Platters emerged from the kitchen in quick procession. The scent of roasted herbs and butter filled the air as dish after dish was placed before us. No one spoke. Not even my mother. The only sound was porcelain touching wood and the soft shuffle of people rushing away.
I sat rigidly beside Vani, acutely aware of every breath she took. She adjusted her napkin calmly, smoothing it over her lap like she was settling into an ordinary dinner.
Across the table, my mother openly glared at her. They moved over Evania from head to toe as if she were inspecting a flawed product.
Evania didn’t react.
If she noticed—and I knew she did—she gave no indication. She reached for her water glass and took a slow sip, completely unbothered.
My jaw tightened.
The tension stretched longer than it should have. The staff finished placing the final dish and stepped back, awaiting dismissal. My mother waved them away without a glance.
“Are you going to acknowledge me,” she said sharply, eyes locked on Evania, “or were you not taught basic courtesy?”
I stiffened.
Evania blinked once, slowly, then looked at her.
“I’m sorry?”
“You walked into my home,” my mother continued, her voice tight and clipped, “and didn’t even greet me.”
My hands curled into fists. My mother was clearly the one who set an invisible boundary with Evania, refusing to acknowledge her, even though her husband had already done so.
“That’s not—” I started.
Evania raised a brow and glanced at me.
That single look stopped me. It was the third time she gave me that look today.
I swallowed back my words, not wanting to make things worse. Evania sat back in her chair, folded her hands lightly on the table, and looked at my mother with steady eyes.
“Are you planning on being a bitch the whole evening?” she asked.
15- Evania
I knew exactly what I was getting into when I agreed to lunch with Callahan’s parents. There were only two possible outcomes. His mother would either adore me or despise me. And if she despised me, Callahan would feel obligated to defend me.
I knew all this. What I hadn’t anticipated was how entertaining it would be to watch it all unfold.
"Are you planning on being a bitch the whole evening?" I asked, wanting to see just how far we could push each other.
Gasps rippled down the length of the dining table. For a moment, even the sun seemed to stop its quiet descent. Mrs. Sterling blinked at me, as if she couldn't believe the words that left my mouth.
Her lips thinned to the point they looked nonexistent. “Excuse me?”
“Oh, you heard me,” I replied, offering her a pleasant smile. “I was just wondering if this is an isolated event or if I should expect you to act this terribly from now on.”
Callahan’s hand tightened minutely around his wine glass beside me, his knuckles whitening. His father cleared his throat but stayed silent, eyes flickering to Callahan for a moment. Across the table, Emily’s eyes widened, then darted between her mother and me like she was watching a tennis match—her fingers twisting nervously in her lap. Victoria still had that baffled look on her face, her brows knitting together as if trying to piece the moment together. I felt smug that I put it there.
No one spoke.
No one dared to move.
I could tell they were all stunned that I didn’t cower in fear, and honestly, I couldn’t blame them.
From the moment I stepped into this mansion, it was obvious how this family dynamic worked. Mrs. Sterling ruled. The rest adapted. They let her have control over the smallest things and tried their best to minimize the fallout if she ever got angry.
