At the same time.
In the Capital, at the Fuller mansion.
In a clean and tidy study stacked with various books, Blake Fuller sat upright at his desk, which was laid out with ink and fine paper.
His posture was as straight as a pine, neither overbearing nor servile, and in his distinctively boned hand, he held a fine brush, personally writing the wedding contract on the paper.
The handwriting was clear and sharp, much like the man himself, yet it also contained a sharp edge.
After finishing writing the wedding contract, he put down the brush and carefully waited for the ink on the paper to dry.
He got up to tidy the desk, his movements smooth and flowing, not diminishing the dignified air about him, even while doing miscellaneous tasks.
