Revenge is Sweet

Estela Bremmer brought the glass of sparkling wine to her lips as she studied the shocked guy across the table with an enraged gaze, planning the next delicate spike she intended to launch at him. What had gotten into her tonight—that she felt the need to puncture his façade with such vigor—was beyond her comprehension. However, she had been giving in to the temptation all night, and it had grown more robust with each glass of wine she had consumed.

Perhaps it was because this day was the death anniversary of her husband, and Michael Jensen was the polar opposite of Peter. She felt oppressed by resentment over fate's decision to deprive the world and herself of the gentleness and pleasantness of such a pious man. Fate allowed this one, a tainted sensualist, to live and sit opposite her, emphatically vibrating with a practically disgusting reputation.

It was borderline farcical. Estela needed to get used to thinking more clearly. What did Michael Jensen bring to the table for anybody outside his profane stories of provocative adventurism, which, assuming all records were true, were put together to a limited extent for his way of life? His novels, on the other hand, sold in significant quantities. At the same time, Peter's poetry was hardly circulated and generated so little income that, without her income, they would have been financially doomed.

With gloomy discontent, she accepted that this was always the case. The outstanding ones passed away at a young age, whereas the bad ones passed away at an old age. She saw Michael Jensen’s sly smirk as he lowered his handsome head to listen to the chirping of his distributor's enraptured wife. Estela finished her thought with a mental shrug.

She waited until the chatter at the table had died down for a moment before making a noise meant to be heard. Michael Jensen peered into it, his attractively formed mouth fixating on a small section. His bright, dazzling eyes zeroed in on Estela with an impenetrable glare of courteous attention that teetered on the brink of indicating a discourteous lack of participation.

Estela responded, "Tell me, Mr. Jensen." Her innocent grin tugged at her large lips as her sensible emerald eyes widened in question. "Did you mean for your protagonist in Fierce Captain to be as juvenile in his associations with ladies as he ran over?" She made an immobilizing gesture with her shoulders. "All in all, assuming it was purposeful, I guess I can figure out your inspiration." Estela gave him a swift, knowing look from behind her thick lashes. "All things considered, he was a flippant jerk from every other perspective, too, right?"

Estela felt accomplished since she hadn't failed to notice Michael's minor jaw strain, which was the primary symptom of his annoyance. The fact that Michael Jensen had taken her question in a spirit of agreement was utterly irrelevant to her.

His unflappable sense of humor was broadcast through an alluring gleam of white teeth. "In any case, obviously, Miss... uh." He seemed confused and unable to recall Estela's name, but she was confident he did. He appeared like the type of man who would carefully categorize an obvious enemy down to the last detail to protect himself.

Assuming this was all he could do in retaliation for her taunting, Estela stifled a chuckle at his approach, thinking he had a long way to go to resolve the matter with a commendable enemy. He breezed through the checkpoint, managing to convey the impression that Estela wasn't important enough for him to remember her name but that he would forever be the perfect respectable guy and respond politely to her stupid questions. He droned, "That is the appeal of my legends, you see," allowing other members of the party the opportunity to seem naughtily spiffy. "I have a lot of female readers who will not be thrilled with a grave sort of character who enjoyed perusing a poem to his sweetheart and committed to her eternally. That sounds like it might be rather dull, doesn't it?

He wasn't trying to get Estela's opinion, yet his remarks affected her. Estela realized that her husband, Peter, had been the "sullen" type of person that Michael Jensen had depicted, right down to reading poetry to her (his poetry). The man across from her would never be able to commit to another person with the same level of sincerity that Peter had committed to her.

Estela hung on until the others' pretty tense laughter subsided. Many of them knew Peter and had witnessed the relationship that Estela and Peter shared; consequently, it was only natural that they felt some shame for Estela, guilt, and compassion, but not enough to risk upsetting the wealthy creator.

Then she gave him a bright grin before shaking her head slightly. "Maybe you're correct." She made it seem like she agreed with him. The things that women enjoy in their fantasies are often very different from what they would be willing to accept in real life. As a result, your books will continue to be... well, financially rewarding.

The slight emphasis was almost imperceptible, but Estela felt confident that Michael Halsey had understood. She finally landed the killing blow. However, someone like Neils Andersen from Fierce Captain would be doomed to be a lone wolf in real life. When a woman needs a real guy, she's looking for more than someone who can "swash and clasp" in and out of bed.

After her statements, the room became silent for a moment since everyone present was aware of Michael Jensen’s very precarious position, which served as a model for the male protagonists in his writings.

The flash of wild danger in Michael's bright eyes did not affect Estela; she immediately set out to lighten the mood. Given that she was here as Lars Pederson's guest as the owner of Pederson’s Distributions, she knew the welcome was out of genuine concern for her tendency to be withdrawn after Peter's death.

This was most definitely not a formal business greeting. Before Estela could say she had "any genuine significance on the staff" at the newspaper, there was still a long way to go. Since Lars Pederson was a close friend of Estela’s, she came at tonight's distraction to celebrate the release of Michael Jensen's new book. Estela's only regret is that her words put Lars in an awkward position.

She then offered an unplanned remark to Michael while raising her wine glass and smiling brilliantly, albeit perhaps not really. "Every other person has toasted you this evening, Mr. Jensen, and I might also like to. "Cheers to the brains behind Pederson Distribution's breakout hit!" she cheerily toasted. "May your current book sell one million copies, and may your merited achievement go on into what's to come."

In the middle of the general unwinding that followed Estela's comments and the cheers! Michael smiled endearingly and attentively nodded his dim, reddish head. Estela had to give Michael his due respect because she could see he was going to try to reach over the table and choke her. His little aggressiveness didn't make her feel bad about making fun of him. She considered him a wrecked, self-important, libertine, academic lightweight, and she believed he earned something like one thistle amid the red awards that dependably came his way.

She relaxed back into her chair, having become weary of the incessant chatter around her, the insignificance of her surroundings, and her hypersensitivity. She had consumed several glasses of wine during the evening, and as a result, her head was beginning to ache, and her limbs felt somewhat numb. She wanted nothing more than to go home and crawl under the covers of her lonely bed, but she had ridden to the restaurant with Lars and his spouse, Anne, and was thus stuck there until they were ready to leave.

She was looking disdainfully around the table at the women as they stared entranced at Michael Jensen when she happened to catch Henrick Larsen’s eye. Henrick was strange in that he was Michael's manager; even though he and Estela were longtime friends, it was clear that he was bummed out with her at the moment.