CHAPTER 138: LOWER YOUR STANDARDS

I felt Raphael’s gaze before I truly saw him.

One step. That was all it took to break the spell I was desperately maintaining. The danger wasn’t loud—not yet. But I knew him. Knew that simmering fury behind the calm exterior. Raphael was a bomb waiting to go off. And I had to act fast if I wanted to keep this room from becoming ground zero.

I had seconds.

Because if I didn’t act now, he would.

And knowing Raphael... blood might spill before dessert.

So I knocked over my glass.

The crystal clattered dramatically against the table, sending a splash of wine across the white tablecloth and James’s shirt. He let out a startled curse, flinching back as if I’d thrown a knife instead.

"Oh my God!" I gasped, standing up fast, hand over my mouth. "I’m so sorry—I didn’t mean to—"

The waiter rushed over immediately, panic in his eyes. "Madam, are you alright? Sir, please allow us to—"

James stood too, now fussing with a silk napkin. "It’s fine, it’s fine, just—damn, this was imported."

Of course it was.

But I played the role of the flustered girl to perfection. "This is so embarrassing. I—I need a moment."

My father was halfway to rising, confused but trying to salvage face. "Selene, what’s going on?"

"Father," I said sweetly, standing up suddenly. My chair scraped loudly against the floor. "I just realized this place isn’t the safest. There was a little fire code violation here last month, and I heard something about an unresolved gas leak—"

Charles blinked. "What? That’s nonsense—"

"Oh no, it’s fine, really. But perhaps we should go somewhere quieter to talk. Somewhere less... combustible." I looked at James with a saccharine smile. "You don’t mind, do you? I think I’ll feel more comfortable elsewhere."

James raised a brow, amused. "Of course not. I’d hate for you to combust."

Idiot.

I leaned toward my father, whispering just loud enough for him to catch the urgency beneath my act. "Let James drive us to that place? You know the one I mean."

Charles squinted, then his eyes lit with something nostalgic. "Oh... yes. That place. You’re sure?"

"Completely. I have something important to tell both of you."

Charles, sensing opportunity, nodded eagerly. "Yes, yes, of course. That’s a splendid idea."

I sent one last glance toward the far wall.

Gone.

Raphael had vanished like smoke.

My heart thudded against my ribs. I prayed he wouldn’t follow. But it was Raphael. Of course he would.

*****

James opened the door to his sleek obsidian Aston Martin and flashed a grin as he gestured for me to enter. "After you, princess."

I slid into the passenger seat, biting back the bile rising in my throat. Charles settled in the back with an unearned air of victory.

The car ride was quiet. James turned on some mellow jazz, clearly trying to project a calm, mature image. He smelled like citrus cologne and ambition.

I didn’t bother to speak, conserving my energy for whatever trap they planned next—or whatever Raphael planned, depending on who got to who first.

Charles sat in the back, humming to himself. Probably already daydreaming about a mansion funded by Cartwright blood money.

"You didn’t tell me you were nostalgic," James said as we turned onto the winding road leading to the edge of the city.

"There are a lot of things you don’t know about me," I murmured.

"Yet," he added, smiling.

The garden was a secluded oasis, a hidden gem from my childhood where my mother and I once spent countless afternoons.

Nestled behind the estate, it was encased by towering hedges that shielded it from prying eyes. The air was thick with the scent of blooming jasmine and roses, mingling with the earthy aroma of freshly turned soil.

A stone pathway, worn smooth by years of footsteps, meandered through vibrant flower beds bursting with color—deep reds, bright yellows, and soft purples. In the center stood a weathered wooden bench, its paint peeling, a silent testament to the passage of time.

The gentle hum of bees and the distant chirping of birds created a serene symphony.

As we stepped into this sanctuary, memories flooded back—my mother’s laughter, her gentle touch as she guided my hands to plant seeds, the warmth of the sun on our faces. This was our haven, a place untouched by my father’s cold ambitions and the dark undercurrents of our family’s dealings.

James followed closely, his polished shoes crunching against the gravel. He paused, taking in the surroundings with a raised eyebrow, his expression a mix of confusion and disdain. The sunlight filtering through the leaves dappled his tailored suit, highlighting the tension in his posture.

"This is it?" he asked, his voice laced with disappointment. "I expected something... more."

I turned to face him, masking my irritation with a serene smile. "This place holds sentimental value," I replied softly, my fingers brushing against the petals of a nearby rose. "It’s where I feel safe."

He chuckled, a low, mocking sound. "Safe? In a garden that looks like it’s straight out of a children’s storybook?" His gaze swept over the vibrant flora, dismissing it with a curl of his lip.

My father, ever the observer, stepped forward, placing a hand on James’s shoulder. "Now, now, James," he chided gently. "If this is where Selene feels comfortable, then we should respect that." His eyes met mine, a silent warning flickering in their depths.

I nodded in appreciation, though my mind was elsewhere, calculating my next move. The garden’s tranquility was deceptive; beneath its beauty lay the perfect stage for the delicate game I was about to play.

Taking a seat on the old bench, I gestured for them to join me. James hesitated before lowering himself onto the bench, his discomfort evident.

Sorry, but we couldn’t have some fancy chair in such a place.

"I hope this isn’t lower than your standard?" I pried further with a ruse smile.

He gave an eye shut smile and responded with a "It’s lovely!"

My father remained standing, his presence looming over us.