The clink of cutlery was steady now, almost rhythmic, like the ticking of a hidden clock counting down to something none of them could see.
Juliet had returned to picking at her food with delicate disdain. Selene twirled her wineglass by the stem, letting the golden liquid catch the light like it mattered more than anyone at the table. Vincent sat quietly at the head, eyes lowered, face unreadable.
Aria didn't eat much. She barely touched the duck. But she didn't need food.
She was already full—of silence, of glances, of the sting behind Selene's smile and the way Juliet's voice pitched higher when she wanted to be cruel without getting her hands dirty.
"Legacy," Selene said suddenly, loud enough to break the air. "That's what separates the fleeting from the lasting. You can't build it overnight. It's something you're born into."
Juliet gave a soft hum of agreement. "Some of us were raised to understand it. Others… were just raised."
Aria's fingers brushed the stem of her glass. She didn't look up.
Selene leaned forward slightly, her voice honey-laced poison. "Out of curiosity, Aria… what would you say your legacy is? Besides reappearing out of nowhere with perfect timing."
Isabelle didn't speak. But the faint twitch at the corner of her mouth said everything.
Aria let them wait. Let the silence pool.
Then—she smiled. Slight. Clean. Controlled.
"I suppose that depends on who's telling the story," she murmured, gaze still on her plate.
Juliet tilted her head. "Well, I wouldn't worry. Nobody really expects someone like you to carry the family torch." Her eyes glittered. "Unless your plan is to marry into status. I hear desperate women do that all the time."
Selene laughed once, low and sharp. "Yes, but who'd want to marry someone from your background? No offense, of course."
Aria finally looked up. Calm.
Her voice came soft—too soft. "How is Connor, by the way?"
Juliet blinked. "Connor?"
"You know…" Aria tilted her head. "Connor Lavigne. GlenTech's regional CEO. Tall. Married. Likes red wine, backseats, and interns."
Silence cracked like glass dropped in velvet.
Selene choked mid-sip. Coughing into her napkin. Isabelle's fork froze mid-air. Juliet went pale—fast.
Aria reached for her water glass. Took a sip. Then continued, as though she hadn't just detonated the atmosphere.
"I only ask because last I checked, he was still paying off the lease on that penthouse you used during Fashion Week." A pause. "The one registered under a friend's name."
Juliet's lips parted, but no sound came. Her throat moved like she'd tried to swallow something too large.
Aria's eyes didn't leave hers.
"It's hard to preach pedigree," she said, setting her glass down with a quiet tap, "when you've spent the past year deleting texts and hoping his wife doesn't hire another investigator."
A beat.
Then another.
Selene's laughter broke the silence—awkward, strangled. "Well. That took a turn."
Juliet stood abruptly. Her chair scraped back just slightly, not enough to draw attention—but everyone noticed. Her eyes shimmered, jaw clenched, the curve of her cheek twitching like she might explode or cry or both.
Vincent hadn't moved.
He sat still, his elbow on the table, one hand resting near his wineglass. His gaze was on Aria now—not furious. Not surprised.
Just watching.
The silence returned, heavier this time. Like the walls had leaned in to listen.
Aria adjusted her posture, as if nothing had happened. She reached for her napkin and dabbed the corner of her lips with effortless poise. Every motion is deliberate. Every breath is calculated.
Juliet sat back down without speaking. The fire popped in the background, the only noise left to acknowledge the fracture running down the center of the table.
Isabelle's eyes flicked from Juliet to Aria and back again. She opened her mouth to say something—but closed it just as quickly.
Selene cleared her throat and poured herself more wine.
Aria didn't touch her glass again.
She'd already said what she came to say.
Vincent shifted slightly. Just enough that his face angled in her direction. His gaze lingered—not cold, not warm. Studying.
And in his mind, the thought passed quiet and clean:
She's just like her mother—never backing down,I see someone knows how to make her findings .
Aria set her utensils down. The meal could continue without her. It didn't matter. The game had changed now.
She didn't raise her voice.
She didn't stand.
She didn't storm or shout or explain herself.
And yet—
Every person at that table knew, with gut-level certainty, they'd underestimated her.
And now they were paying for it.