The birthday banquet of doom

Aria took a deep steadying breath and opened the uber door. Her grandfather had made her come to her stepfather’s birthday banquet as lowkey as possible.

She was in an ordinary unassuming high necked calf length gown, with a plain unassuming hairstyle and carrying a normal matching azure bag, which all made it very easy for her to blend in with the crowd.

Well, it was easy except for the glinting rock on her left hand that seemed to be broadcasting its own satellite signal to space whenever it caught on a little piece of light.

She’d been home for just two days.

Even Vegas couples didn’t get married this fast.

She stepped out, and immediately flashbulbs exploded. White. Bright. Blinding. Everywhere she turned, like she was some kind of celebrity.

The sharks were out.

Their lights flashed suddenly, bright and fast enough to frighten the uber driver, making him jerk the car forward a little. This led to a domino of irritating events.

Aria stumbled forward.

Her first entrance into high society after five long years and she was about to stumble on the pavement.

Arthur would kill her.

Just as she squeezed her eyes shut and waited for the worst, she felt hands around her waist, steadying her and pulling her upright.

Aria’s head went blank for a split second. His scent filled her lungs, her heart stuttering as she smelled the hint of musky leather and tobacco, the scent she still associated with one particular man.

She sucked in a breath and her eyes flew open.

Straight into her stepbrother’s. Straight into Liam’s.

His jaw was sharp enough to cut glass, his expression a cocktail of enigma and something darker. The tuxedo clung to his broad shoulders, his tie already loosened like he’d been suffocating inside the banquet hall. His touch burned, his grip firm, like saving her was a reflex he despised but couldn’t stop.

“Careful,” he muttered, low enough that only she could hear. His breath was warm against her ear, sending goosebumps down her neck and all over her body. “Wouldn’t want you sprawled out on the floor again.”

The words landed like a dagger. Again. Always again.

Aria stiffened, ripping herself out of his grasp. But the flashes caught it anyway, his hand at her waist, her flushed face, the tension between them crackling like static. The crowd of journalists roared louder, smelling blood in the water.

Liam eyes were narrowed and lidded as he looked at her and gestured for her to walk into the hall.

She hadn’t even said a word to him yet, but he already had the upper hand. Aria clenched her fist and walked into the banquet hall, ignoring the bright flashes and the yelling of questions, acutely aware that Liam was following right behind her.

Will Rothschild was sitting in a large seat, it could almost be called a throne, but Aria could see none of her grandfather’s charisma in him.

Her stepfather.

Her mother, Camille, was whispering into his ear with a smile. Aria clenched the handle of her bag even tighter and stepped fully into the hall.

Again, like they’d been specifically expecting her, they rushed forward.

“Why did you run away five years ago?”

“Is it true that you drugged Mr Liam Rothschild?”

“Was the child with you Mr. Rothschild’s?”

“Did you come back to stop his engagement?”

These were not normal questions. They came in a flash, alongside the blinding lights that really made Aria regret not wearing sunglasses.

She felt a presence at her back that made her stiffen. The heat was radiating off him and onto her, and she could sense it was Liam again.

“I thought you were ethical?!”, Hartie said from across the hall, coming to the entrance where Aria was surrounded with her face hard and her voice loud. “I had no idea you were so unprofessional! Don’t bother my sister anymore!”

Gasps rippled. The cameras clicked. Hartie was perfect as always, the defender, the heroine, the angel in satin.

Aria raked her eyes up and down Hartie’s body slowly. She was decked in subtle jewelry and a beautiful gown that absorbed the light from the cameras and made her glow.

The paparazzi wouldn’t ask so many personal questions unless they were prompted. And now they were backing down upon her request?

Bitch.

“Oh Aria”, Hartie exclaimed, fresh tears springing into her eyes like she hadn’t been the one to ruin her life. “I’ve missed you so much”, she said.

Aria could feel all eyes on her, waiting for her to step into her usual role as “less than Hartie”. Aria was done with that.

“Then you should have called, five years with no contact, did you really miss me?”, she asked, adjusting her dress properly and blocking out all noise, making her way to her stepfather, ignoring the shock she could clearly see painted on some people’s faces, like they couldn’t believe their kind Hartie Rothschild could go years without any communication with her older sister.

There was more they didn’t know.

Her stepfather glanced at her with a controlled expression, neither disgust nor joy present on his features. Brilliant actors, the whole family.

“Happy birthday, stepfather”, she whispered softly, stretching out her present to him from her bag. He smiled tightly and directed his assistant to drop it among the pile of presents, even though it was small and could get lost, even though she could see that the small presents had been opened first.

She saw it for what it was. Another dismissal.

Well, that was his problem. She had reached out to Master Wyatt, the great calligrapher that Will admired, and he had signed Will’s name on it. Now it would be lost for good, and she would ask Master Wyatt to blacklist him for good measure.

These were the little acts of revenge she could take with her current power.

His hand flexed and he raised it to signify she should pass. She chanced a glance at her mother, hoping that, maybe after all the years, after everything, her mother’s heart had finally softened towards her.

Wrong.

There was hatred swimming in Camille’s gaze, pure and unadulterated. Aria immediately steeled herself and walked to sit on her own, at a table far away from the family. After all, they hadn’t even brought out a seat for her at the main family’s table, obviously ostracizing her from their happy family.

This was obviously not where Aria belonged.

No.

She didn’t belong among these sharks, waiting to get torn to pieces. Her biggest mistake five years ago was not realizing that. Trying to fit in and become one with the Rothschilds had been her greatest downfall.

Her phone pinged, a short, quiet melodious sound that she barely even heard. But she was attuned to the sound of that notification, and she looked at her phone to see a short message.

“I love you mommy”

Her heart softened. One good thing had come out of the her predicament. Her grumpy little Asher.

“Miss Griffin!”, a loud man distracted her from her phone and she looked up to see a camera shoved closely in her face, the reporter’s microphone blocking her path.

She glanced at Liam. Unintended. Foolishly.

They locked in on that.

“Miss Griffin, are you here to stop Mr Liam’s engagement and try to get into his bed again?!” The reporter asked, not even letting the other sharks get the chance.

Aria stored his face in her memory. Due retribution would be carried out later.

She felt everybody’s searing gazes on her, but more particularly, she felt Liam’s.

It was hot and stripping, like he was ripping off her clothing one by one with his teeth until there was nothing left and she was left bare in front of him.

Aria didn’t like feeling bare.

She shifted her bag to her right hand and waved her left, acting as though she was dismissing the reporter.

Her ring caught the lights, all of them, and shimmered brightly, and Aria could hear the ripple effect of people gasping in the hall.

She looked at Liam. His gaze was no longer stripping her bare. No, it was now fury and fire all locked into one. His shoulders were tense and his jaw was locked tightly like he wanted to shatter his skull with the force.

Her grandfather had been right.

The reporter was shell shocked and backed away shakily, stepping on wires and disconnecting his camera.

That was no ordinary ring. It was a blue trace boron diamond. No ordinary person was touching this ring or wearing it anywhere. Especially not a disgraced and nearly disowned child.

Hartie’s eyes were narrowed ever so slightly, not quite blatantly showing her surprise. The perfect actress. She should have gone into the entertainment industry instead.

The ripple of gasps hadn’t even settled before Camille’s heels clicked against the marble.

Aria’s mother looked radiant, not a hair out of place, her gown sculpted to perfection, her smile smooth as glass.

“Everyone,” Camille announced warmly, “I apologize for the disruption. My daughter Aria is simply adjusting after her long absence.”

Daughter. The word was sweetened with poison. That wasn’t what she said five years ago. That wasn’t what she called Aria all her life.

Aria’s throat went dry. She could feel Liam’s fury like a blade at her back, but she schooled her expression, pretending to be unaffected as Camille glided forward, every step a performance.

POne woman stared at Aria so hard that she felt it, the woman was seated at a table with a bunch of old men, old powerful men. Why was she staring so hard at Aria?

“And I’m proud to say,” Camille continued, voice pitched just high enough to carry, “that Aria will soon be resuming work in the Rothschild company.”

The room went still. Murmurs erupted in the wake of her words. The sharks smelled fresh blood.

Aria’s pulse kicked hard. She had foiled their plans to completely drag her in the mud, so they immediately jumped on the next best way.

She forced herself not to react. Her grandfather’s orders pulsed in her head: Stay quiet. Investigate. Do not make your move yet.

“Oh, but of course,” Hartie chimed in, ever gracious, her lips curved in that practiced angelic smile. “She’ll be starting as an assistant. That’s how we all began, isn’t it?”

Gasps rippled again, quieter this time, but sharper, more cutting.

Hartie smiled innocently at Aria, voice coated in honey. “It’s the Rothschild way, we start from the bottom, earn our stripes, rise to the top. A fair process.”

Aria stared at her. She knew. They all knew. No Rothschild had ever “started from the bottom.” Hartie herself had waltzed straight into a director’s position with her father’s signature. But Hartie was painting her, Aria, the outsider, as the lowly servant.

And the crowd was lapping it up.

Laughter tinkled at one of the tables. Pitying glances darted her way. The woman had stopped staring at her.

Her fingers curled into her palm until her nails cut deep. She wanted to burn Hartie alive with one sentence, wanted to shred Camille’s careful mask.

But Arthur’s voice echoed in her mind. She had only one goal going into the Rothschild company, and that was razing it to the ground.

So Aria stood straighter, eyes cool, ring still glinting on her finger. She met Hartie’s gaze and let her lips curve into a smile. A promise.

Hartie’s perfect expression faltered, just a flicker, just a heartbeat.

But it was enough for Aria.

She felt her skin prickling with goosebumps and she suppressed a slight shiver. Liam’s gaze speared her again, scorching, demanding.

Bastard.

She refused to flinch.

Not this time.