The charity banquet hosted by the Mortari family was held in the family estate's massive glass-domed banquet hall overlooking the sea.
Tonight, the venue was crowded with celebrities. The leading figures of Laguna's political, business, and cultural circles were nearly all in attendance; dresses rustled, shadows mingled, and wine glasses clinked in a sophisticated display of high society.
A live band played elegant, soothing melodies while waiters carrying silver trays laden with fine wine and delicacies wove through the crowd.
On the surface, this was a grand event to raise public welfare funds for the reconstruction of the Hidden Sea Proving Ground and to reassure the public—a display of unity and responsibility by Laguna's elite in the wake of the crisis.
However, all those in the know understood that this magnificent banquet was, in truth, another round of confrontation and probing between the factions of the Provisional Council outside of official settings.
Francis Mortari was, naturally, one of the central figures of the evening. Like a seasoned captain, he navigated among the guests with ease, beaming with smiles and conversing with wit. He effortlessly wove intentions for commercial cooperation and political alliances into seemingly casual pleasantries.
Several family elders followed by his side, skillfully receiving visitors from various factions.
The several Convent priests invited to the event were also trying their best to blend in.
Antonio and Marco had smiles plastered on their faces, actively describing the grand significance and investment prospects of rebuilding the Proving Ground to wealthy merchants, attempting to secure more funding and support for their own faction.
Meanwhile, Alex and his group looked somewhat stiff, appearing out of place in their surroundings, yet they still struggled to maintain their dignity.
Zanni continued to fulfill her duties. Tonight, she had rarely traded her usual sharp suit for a form-fitting evening gown. Like a silent shadow, her sharp gaze swept the hall, paying particular attention to any suspicious characters approaching Coletta or Francis.
She noticed the sight of several Convent priests making contact with certain merchants of complex backgrounds and silently committed it to memory.
One of the true protagonists of tonight was undoubtedly Cantarella Fesale.
She had chosen a blue-purple backless mermaid gown. The velvet material perfectly outlined her mature, graceful curves, and her long purple hair was pinned into an elegant bun, revealing her fair, slender neck.
She wore little jewelry, save for the massive deep-blue sapphire pendant on her chest, which rippled with a profound light under the lamps—much like herself, mysterious and alluring.
The moment she entered, she instantly drew countless gazes, captivating both men and women alike.
She nodded composedly to acquaintances, conversing with a natural grace. Every word she spoke seemed to carry a hook, easily extracting information while making people feel as refreshed as a spring breeze.
The other protagonist, Coletta Mortari, had opted for a pure white knee-length dress with a fresh and elegant design, looking like an elf under the moonlight.
She struggled to imitate her grandfather's composure, playing the role of the hostess by greeting guests and introducing auction items.
She was young and beautiful, possessing a noble status, and naturally drew significant attention from those present.
However, compared to Cantarella's total command of the room and her bewitching charisma, Coletta appeared slightly lacking in experience, occasionally revealing a hint of tension and artificiality.
Rover, dressed in a well-tailored suit, stood in a relatively quiet corner holding a glass of wine. He appeared to be admiring the sea view, but in truth, he was taking in all the hidden undercurrents within the hall.
As the most striking figure in the room, he was the target many people wished to approach tonight, but the faint sense of aloofness surrounding him kept most at a distance.
The dance music began, and the banquet moved into the ballroom dance segment.
The first round of the confrontation quietly commenced.
As if by precise calculation, Cantarella drifted gracefully toward Rover halfway through the first song.
She didn't need to speak; she simply extended a hand clad in a long black lace glove, a triumphant smile lingering on her lips. Her blue-purple eyes shimmered with an alluring light under the chandeliers.
"I wonder if I might have the honor of inviting our 'Crown-Taker' for a dance?"
Her voice wasn't loud, but it was enough for those nearby to hear.
Countless gazes instantly focused on them.
Rover glanced at her but did not refuse. He set down his wine glass, took her hand, and the two drifted onto the dance floor.
Cantarella's dancing was superb; like the woman herself, it was full of mature charm and a sense of control.
She led the steps, her body staying tantalizingly close to Rover. Every spin and every close contact perfectly displayed her charm and the intimacy between them.
She tilted her head slightly, whispering in his ear with breath like orchids. The content might have been a joke about a certain priest or a technical detail about the Proving Ground, but regardless of what she said, her posture was full of provocation and possessiveness.
"It seems My Lord is in a good mood tonight?" she chuckled softly against his ear, her fingertip tracing his palm almost imperceptibly.
Coletta watched from a distance. Seeing Cantarella practically pressed against Rover while he didn't push her away—occasionally even leaning down to respond—jealousy and competitiveness grew in her heart like wild vines.
She took a deep breath, telling herself she couldn't lose.
As the song ended, applause rang out.
Cantarella performed an elegant curtsy, pressed a light kiss to the back of Rover's hand, and then strolled away, leaving behind a bewitching silhouette.
The second round: Coletta strikes.
Hardly giving Rover a moment to breathe, Coletta clutched her skirt and walked toward him with some urgency.
Her cheeks were flushed with tension and excitement. Her gemstone-like eyes looked directly at him, and her voice carried a nearly imperceptible tremble: "Rover, the next dance... can you dance with me?"
Her invitation was direct and clumsy, yet full of a young girl's sincerity and courage.
Rover looked at the clear expectation in her eyes, nodded, and extended his hand once more.
Unlike Cantarella's effortless grace, Coletta's steps were somewhat stiff.
For some reason, Coletta—who had once been able to perform an elegant "duo-dance" with Rover even in the heat of battle—seemed quite green at this moment.
She tried hard to look elegant but nearly tripped over her own hem; fortunately, Rover caught her with a steady hand.
"S-sorry!" Coletta's face turned even redder.
"It's alright, just relax," Rover's voice was gentle.
Coletta struggled to find topics to talk about. She spoke of the banquet preparations and her visions for the reconstruction of the Proving Ground, her words full of ideals and passion.
She looked at him with burning eyes: "I hope... Laguna can become better. I hope... to witness it together with you."
Her heart was pure and touching.
However, to Cantarella, who was conversing with others but kept her attention fixed here, this was nothing more than an immature girl's game of confession.
A playful, cold sneer lingered on her lips.
Halfway through the dance, Cantarella held a glass of wine and approached the edge of the dance floor as if by accident. While greeting a merchant, she happened to block one of Coletta's rotation paths, while her dress hem subtly and naturally caused a slight trip.
"Ah!" Coletta gasped. She instantly lost her balance and was on the verge of falling!
At the critical moment, Rover applied force with his arm, firmly catching her waist and pulling her upright.
"Th-thank you..." Coletta was still shaken, her face so red it looked like it might bleed. She was so embarrassed she wished she could find a hole in the ground to crawl into.
Cantarella immediately assumed an expression of concern: "Miss Coletta, are you alright? How could you be so careless? The dance floor surface is indeed a bit slippery."
Her words sounded perfectly sincere, seemingly full of care.
The victor was decided.
Coletta had made a fool of herself in front of everyone, while Cantarella had disrupted her rhythm without lifting a finger, all while maintaining her own graceful image.
The dance finally ended in Coletta's agony.
She performed a curtsy to Rover as if fleeing, hurriedly whispered "Thank you," and walked away with her head down, her silhouette full of defeat.
Rover watched her go, his eyes calm, revealing neither joy nor anger.
Just then, Cantarella approached once more like a victorious queen. This time, she directly took Rover's arm, her tone intimate and natural. Her voice was just loud enough for those nearby—including the not-yet-distant Coletta—to hear:
"Alright, the dance is over, and social time is at an end."
"Rover, regarding that evaluation report for the Echo energy suppliers, I feel there are a few points I need to confirm with you immediately. Why don't we go talk over there?"
Using an impeccable professional excuse, she directly "borrowed" Rover away.
Before leaving, she turned her head toward Coletta's direction and cast a perfect smile full of the victor's triumph and a hint of pity.
Coletta stood rooted to the spot, watching the two of them walk away arm-in-arm. Listening to the faint whispers surrounding her, she felt her face burning. The bitterness of failure and a strong sense of humiliation overwhelmed her.
But this time, she didn't just brood in silence as she had before.
She clenched her fists tightly, her nails nearly digging into her palms.
In those blue-red eyes, defeat was gradually replaced by a harder, more burning light—the fighting spirit of one who refuses to give up.
The banquet continued, the music remained melodious, and the laughter was constant. But beneath this gorgeous facade, certain resolutions were quietly sprouting.
The war between Coletta and Cantarella had only just entered its fever pitch.
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