Fiona entered the hall and immediately took in the sight before her Alexander and Fallyn seated side by side, unbothered, calmly sipping their wine as they indulged in dessert. Not a trace of guilt marred their expressions.
With measured, unhurried steps, she descended the stairs, her presence pressing in on them as she claimed the seat beside them without a word.
"The dessert is wonderful, Fiona. You should try some," Fallyn said pleasantly, extending a spoonful toward her as though nothing were amiss.
Fiona's eyes lifted, cool and steady, her composure almost unsettling. After a brief pause, she smiled faintly.
"Oh certainly."
Fiona parted her lips and accepted the dessert from the spoon extended toward her, nodding as she praised its taste, her smile practiced and perfectly composed.
Then she raised her wineglass.
Mid-motion, her eyes lifted and the world tilted.
From across the room, Manson emerged, composed and assured. His stride was unhurried, deliberate, his authority woven so seamlessly into his bearing that attention followed him instinctively. The surrounding murmur faded as he moved, the room responding without realizing it had done so.
Her eyes found him, a silent question echoing in her mind 'did I make the right decision?'
The thought slammed into her chest like a sudden blow. Her pulse spiked as another fear rose unbidden. 'How much does he know?'
Heat rushed to her face, humiliation curling tight in her stomach. The timing of this moment was unforgivable.
The wine lodged in her throat. She inhaled sharply and began to cough, the sound betraying her carefully maintained calm.
"Oh my goodness, take it easy," Alexander said evenly, his hand coming to her back, patting gently as though to steady her, his touch grounding, yet painfully conspicuous.
Manson reached his table and gave a subtle signal to Brian seated across from him, before turning to his uncle and aunt to bid them farewell.
"Aren't you forgetting something?" Khalid asked, his tone warm but knowing.
Manson paused, a faint smile touching his lips. "Ah—how remiss of me."
He leaned in, pressing a brief kiss to his uncle's cheek, then did the same to his aunt, an effortless gesture of affection before straightening and taking his leave.
If fortune favored some, then it had favored Manson beyond measure. After the death of his parents, his uncle had taken him in without hesitation. Khalid had raised him as his own, shielding him from cruelty, never allowing a single hand to be raised against him, never letting the world remind him of what he had lost.
He was not merely cared for, he was fiercely protected.
Manson settled into the back seat of the car with effortless composure, his posture a portrait of calm authority. Brian slid behind the wheel, silent and precise, while Manson reached for the documents in his hand. With a simple nod, Brian passed them over, and the car glided forward, the tires moving with mechanical perfection, every kilometer measured, every motion controlled. Yet Manson's world had narrowed: all else fell away as his eyes scanned the investigation reports with razor focus.
A low, mirthful chuckle escaped him, soft but sharp. "Hahaha… who would have thought the Brett household wasn't as pristine as it pretends to be? Parents who can't even tell a goat from a sheep," he murmured, the words dripping with amusement. He licked his lower lip slowly, deliberately, eyes gleaming as if savoring a private joke. "What do you make of it, Brian?"
"Yes, sir," Brian replied, voice steady, measured. "Her parents clearly favor one child over the other preferential treatment in every detail."
Manson's grin was quiet, almost feral in its precision. "Delightful," he whispered, a single word carrying the weight of satisfaction.
His fingers traced the edges of the papers as he flipped through them methodically, eyes scanning, analyzing, calculating. "There's already a fracture among them," he muttered, almost to himself. "This simplifies matters beautifully."
Then he paused, hand frozen over a single page. His gaze sharpened, every line of his face taut with intent. "She's just made her debut as an actress with Talent Hunt Agency," he said, voice low, almost savoring the word mediocre. "A trivial agency for a trivial debut and yet, it tells me everything I need to know."
Manson dropped the documents onto the seat beside him with a precision that left no room for disorder. Each paper landed perfectly, yet the motion carried the weight of authority, a silent assertion that even chaos dared not disobey. His eyes, sharp and unyielding, swept over Brian as if measuring the man's very soul.
"At the outset of the day tomorrow," he hissed, each word slow, deliberate, freezing the air around them, "go to the agency and secure her contract."He let the phrase linger, a blade of inevitability. "They're desperate, starving little worms; they'll hand her over without so much as a second glance. Open-handed. Entirely at your mercy."
"Yes, sir," Brian said, voice tight, careful, tasting the chill that radiated from Manson like winter wind.
Manson's gaze drifted back to the documents, icy and precise, yet in that glance lay something more than strategy it was humiliation, a quiet, inescapable reminder to the world of who held the power.
The night had long since deepened, the party dwindling behind her. Fiona excused herself, scanning for Hazel, but the latter was too engrossed in conversation to notice. A subtle nod and a faint wave were all it took; Hazel acknowledged her departure.
Fiona turned to Fallyn and Alexander, her voice calm yet deliberate as she informed them she was heading home. They rose in unison, accompanying her silently, their presence both protective and watchful.
At last, they arrived. Fiona opened the door but Alexander's hand caught hers, holding it in a gentle, almost possessive grip. She glanced at him.
"Hey," she said, casual, masking the curiosity behind her calm.
Fallyn, meanwhile, had already stepped out of the car. She rapped sharply on the front window. Fiona's eyes flicked from Alexander to the impatient figure outside.
Fallyn's voice, threaded with irritation, came through clearly.
"Yes, Fallyn?"
"Ain't you coming down?" The edge in her tone betrayed frustration, even discomfort.
Fiona's gaze lingered on her, noting the subtle contortions of unease, the stiffness of her posture, the sharp tilt of her jaw. A small, calculated advantage revealed itself.
"Fallyn," Fiona said softly, voice calm, almost nurturing, "go inside. It's breezy out here and you might catch a cold."
"Fin, let's go in together," Fallyn protested, her voice sharp. "What else are you doing in the car? You should rest."
Fiona turned slowly toward Alexander, her expression unreadable. "Bolt the car," she said, calm and deliberate.
"What?" Alexander asked, brow furrowing in confusion.
"I said bolt the car," Fiona repeated, her tone soft but edged with quiet command.
She glanced at Fallyn, eyes cold and calculating. "Listen, Fallyn, can you give me a few minutes?"
Fallyn's hand went to the car handle, tugging but found it unyielding. She froze.
"Fiona, what's the meaning of this?" she snapped, irritation flashing across her features.
"I want a little chat with Alex," Fiona said, voice smooth, controlled. "Can you help me with some privacy?"
Fallyn's gaze snapped to Alexander, her hands tightening with barely restrained fury. Cold blood seemed to surge through her veins. "Don't stay too long and don't catch a cold," she hissed, every syllable laced with bitter resentment.
"Aww, thanks, baby sis," Fiona replied lightly, the faintest smile playing on her lips, as though she'd just delivered a masterstroke.
Fallyn turned on her heel, muttering under her breath: 'What the hell was that? How dare she talk to me like that? Really, Lexy, you just sit there like a fool and let her take the lead, fucking asshole.'
Inside the car, Fiona's gaze returned to Alexander, calm and steady. "Is there anything you want to say?" she asked, her voice smooth, deliberate, almost teasing.
Alexander's eyes softened, glowing in the dim light. "Ugh… yeah. You look really beautiful today. Why haven't I seen you wear this kind of dress before?" His words carried admiration and something deeper, unspoken.
Fiona's lips curved in a subtle smirk, her eyes sparkling with mock incredulity. "Since when did you regain your sight?"
"Uh… sight?" Alexander stammered, blinking, caught off guard by the sharpness hidden behind her teasing tone.
The car sank into a tense, suffocating silence, and for a heartbeat, the world outside seemed oblivious, unaware of the reckoning that was about to unfold.