Chapter 5

Today was the day of the rehearsal dinner, and the air in the estate was thick with a different kind of tension. Chloe and I had spent the afternoon going through the final arrangements, but if I was being honest, it was all Chloe, not me. She was the one who had everything under her absolute control. The plans, the flowers, the seating charts—it was all managed by her and the high-priced coordinator she had hired. I was just there as "decoration," a silent support system for a world I didn't understood.

I didn't understand why the hand-blown wine glasses had to be imported from Norway, or why it was a crisis that her third backup dress from a Paris boutique was a shade off from "eggshell." But I sat there anyway, nodding and showing support, commenting on how lovely everything looked or how gorgeous the centerpieces were every time she pointed at something.

By the time the evening rolled around, I was exhausted. I was currently getting ready in my room. Just like the previous party, Chloe had sent another dress for this one—a deep emerald silk that felt like water against my skin.

God bless her heart; she even offered to have her private maids come and help me get dressed, but I declined. I already felt awful enough being a "charity case" in this house; I didn't need to be waited on like a princess.

I managed to make myself look presentable. I took my clutch, checked my reflection one last time, and stepped out into the hallway, bracing myself to interact with a room full of high-class, pompous snobs. I didn't get five steps before I stopped dead in my tracks.

Eric was standing by the top of the grand staircase, looking like a god in a tailored charcoal suit. My stomach did a somersault. What did he want now? Was he going to try to confront me about the "cutie pie" phone call from last night?

Panic flared in my chest. Maybe I could hide in my room for a bit. If I just stayed behind the door, maybe he would get bored and leave. I didn't have the energy for our usual cat-and-mouse fight right now. I began to slowly, gently back away, my hand reaching for the doorknob.

Crrrk.

The sound of my heel catching on the floorboard echoed like a gunshot in the quiet hall. Fuck my heels. Why the fuck did I choose to wear these tonight? Eric turned, his thoughts interrupted as he acknowledged my presence. I hated when he did that—the way he stared at me like I was worth all the gold and silver in the world. It made my skin feel raw, as if he could see right through the emerald silk and see the terrified girl underneath.

Deciding to break the tension before I suffocated, I cleared my throat. “Good evening, Mr. Kingston.”

“Evening, Autumn.” He didn't move. He just watched me, his eyes tracking the way my pulse jumped in my neck. It was unsettling.

“Dinner is about to start,” I said, trying to nudge him toward the stairs. But Eric refused to take the hint. He seemed perfectly content to see how long he could make me squirm.

“Let’s go,” he finally said, turning to lead the way.

When we reached the dining hall, the long table was already filled with the Kingston and Hawthorne elite. Eric walked to the head of the table and pulled out the chair directly to his right.

“Sit,” he commanded.

I froze. All eyes in the room snapped to me. The silence was deafening. I felt a flush of heat crawl up my face, embarrassed to be the sudden subject of everyone's scrutiny. Why did this man keep doing this? He was marking me in front of his entire family.

“Mr. Kingston, I believe I have a seat arranged further down,” I whispered, desperate to create distance. “This place is reserved for family members.”

“Yes, Uncle. Tummy already has a place arranged for her,” Chloe said, her voice hopeful as she tried to help me escape the nightmare.

“Eric, she is just a... well, as Chloe said, a guest,” a woman sitting across from us spoke up. She looked to be in her late forties, radiant and sharp-featured. She was a polished, older version of Chloe, so I presumed this was Eleanor, Chloe’s mother. I finally understood why Chloe had never let us meet during our university days. The woman bled arrogance. “Why would you seat a no-name at the family table?”

Eric didn't even look at her. He kept his hand on the back of my chair, his voice steady and cold. “I was the one who told Chloe to invite her. And I am the one who reserved this seat for her. If anyone has a complaint about where she sits, they can deal with me directly.”

He dismissed their protests with a finality that shut down the room. We sat, and for a while, dinner went smoothly, if you could call a room full of people glaring at you "smooth." But then, I felt it. Under the table, Eric’s palm landed on my thigh.

My breath hitched. My heart was hammered. I expected him to do something crazy, something to shame me, but he didn't. He just gently caressed the silk of my dress, his thumb tracing small circles as he calmly instructed the servers to place more food in front of me, as if he were simply taking care of a cherished guest.

“Eric, dearest little brother,” Eleanor continued, her voice dripping with fake sweetness that felt like venom. “Any lead on finding that ‘ghost’ you’ve been chasing for five years? Or have you finally decided to settle for whatever is closest at hand?”

The words were a jagged jab. From what I remembered, Eleanor had always been salty that Eric was the successor to the Kingston empire and not her, despite her being the firstborn. She never missed a chance to subtly humiliate him.

Eleanor wasn't finished, though. She kept prodding, her voice rising as she talked about the "sanctity of the family bloodline."

Eric set down his utensils and fixed her with a bored, lethal gaze. He lifted his wine glass, took a slow sip, and set it back down. “Eleanor, my dearest sister. My private matters are none of your concern.”

He used the same fake endearment she had, mocking her. “But since we are airing out private matters in front of the help, how is your husband? And more importantly, how is his girlfriend? I heard through the grapevines she recently had another child a couple of months ago. An heir, I presume?”

The table went silent. Eleanor’s face turned a violent shade of red, and her husband paled, looking like he wanted to vanish into the floorboards. Eric didn't stop. He twirled his wine glass, his eyes cold. “I wonder whose assets that child will inherit? Because I sure as hell know it won’t be mine.”

He had completely humiliated both of them in one breath. Then, with a cold smile that didn't reach his eyes, he looked around the table. “Cheers up, everyone. Today is about our little Chloe, not family drama.”

I felt a strange mix of fear and relief. I knew then that if a day ever came where Fin was bullied by these people, he would have his father’s wicked tongue and absolute power as backup. But that thought only made the secret in my chest feel heavier.