more than casual.

Eileen stayed silent.

On her previous visits, she was always surrounded by a crowd, often accompanied by peers from her social circle.

This was her first time entering with a man, especially in such a close embrace.

Had it been anyone but Milo, and anywhere but Bilderm, she might have bolted.

But now, instinctively, she glanced toward a certain private room on the second floor.

Milo smiled faintly. “Let’s take a booth and order a round of ‘Old Times.’”

“Old Times” sounded poetic, but it was actually a brand of beer.

Officially recognized as the world’s most expensive beer, it was exclusively available at Bilderm.

Sold only in sets, you couldn’t order just one bottle. The minimum was half a dozen—six bottles.

And each bottle cost an astounding £500.

A dozen cost £6,000.

In 1997, the median annual income in the UK was about £18,000.

In other words, the median yearly income of a Brit could only buy three dozen bottles of this beer.

Its extravagance was evident.

“This way, sir.”

The hostess, still surprised by the usually dominant Eileen’s uncharacteristic submissiveness, led them to a booth.

Oddly, Milo’s casual order of a dozen “Old Times” didn’t shock her as much.

Ever since Bilderm began granting memberships to oil princes from the desert regions, displays of wealth and excess had become the norm.

These princes had redefined extravagance for London’s elites and the bar itself.

This was the era when the nouveau riche began teaching the world what true opulence looked like.

For instance, the oil princes often ordered beer by the dozens—sometimes over a hundred bottles—drinking what they could and wasting the rest just for fun.

While £6,000 was a fortune for ordinary people, it was merely a routine expense for Bilderm’s patrons.

The hostess, though intrigued by Eileen’s behavior, kept her thoughts hidden. Working in such an environment required discretion and impeccable composure.

Any lapse in expression might provoke an inebriated guest to hurl a beer bottle your way.

Soon, she seated them in a prime booth.

It was in the front row near the dance floor, offering plenty of space and an excellent view.

However, as it was still early, the bar remained quiet.

The dance floor was nearly empty, save for a few patrons swaying to the music.

A small band played slow tunes, likely blues or jazz, adding to the subdued atmosphere.

Milo found the vibe pleasant enough.

Once seated, the hostess quickly brought their beer and some snacks.

Milo opened a bottle and took a sip.

“Old Times,” the world’s most expensive beer, tasted just like... beer.

It had the same light carbonation and low alcohol content as any other beer.

Paying £500 for a bottle didn’t magically make it taste like nectar from the heavens.

Selling this type of beer in a place like this is essentially just a more sophisticated version of a "high-IQ tax."

But no matter how sophisticated it is, it’s still a high-IQ tax.

What they’re selling is the feeling of exclusivity—the "bigger-than-life" experience, the sense of "I can afford it, and you can’t."

He even suspected that this so-called “nostalgia beer” might just be a decent beer already available on the market, with the Beeldrum Bar adding some extra flavorings.

Otherwise, why isn’t it available anywhere else? Why can it only be found at this bar?

This sort of thing isn’t worth thinking too deeply about.

He took a sip of the beer, smiling as he glanced at Eileen sitting beside him.

Eileen, who had been somewhat of a yandere in the café earlier, now seemed more restrained in the bar. She kept glancing nervously at a private room on the second floor.

Milo followed her gaze to that private room.

Once he noticed its location, he immediately understood why she was acting this way.

The room was the best spot on the second floor.

If the bar had a VIP section, that would undoubtedly be it.

And now Milo noticed that the light outside the door to the private room was on, meaning someone was inside.

The fact that Eileen kept glancing at it also proved that she likely knew, or at least believed, someone was in there.

Given the bar’s clientele, the people who could use that private room were likely in the same social echelon as her.

At this thought, Milo’s mischievous side emerged. He deliberately leaned closer to Eileen, putting an arm around her while whispering provocatively into her ear:

“Scared? It’s not too late to leave now.”

Eileen, who had been somewhat uneasy about the people in the second-floor private room noticing her, suddenly snapped back to her usual self, her yandere-like attitude flaring up.

She was Lady Eileen Lorne, a baroness of Lorne, the future heir of a dual-duchy family, and one of the most esteemed female aristocrats in the British Nobility Alliance.

What was there to be afraid of in London, England?!

In all of Great Britain, what could possibly scare her, Eileen Campbell?!

Falling for Milo’s provocation, she snatched the beer from his hand, raised the bottle to her lips, and downed it in one go.

After finishing, she threw him a challenging look.

Milo clapped his hands and said with a grin, “Drinking sets the mood, but don’t get drunk—it won’t end well.”

Among the people Milo had encountered, Ariana’s temperament was similar to Eileen’s.

They were both from the top tier of Western elites.

But Ariana’s family was different.

The Rockefeller family had many descendants—old Rockefeller himself had three sons, and those three sons had numerous children.

That didn’t even account for extended branches and illegitimate children.

Among her cousins, Ariana wasn’t particularly exceptional.

That’s why old Rockefeller had chosen her for an arranged marriage with Boston’s Blackburn family.

By comparison, Eileen was much luckier.

Her father had only one daughter, and her grandfather had only one grandchild.

At least, in terms of direct lineage, this was the case.

So even though she and Ariana had similarly prestigious statuses, Ariana had to be far more pragmatic and mature.

In contrast, Eileen, who looked like a cold and aloof goddess, was thoroughly spoiled.

Unlike Ariana, Eileen lived more like a princess, indulging in whims and mischief.

Had it not been for her inherently good nature and strict aristocratic upbringing, she would’ve likely grown up completely unruly.

In other words, Milo saw Eileen as a pampered noble lady, capricious but not inherently bad—a "yandere" born out of privilege.

Given her background, her elders had probably never bothered to teach her who to provoke and who to avoid.

After all, in London, with her family’s power, even if she wet the Queen’s bed in Buckingham Palace, it wouldn’t amount to much trouble.

But now, things were different.

She didn’t understand?

No problem.

The Blackburns loved playing the role of teachers.

And of course, there’d be tuition fees.

As Lady Eileen Lorne, spurred by her rebellious streak, began actively challenging Milo to a drinking match, the private room upstairs...

A group of local second- or third-generation elites was observing the scene below through the one-way glass.

Their gathering wasn’t coincidental—it was orchestrated by Eileen herself.

In her mind, tonight was supposed to be her stage. How could there be no audience to cheer her on?

She might be a yandere, but she was still young, and young people have a tendency to crave the spotlight.

At most, these young people wouldn’t try to show off in front of ordinary people but rather in front of their peers from the same social class.

For example, take an American—say, a young person from the Rockefeller or Morgan families.

If they managed to marry into British royalty—or not even British, just any European royal family—it would immediately earn them envy, jealousy, and admiration in their own circles in America.

Such an achievement would become their badge of honor, a story to flaunt about their capabilities.

Similarly, if a British woman were to win the affection of a wealthy, high-status American heir, she could boast about it just the same.

Even though Americans claim they don’t have a nobility, the global upper class knows that America’s aristocratic elite holds a status far more solid than its counterparts in any other country.

This is the context that gave rise to the group on the second floor.

"Irene's charm is irresistible; she can have anyone she sets her sights on."

"So what if he's the young legend? Even he couldn’t resist bowing before Baroness Lorne."

"Hahaha! A country bumpkin from the New World—one look from Irene, and he’s utterly captivated!"

Many of them, while vaguely familiar with the name of the richest man in the world, thought little of him. To these people who had always looked down on the New World, he was just a wealthy upstart.

However, over the past two days, William, the chubby heir of the Bute family, had been hyping up this American’s incredible achievements to them.

Things like: how he was only 25 years old, made nearly a billion pounds on his own without relying on his family, and how the combined wealth of the London noble alliance couldn’t even come close to his.

Or how, at just 25, he was already a distinguished guest in countries around the world, and even Her Majesty the Queen reportedly wanted to invite him to Buckingham Palace.

In William’s mouth, this young man became the epitome of greatness—perhaps even the one and only of his kind.

What’s more, even their elders seemed to agree with William’s assessment. Some even said that, given time, this man could become one of the true powerbrokers behind America.

These statements quickly drew the attention of their little circle to this "country bumpkin" from the New World.

As fellow young people, they were indignant.

Why should an American possess so much wealth and earn so much praise from their elders, while they could only live off the residual glory of their families, idling their days away?

So when Irene summoned them, they assumed that the untamed and headstrong baroness, like them, harbored dissatisfaction toward Milo.

They thought she planned to humiliate Milo, to make him a laughingstock, just as she had embarrassed those oil princes who had recently arrived in London.

Gathering together, they anticipated Baroness Irene’s fierce dominance as she put the country bumpkin from America in his place! They wanted to show these detestable upstarts that noble Europeans were far superior.

After all, when Blackburn’s ancestors were mere clergymen in Britain, their own ancestors had already been esteemed members of the aristocracy!

(End of Chapter)