Chapter 5: Dining with sharks.
Chapter 5: Dining with sharks.
The next morning, she swept into the sunlit kitchen like a storm wrapped in silk. The staff — cooks, maids, and butlers — straightened at her entrance, accustomed to the sharp edge of her gaze.
“Morning,” she said crisply, pouring herself a cup of strong black coffee.
A young maid approached nervously, holding a tray of pastries.
“Mrs. Harlan, the silver tea set needs polishing again. The usual order from the florist is delayed.”
She didn’t flinch.
“Then find a suitable replacement. Fresh, nothing less. And double-check the guest rooms — especially Christopher’s. I want everything flawless.”
The maid nodded quickly and retreated.
Her personal chef appeared next, bowing slightly.
“Any changes to the menu, ma’am?”
“None. But every course must be impeccable. The guests are not to taste anything less than excellence.”
She turned sharply, eyes flashing. “I will not tolerate mistakes. Remember that.”
The chef’s face tightened but held steady.
As she moved through the kitchen, her heels clicking sharply against the marble, she paused at the window overlooking the manicured gardens.
Control wasn’t just for the house. It was for the family. For the legacy.
She allowed herself a brief smirk. The game had begun.
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That evening, seated in the grand dining room, she played hostess with the effortless grace of a lioness. The table was a masterpiece of crystal, silver, and fresh orchids, and the air hummed with polite conversation and quiet power struggles.
Her eyes flicked to Christopher as he sat among the guests — his jaw set, his expression guarded. She knew his stubbornness well, but she was patient.
Her voice was silk and steel as she greeted the women.
“Welcome. I hope you find tonight as… enlightening as I do.”
Each smile she gave was a calculated move, each word a test.
Because for her, this wasn’t dinner.
It was war.
The grand dining room was a cavern of polished elegance. Crystal chandeliers showered the long mahogany table in fractured light, casting prismatic glints across silverware arranged with surgical precision. The air was thick with the scent of white orchids and a subtle trace of expensive perfume.
Christopher sat at the head of the table, a composed figure in a tailored midnight-blue suit. His jaw was clenched beneath calm eyes, betraying the storm brewing beneath the surface. He scanned the three women seated around him — each carefully positioned to showcase their strengths, and each a carefully selected piece on his mother’s chessboard.
The matriarch presided over the room like a queen surveying her court. Her smile was cool, practiced, but her eyes never missed a detail — a misplaced napkin, a flicker of hesitation, the slightest lapse in posture.
“Welcome, ladies,” she began, her voice smooth as aged whiskey. “Tonight is an opportunity — not only to dine, but to reveal what lies beneath polished veneers. We are all here to find the perfect fit for our family.”
Alina DeLacroix, poised and graceful in emerald silk, lifted her chin slightly, her smile carefully measured. “It’s an honor, Mrs. Harlan.”
The matriarch’s gaze sharpened. “Please, call me Eleanor.”
Sofia Carstairs, draped in classic black crepe, laughed softly. “I do appreciate the invitation. London society can be… taxing.”
Eleanor inclined her head. “I’m sure. We pride ourselves on discretion here.”
Elena Mirov, understated in a charcoal-gray sheath, met Eleanor’s eyes steadily, her expression unreadable. “Thank you for having me.”
Christopher’s eyes flickered briefly to Elena — a glimmer of respect — before he turned back to Eleanor.
“Mother,” he said, voice low, “this feels more like an interrogation than a dinner.”
Eleanor smiled, a razor beneath the velvet.
“Only because stakes are high, Christopher. We don’t waste time on frivolity.”
The first course arrived: a delicate consommé, steaming and aromatic.
As the guests sipped, Eleanor launched her first volley.
“Alina, tell me — how do you handle failure? In your family’s circles, expectations are… relentless.”
Alina’s smile didn’t waver. “I believe failure is merely a stepping stone to mastery. My family has always expected perfection, but it’s taught me resilience.”
Eleanor nodded slowly. “Resilience is admirable. Sofia?”
Sofia’s eyes twinkled with practiced charm. “I find that failure is often an opportunity for reinvention. In architecture, every collapsed design leads to a stronger structure.”
Christopher glanced sideways, interest piqued.
Elena’s reply was quiet but firm. “Failure is inevitable, but how we respond defines us.”
The room hummed with tension as Eleanor allowed the words to settle.
She turned her gaze toward Christopher.
“And you, Christopher — what do you expect from the woman who stands by your side?”
Christopher’s eyes darkened briefly.
“Loyalty. Strength. Someone who understands the weight we carry.”
A faint smile flickered on Eleanor’s lips. “Good.”
The second course was served — seared scallops on a bed of microgreens, delicate and precise.
Eleanor shifted gears.
“Let’s speak of ambition. Ladies, where do you see yourselves in five years? And how would that fit within a… family business?”
Alina’s voice was steady. “I aspire to lead philanthropic initiatives globally, leveraging my family’s influence to create real change.”
Sofia added, “I aim to expand my firm internationally, blending innovation with tradition.”
Elena’s tone was measured. “I intend to climb the diplomatic ranks, strengthening international relations — especially with emerging markets.”
Christopher’s brow furrowed slightly as Eleanor regarded the answers.
“Ambition is necessary,” Eleanor said softly. “But it must never overshadow the family’s legacy.”
Alina caught the nuance and nodded. “Of course. The family must come first.”
The third course arrived — a rich beef Wellington, the aroma filling the room.
Eleanor’s eyes flicked to each woman in turn.
“Tell me about sacrifice. What have you given up to be here tonight?”
Alina’s eyes glimmered with a trace of vulnerability. “Freedom. Youth. But I accept it as part of the path.”
Sofia’s smile was tinged with fatigue. “Certain friendships. A simpler life.”
Elena’s voice was quiet but unyielding. “Comfort. Certainty. But I believe sacrifice is the price of true purpose.”
Christopher’s gaze lingered on Elena, a silent acknowledgement passing between them.
The room fell into a charged silence.
Eleanor finally raised her glass, eyes locking with Christopher’s.
“To legacy,” she said, voice ringing clear.
The guests echoed, glasses chiming softly.
As dessert was served — dark chocolate mousse with a hint of chili — Eleanor’s smile tightened ever so slightly.
The night was far from over.
Each move, each word, was a step closer to the truth beneath the polished facades.
And Eleanor would uncover it all.