Chapter 53 Farewell Dinner
Sloane's POV
My heart suddenly skipped a beat.
Grandma?
I instinctively looked at Isabelle, only to see her face turn deathly pale, her hand gripping Keira's trembling slightly.
"Elia..." Isabelle's voice carried a barely noticeable tremor and pleading tone.
But Elia acted as if she hadn't heard. She extended her hand toward me, her face showing a warm smile without any trace of hostility.
"Hello, Sloane. I'm Elia Lancaster."
Lancaster.
That name stopped me cold.
The cousin Isabelle had mentioned who shared some blood relation with me—Christian Lancaster.
And this elegant, dignified woman before me was his mother.
"Hello, Ms. Lancaster." I withdrew my hand and politely stepped back half a pace, creating a safe social distance.
The ripples caused by the word grandma were quickly suppressed.
Whether it was the Winslow family or the Lancasters, to me they were both just troubles I didn't want to get involved with anymore.
My aloofness was obvious. The smile in Elia's eyes faded somewhat, replaced by a hint of curiosity and confusion.
She seemed about to say something more, but her wrist was suddenly gripped tightly by Isabelle beside her.
"Elia, we really need to go. Everyone in the private room is waiting!" Isabelle's voice was sharp and urgent as she pulled Elia away, making her frown.
As she passed by me, Isabelle didn't even dare look at me, leaving only her panicked retreating figure.
I watched them disappear around the corner of the hallway, the doubt in my heart growing clearer.
Isabelle's reaction was too strange. She seemed terrified that I might exchange even one more word with Ms. Lancaster, as if I had inadvertently glimpsed some unspeakable secret of hers.
"What's wrong?"
Jared's voice came from behind me. He had finished his phone call at some point and was standing at the terrace door watching me.
I collected my thoughts and shook my head. "Nothing, just ran into a couple of acquaintances."
He didn't press further and sat back down across from me.
The ripples from that brief encounter quickly dissipated, and the atmosphere at the table returned to its cold silence.
This so-called farewell dinner was unbearably oppressive.
He seemed to be trying hard to create an illusion of warmth, clumsily cutting my steak for me, moving the asparagus from the side dishes onto my plate—doing things he would never have done before.
But his every movement was like a staged mime show, full of deliberate flattery and silent attempts to make me stay.
And I was just a cold observer.
"In the future... if anything comes up, you can contact me anytime." Near the end, he finally broke the silence, his voice low and hoarse.
I looked up and gazed at him quietly.
Contact him? In what capacity? As his kicked-out ex-wife, or as the mother of his unborn heir?
I didn't answer. I just put down my knife and fork, wiped the corners of my mouth with my napkin. "I'm done eating. I'd like to use the restroom."
Without waiting for his response, I stood up and quickly escaped from this suffocating table.
In the restroom, I turned on the faucet and repeatedly splashed cold water on my cheeks.
The face reflected in the mirror was pale, numb, with eyes as hollow as a soulless puppet.
What exactly was I expecting?
Expecting him to suddenly see the light, or expecting him to develop a conscience?
I laughed at myself mockingly. Sloane, don't be stupid. From beginning to end, this man has only ever loved himself and the inheritance within his easy grasp.
I turned off the water, dried my face with paper towels, and put back on that impenetrable cold mask.
But when I pushed open the door to leave, a figure blocked my path.
Keira stood with her arms crossed, leaning casually against the wall, her pretty face full of undisguised mockery and venom.
"I thought you'd finally seen reality and left for good. What's this—divorced but still shamelessly clinging to Jared for dinner?" She looked me up and down with a cold, lingering stare that made my skin crawl. "You're pretty good at playing hard to get, Sloane."
Looking at her smug face, I couldn't be bothered to waste words with her and moved to walk past her.
But she stepped directly in front of me, completely blocking my way, her voice growing sharper and more cutting. "What? Did I hit a nerve? You look pissed." She smirked. "You think one dinner changes anything? Uncle Aeneas already promised me that once you're gone, I'll be the next Mrs. Montclair. What makes you think some used-up has-been like you can compete with me?"
"Compete?" I finally stopped and turned to look at her coldly. "Keira, aren't you thinking too highly of yourself?"
I mimicked her earlier posture, stepping forward and forcing her to retreat until her back hit the cold wall.
I leaned in close, lowered my voice, and said clearly, word by word: "You think I begged for this dinner? You're wrong. It was Jared—he begged me not to leave, begged me to give him one more chance."
The smugness on Keira's face instantly froze. She looked at me in disbelief, her eyes full of jealous fury.
Looking at her twisted expression, a strange sense of vengeful satisfaction grew from the desolate ruins in my heart.
"You know who he was talking to on the phone just now?" I curved my lips into a smile that was cold and cruel. "He was canceling tomorrow's meeting with his father. He said being with a useless nobody like you who has nothing but family background makes him sick."
These words were half true, half made up by me.
But I knew every single word was like a knife that could precisely stab into her most vulnerable self-esteem.
"You're lying!" Keira completely lost control from my provocation, her pretty face flushing red. "Jared would never say that! You bitch, you're just jealous of me!"
"Jealous of you?" I laughed coldly, the contempt in my eyes unconcealed. "Jealous of what? Jealous that you stripped naked and threw yourself at him in bed and he couldn't even be bothered to touch you? Or jealous that besides the title of Winslow family heiress, you have nothing? Keira, you're pathetic."
"Shut up! Shut your mouth!"
My words completely tore apart her last layer of pretense. She screamed and raised her hand to slap me hard across the face.
But I was prepared.
The moment she moved, I grabbed her wrist with one hand, and with the other, without hesitation, I used all my strength to slap her across the face!
The crisp, loud sound of the slap echoed through the empty hallway, particularly jarring.