A Toxic Banquet

Vivienne stared down at the delicate hand wrapped tightly around her wrist. Camilla’s grip was surprisingly strong, her knuckles pale with the effort to keep Vivienne from walking out the front door. Monica stood right beside her stepdaughter, her hands clasped together in a theatrical display of motherly begging. They were pooling every ounce of their cunning just to keep her trapped within these walls. They had poured all their thoughts into getting her home for dinner. They even invited Gideon Rothwell here, dangling him like a prize, and were now insisting she stay to witness their triumph.

The realization was as cold as it was amusing. Vivienne’s eyes flicked between the two women. They wanted her to stay so they could flaunt him. They wanted her to watch.

*Fine,* she decided silently. *If they are this desperate, then I must stay. I need to sit at that table and see exactly what kind of malicious, pathetic plot this mother-and-daughter pair are weaving tonight.*

Raising her chin, Vivienne let out a dry, breathy chuckle that held no real warmth. "Okay," she said, her voice smooth and unbothered. "Then I’ll stay here for dinner."

Camilla and Monica exchanged a fleeting glance. They clearly did not expect her to yield so easily, but the sudden compliance fit flawlessly into their grand scheme.

The transition to the Kensington manor’s grand dining room was suffocating. The lavish meal began in a near, agonizing silence. Crystal chandeliers cast an oppressive light over the long mahogany table, illuminating the exquisite array of roasted meats, delicate appetizers, and imported wines. Yet, the extravagant spread went largely ignored.

Gideon sat rigidly near the head of the table. He possessed an aura that naturally commanded the room, dropping the temperature by several degrees. He had barely touched his silver utensils, ignoring the exquisite food offered to him. In truth, he had wanted to refuse Camilla’s invitation when she initially asked him to accompany her back to the manor. He despised these trivial family gatherings. But Vivienne’s name was explicitly mentioned. Camilla had claimed that Vivienne was the one who invited him. Feeling a dark, burning curiosity to see what the infuriating designer had up her sleeves in her own hostile territory, he had decided to come. Now, he sat in silence, waiting for the trap to spring.

The silence stretched, thick and uncomfortable, until Richard decided to break it. He made a rare, painfully awkward attempt at showing fatherly care. He looked across the table at his estranged daughter, his face tight. "Vivi, how have you been all these years?" he asked. The words tumbled out of his mouth in a wooden tone, devoid of any genuine emotion. It was likely the only moment in the evening he would even think to pretend to care.

Vivienne didn't even bother to raise her eyelids from her porcelain plate. She methodically pushed a piece of food around with her fork. "I did have a great time, thanks to you," she replied dryly. The sarcasm coated the room, sharp and unforgiving.

A hint of deep embarrassment stagnated on Richard’s weathered face for a moment, his jaw clenching as he swallowed the insult.

Sensing the fragile tension threatening to snap their perfect evening in half, Monica quickly shifted her gaze. She shot a covert, urgent signal to Camilla.

Taking the silent cue, Camilla immediately sprang into action. She needed to express her worth in front of her father and her rival. She began aggressively doting on Gideon. Picking up her jade chopsticks, she carefully selected the most premium cuts of tender meat and placed them directly into Gideon’s bowl. "Gideon, you should have more," she murmured sweetly, leaning closer to him.

From the head of the table, Monica smiled warmly, her eyes crinkling in a display of practiced affection. She looked directly at the billionaire. "Mr. Rothwell, thank you for taking care of our Cami throughout all these years," she announced loudly, ensuring her voice carried down the length of the table. "Cami has always been a thoughtful and well-behaved child. Please, show her some patience and care if she were to give off any shortcomings."

Hearing the blatant, sickening manipulation hanging in the air, Vivienne lowered her head even further. She stared hard at her lap, her shoulders shaking slightly as she fought a losing battle against herself. She nearly burst into genuine, unrestrained laughter. The sheer absurdity of their desperate performance was too much to bear.

This subtle, trembling movement did not go unnoticed. It easily caught Gideon’s sharp, observant gaze. His amber eyes narrowed, locking intensely onto her shaking frame.

"Miss Kensington seems to have something to say about this?" Gideon challenged directly. His deep, resonant voice sliced effortlessly through the polite, fake chatter, freezing the room.

With all eyes suddenly locked onto her, Vivienne stopped fighting her amusement. She raised her head, a wicked, triumphant glint dancing in her eyes. She fully seized the golden opportunity to tear straight through the Kensingtons' underlying, pathetic scheme.

"What can I say?" she started, leaning back in her heavy wooden chair. "But I'm only a little curious. Mr. Rothwell, you’re in your thirties, and the both of you have been together for six years. It should be about time for you to marry our thoughtful and well-behaved girl."

She emphasized the words 'thoughtful' and 'well-behaved' with a mocking earnestness, signaling that she had seen right through their pathetic little play.

The blunt words paralyzed the room. Camilla and Monica froze, the fake smiles shattering on their faces. They had only wanted to implicitly mark their territory in front of Vivienne, to parade his status and warn her away. They never, in their wildest dreams, intended to force a blatant, awkward marriage proposal onto the ruthless billionaire in such a public manner.

Gideon’s jaw clenched so tight it looked ready to snap. He glared hotly at Vivienne, his dark eyes promising absolute retribution. He looked as if he genuinely wanted to skin her alive for weaving this public trap around him.

Terrified that Gideon would overthink the situation and bolt, Camilla frantically scrambled to do damage control. She let out a nervous, strained giggle, awkwardly attempting to play the heavy statement off as a mere sisterly joke. "Gideon, please. Vivi is just joking around. Don't take it to your heart."

But Vivienne pressed on relentlessly, refusing to let the heavy atmosphere dissipate. She openly questioned Camilla's unusual, excessive politeness toward her own boyfriend. "How should I put this into words?" Vivienne mused aloud. "Mr. Rothwell is your boyfriend, but why do you sound so polite and fearful when you’re talking to him? This isn't a board meeting."

Camilla’s expression twisted, and she glared furiously at Vivienne, begging her silently to stop.

Ignoring her sister’s silent fury, Vivienne turned to stare directly, unflinchingly at Gideon. "Mr. Rothwell, please don't tell me that you've never planned to do so," she continued. She expertly feigned a look of profound surprise at his increasingly gloomy, murderous expression. "How is this the right thing to do? A woman's prime shouldn't be wasted... Or, Mr. Rothwell, are you playing with my sister's feelings?"

The accusation hung in the air for a single, breathless second before the table erupted.

"Vivienne Kensington!" Richard screamed. He slammed his palm against the heavy dining table in absolute exasperation, the silver forks rattling against the china. The veins bulged on his neck and face, throbbing with untamed rage. He had abandoned any pretense of saving face in front of their wealthy guest. "Shut your trap! How dare you comment on Mr. Rothwell!?"

Vivienne merely chuckled playfully, a sweet sound that sliced through his anger. She had flawlessly trapped her father with her own twisted logic. "You're getting all worked up just because I told the truth?" she mocked smoothly, tilting her head. "Father, even Mr. Rothwell isn't furious about this, so how can the magnanimity of someone like you be smaller than Mr. Rothwell’s?"

She left the trap sitting there. If Gideon retaliated now, he would be proving her right—that he was an unforgiving, petty man.

Having thoroughly eradicated their orchestrated play and ruined the evening's mood, Vivienne elegantly put down her silverware. She pushed her chair back and stood tall. "It seems that there’s no way I’m welcome to stay for this meal anymore. I was merely an outsider acting out of kindness, telling the truth, but you all suddenly shifted into reverse. As expected, I'm still an outsider in the Kensington manor. I'm leaving already. Please do enjoy your meal."

She calmly turned on her heels and walked away, leaving a visibly trembling Richard shaking with wrath, and a seething mother-daughter duo glaring daggers at her retreating back.

The moment she cleared the doorway, Gideon snapped. He shoved his chair back, the harsh scraping sound echoing in the silent room. He stood up, his face a mask of impenetrable ice, radiating a terrifying coldness. Without uttering a single word, he forcefully strode out of the dining room without looking back, ignoring Camilla's cautious, desperate pleas for him to stay.

Outside the manor gates, the night was pitch black and silent. Vivienne stood alone by the side of the dark road, the cool breeze whipping her hair across her face. She pulled her phone from her purse, just about to hail a passing cab, when a sudden rush of air warned her a second too late.

A large, impossibly strong hand abruptly yanked her backward by the arm. The force was staggering. Vivienne stumbled hard in her heels, her ankles twisting as she scrambled to catch her balance on the rough pavement. She whipped her head around, her heart hammering in her chest, only to find herself glaring directly up at Gideon's furious face.

The harsh streetlights illuminated the absolute rage burning in his amber eyes. He gnashes his teeth, his iron grip tight enough to bruise her delicate skin.

"Did you do that on purpose?"