Chapter 265: Champagne’s Off
Chapter 265: Champagne’s Off
Seraphina's POV
Helena's accusation hung in the air like a bad smell. I stood my ground, refusing to shrink under her glare.
Before I could respond, Victoria glided over. Her smile was as fake as her eyelashes.
"Now, now," she cooed, patting Helena's arm. "Let's not make a scene. These things happen at parties." Her voice dripped with manufactured concern as she turned to the dripping mess that was Bucktooth Barbie. "Margot, dear, perhaps you should get dried off."
Her eyes slid to me, calculating. "Though I must say, Ms. Calloway, this is the second... incident you've been involved in tonight. First the missing brooch, now this unfortunate poolside accident."
The way she emphasized "accident" made it clear she believed it was anything but. Classic move—pretending to mediate while actually throwing gasoline on the fire.
Leander stepped closer to me, his arm sliding protectively around my waist. I felt him tense beside me, his jaw tightening as he surveyed the growing crowd of Apex's finest vultures, circling for the kill.
"Mrs. Whitmore," he began, his voice deceptively calm, "I think—"
I gently pushed his arm away. "I appreciate your concern," I said, matching Victoria's saccharine tone with my own. "But this young lady's accusations are becoming quite tiresome." I turned to address the crowd, my voice clear and steady. "This is the second time tonight I've been falsely accused. Perhaps we should check the security cameras?"
I gestured toward the discreet security cameras positioned around the pool area. "The surveillance system here is state-of-the-art, isn't it? I'm sure it captured exactly what happened."
The crowd's murmurs shifted. Several people nodded in agreement.
"Security footage doesn't lie," I continued. "Let's see who was really doing the pushing."
Bucktooth Barbie—Margot, apparently—went pale as a ghost. Victoria's smile flickered for a split second before she regained her composure.
"That won't be necessary," Victoria said quickly. "Oh my, Charlotte, darling!" She suddenly exclaimed, looking at her daughter. "You don't look well at all."
On cue, Charlotte let out a pathetically fake cry of pain as her mother pinched her arm. "I'm feeling faint," she whimpered, leaning dramatically against her mother. "Must be the excitement."
"I should take her inside," Victoria announced. "Please, everyone, enjoy the rest of the fireworks. The dessert buffet will be served shortly."
As the Whitmore women retreated, I caught Charlotte throwing a venomous glance over her shoulder. If looks could kill, I'd be six feet under.
Leander and I exchanged knowing glances as the crowd dispersed. His eyes held a mixture of admiration and amusement.
"That was quite the checkmate," he murmured close to my ear.
"Amateur hour," I replied with a small smirk. "If they're going to try to take me down, they should at least be clever about it."
---
As the party shifted indoors at the sprawling Whitmore mansion, the orchestra kicked into a waltz. Couples twirled across the polished floor, a parade of designer labels and tailored suits. Leander guided me to the dance floor, his hand warm against my lower back. For the first time all night, I let myself unwind, our steps syncing effortlessly to the music. Damn, it felt good to be here with him, even with all the chaos.
“You know,” I said softly, “your mom might legit shank me in my sleep after tonight.”
He laughed, the sound vibrating through his chest. “She’ll come around. Give it time.”
“What, like twenty years? Thirty?” I teased.
His eyes crinkled. “She’s protective as hell, but she respects strength and smarts. You’ve shown both tonight.”
I opened my mouth to reply, but then I spotted Charlotte gliding over, her face a mask of fake sweetness that made my skin crawl. She’d freshened up, looking poised again—a viper ready to strike.
“Leander,” she cooed, ignoring me like I was invisible, “may I have this dance?” Her voice was pure poison wrapped in honey, her eyes flicking to me with smug triumph.
Leander glanced at me, a silent question in his gaze. I gave a tiny nod—let’s see how this shit plays out. He turned back to her, polite but cold as ice. “Sorry, Charlotte, but my dance card’s full tonight. One partner only.” His arm tightened around me, making his point crystal clear.
Her smile cracked. “Just one dance,” she pressed, her tone turning whiny. “We took ballroom lessons together, remember? Our parents are watching—they’ve always loved seeing us dance.”
Her mix of entitlement and childish begging was almost laughable. I bit my cheek to keep from grinning.
“Charlotte,” Leander said, voice dropping to subzero, “I’m sure there are plenty of other guys here dying to dance with you. Parties are never short on eligible bachelors.”
I tugged his sleeve lightly. “Music’s changing,” I murmured. “Waltz next?”
We turned away, discussing steps in hushed tones, effectively shutting her out. From the corner of my eye, I saw Charlotte freeze, her smile now a brittle shell barely hiding her rage. She stormed to the edge of the floor, gripping her champagne flute so hard I thought it might shatter.
“That’s gonna bite you in the ass,” I whispered as we spun.
“Worth every damn second,” he grinned, making my heart skip a beat.
---
Later, as the night dragged on, a server approached me with a practiced smile. “Ms. Calloway, a special reserve champagne, compliments of the house.”
I took the glass, keeping my expression neutral, but something felt off. The server’s demeanor was too stiff, his eyes darting away too fast. After the crap I’d dealt with tonight, my guard was up. I studied the champagne—bubbles rising too quick, a weird sheen under the chandelier light. My gut screamed trouble.
I caught Leander’s eye across the room, giving a subtle head shake. He strolled over casually, playing it cool. “Trying the special reserve?” he asked, eyeing the glass.
“Just about to,” I replied, lifting it to my lips. I let the liquid graze my mouth, not swallowing a drop. Even that tiny touch revealed a bitter, chemical edge beneath the sweetness. No way in hell was this just champagne.
I set the glass on a nearby table, smiling tightly. “Interesting vintage. Not my taste.”