Across the hall, a few guests shifted uneasily in their chairs. They couldn't explain it, but they felt it. The gathering storm behind those calm, dark eyes, the terrifying inevitability of the consequence that was about to be unleashed. Saraphina faltered again just for a second. She raised her chin higher, trying to smother the seed of doubt with another forced laugh, but the crack in her facade had already appeared.
And in the silent, charged space between them. Dr. Aerys Thornee thought only one thing. "Your family believes they poured champagne on me. They don't see that I'm about to pour their entire future down the drain." The napkin slid back onto the table, folded with meticulous care, as though the stain upon it meant nothing at all.
Dr. Aerys Thornee's hands returned to their stillness. Her gaze swept the hall, not hurried, not seeking sympathy, but merely observing. She was an anthropologist studying the bizarre, self-destructive rituals of a dying tribe. Each guest felt the weight of her eyes as they passed over them. Some averted their faces, suddenly fascinated by the pattern on their plates.
Others pretended to take a sip of champagne, hiding behind their glasses. The air grew dense, fragile, every sound, a cough, a scraped chair, sharp and loud against the silence she commanded. Saraphina, a predator sensing her prey was not behaving as expected, mistook that quiet for victory. She strutted closer, her heels striking the marble with a deliberate rhythmic click. "There it is," she announced loudly, turning to the crowd as if delivering the final line of a play.
The silence of someone who knows deep down that she doesn't belong. A few loyalists clapped on Q. A nervous, hesitant ripple of laughter followed, but it died quickly. The CEO remained unbothered, an island of calm in a sea of unease. Her stillness was no longer defensive.
It was strategic. It was the coiled quiet of a viper before it strikes. She reached for her phone, which had been lying face down on the table. The screen lit up her palm with a soft, ethereal glow. Her fingers moved with an unhurried terrifying precision, tapping once, twice.
She lifted the phone to her ear. The shift in the room was immediate and seismic. The crowd leaned in, their morbid curiosity peaked. Saraphina tilted her head, a smirk playing on her lips. "Oh, is she calling for help?"
She sneered. "Maybe her driver can bring her a towel." Her words were sharp, but her voice was a little too quick, a little too eager to fill the space. When Aerys's tone came, it was nothing like Saraphina's theatrics. It was calm, cold, and quiet.