CHAPTER 200: A KISS BEFORE THE STORM

At Riverdale Villa,

The call connected after a faint beep. Seraphina leaned forward, hoping to hear better news. "Tell me," she demanded, her voice tight. "How are things at the venue?"

On the other end, a man’s voice sounded uneasy. "I... wasn’t able to do anything, madam. Aveline Laurent and her team are too meticulous. Double-checks on every corner. Nothing slips past her."

Seraphina’s chest tightened. One day left. Just one day to ruin Aveline. "Then why haven’t you caused the disruption in the hall yet? If it isn’t done tonight, the inspector won’t find anything dangerous tomorrow, and the event won’t be canceled!"

Then Theodore’s dry scoff cut her off. "Canceled? That would only cost her money. She would hand it over to the Cullens without blinking. Seraphina Astor, I want her destroyed. I want her rotting in prison where Alaric cannot reach her."

Seraphina froze, her breath catching at the realization. When she was planning to hurt Aveline’s ego and pride, her image and status, Theodore was talking about....

"You’re talking about sabotaging the structure... During the event?" The images flashed in her mind. Aveline was crushed beneath chandeliers, guests screaming, blood on the floors.

Seraphina’s pulse thundered, bile rising to her throat, "No." Her voice cracked before sharpening with resolve. "We are not risking innocent lives. Stop this right now."

Theodore laughed, low and cold. "A war always asks for casualties, Seraphina Astor. This isn’t a catfight, it’s a battle. If Aveline dies, better. If she’s framed, even better. Either way, she rots with Damien." That’s a victory in both ways.

The man on the call hesitated, stammering, "Err... Sir, it’s nearly impossible. Aveline Laurent doesn’t cut corners. She doesn’t settle for ’fine’ or ’Okay,’ only ’perfect.’ There’s no way to slip in..."

"You’ll do it," Theodore’s command sliced through, without taking his refusal. "If you value your business and your family, you’ll do it."

The line went dead.

Seraphina sat frozen, her knuckles white against the armrest. Cold sweat beaded her temples. She wanted power, revenge, but not a bloodbath. Not this. Yet Theodore had fixed on it.

She staggered up, intending to ask Nicholas for Alaric’s number, to warn him about the storm. She went down the stairs and was stepping towards the study when a deafening crash erupted downstairs.

’crash’

Fine china shattered across marble. Nicholas’s voice roared. "Pathetic! What is this slop?... Only one dish? You expect me to eat this trash?"

The chef stammered apologies, but Nicholas’s fury only grew. "You’re fired! Get out!"

Tears streaked the man’s face as he fled, the third chef dismissed in less than two weeks. Seraphina clenched her fists, witnessing it.

With the budget Nicholas allowed, she couldn’t hire seasoned cooks like the ones in Lancaster Mansion. These were decent, hardworking men, and still, Nicholas degrades and fires them one by one.

When his gaze lifted to hers, she snapped. "Cook your own meals from tomorrow!" she spat, before storming upstairs to her bedroom.

Yes, separate bedrooms, separate lives. What a mockery of a marriage.

....

Sitting on her bed, trembling with fury, Seraphina accepted what she had denied until now. She no longer wanted mere victory because she blamed her situation on Aveline.

So she wanted Aveline dead, or caged forever. And she wanted Alaric broken, chasing a ghost until pain consumed him. Only then would she reign like a queen under the Lancaster roof.

....

Dawn of the event,

At five in the morning, steam curled off Aveline’s skin as she stepped out of the guest room shower. Slipping into a fresh dress, she lingered by the bedside where Alaric slept peacefully. Yet she knew storms swirled beneath his calmness, and she was the reason behind them.

Last night, she had brushed off his confused ’Years?’ with a flimsy excuse about how the two months felt like years to her. But Alaric had read her lie. He hadn’t pressed, as always, but his silence was heavier than words. It just added to her guilt.

She bent, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek, whispering into the quiet, "I’ll tell you everything tonight... even if it costs you." Shoes in hand, she tiptoed away.

The moment the door shut, Alaric’s eyes opened. He stared at the ceiling, her words echoing in his chest. ’What truth could make her fear losing me?’

He thought long and hard, but no reason seemed enough for him to leave her. Yet he was glad that she finally decided to trust him with it.

Because no matter what it was, he could never let her go.

And the 30th anniversary of Cullens was a celebration grander than even Lancaster Holdings had ever dared to host.

So Alaric just hoped the event would not only write history in Velmora but also become Aveline’s success story. He convinced himself he would just have to bear the emptiness for two or three days at most for every such event she hosts.

....

At the venue,

Aveline arrived just as the flowers and cooking supplies were delivered. While one staff member handled the unloading, she walked straight into the kitchen. The head chefs hadn’t arrived yet, but the assistant chefs responsible for prep were already in place, ready to begin. She checked their lists, ensured nothing was missing, and gave quick guidance on the final arrangements.

By ten, the team gathered for breakfast. Aveline barely had taken a first bite before a staff member rushed over. "There is a safety inspection officer at the entrance."

Telling her team to continue eating, Aveline hurried to the entrance. Her steps slowed down when she saw only one man standing there, studying the decor with a faintly amused look. From what she remembered, inspections usually came in teams.

Anyway, she introduced herself, "Aveline Laurent, from Grace and Bloom."

He offered a polite smile as he held out his ID, which bore his name, Ben Collins. And he began, "Ms. Laurent, I must apologize first. My daughter was unwell yesterday, and I had to take her to the hospital. I tried my best to make it here, but the situation at home didn’t allow it. I hope you can forgive the delay."

"It’s alright. I understand," Aveline replied without hesitation.

Ben Collins seemed relieved and soon grew enthusiastic, "Architectural Journey Walkthrough by 3D models?! I’ve never seen anything quite like this, absolutely brilliant!"

He tapped the tables, checked the partitions, and confirmed their sturdiness. He laughed heartily when he saw the hall of building materials arranged so precisely. "They look unbelievably artistic."

And he continued praising everything he saw as they moved on to the Time Capsule section, the Interactive Photo Wall, and the Engagement Elements, praising non-stop.

Aveline kept her expression neutral. To her, the inspection felt perfunctory, more for show than substance. She had heard they often asked for bribes; thankfully, this one did not. At the end, he signed the certificate, kept his copy, and handed her the original.

"Ms. Laurent, in all my years, I didn’t expect safety inspections would lead me to something this impressive." He nodded to himself, taking a last look inside, "I’ll get going then."

Aveline barely reacted to him. Though she felt his amiable behavior was odd, she focused on her work.

Returning to her team, she gave her own order: "Double check everything." She trusted her staff’s eyes more than any official stamp.

By noon, the reports came in. No issues.

She dismissed the laborers and sent the Grace and Bloom staff to the nearby hotel she had booked, instructing them to rest and get ready for the event.

She herself stayed back with Tara, the social media manager, to receive the Cullens’ representatives and the event hosts. They rehearsed every detail and walked them through the flow.

At ten minutes to three, Nolan and the others returned. Only then did Aveline allow herself to retreat to the hotel. The moment she reached her room, she collapsed on the bed.

’This is more exhausting than I imagined,’

she thought while sending her father a video of the event, and spoke to Charles, who was full of pride.

Somewhere in the middle of his words, she drifted into sleep.

...

The sharp ring of her phone woke her with a gasp at five. Groggy, she answered Nolan’s call, though it was Tara’s voice that spilled through, brimming with excitement.

[Ms. Laurent, the event is a hit! Everyone is singing praises. Two hours in, and all the business, entertainment, and news channels are talking about us. Social media is on fire, comparing us to international firms.]

Aveline’s lips parted into a tired but satisfied smile. "We made it."

She barely had time to relish the moment before Nolan’s steady voice followed. [Ms. Laurent, are you alright? You skipped breakfast and lunch. Did you manage to grab something to eat?]

Only then did she realize her stomach had been empty all day. "I’ll eat something and come," she said lightly.

[Take your time,] Nolan replied, ending the call.

Just then, the doorbell rang. Peering through the peephole, Aveline found her boyfriend, strangely out of place in the modest hotel. She opened the door, and his smile was all the welcome she needed. She fell into his arms, her exhaustion loosening into a yawn.

"I had dozed off," she murmured. "I think I should get a good massage tomorrow."

He shut the door behind them and carried her effortlessly. He set her down against the pillow as if she were made of glass. His lips brushed her forehead, lingering longer.

"A massage, hmm?" he murmured, his voice low, teasing. "I happen to specialize in... stress relief therapy."

Aveline gave a tired laugh, though her eyes sparkled at the look in his. "And what does that include, Mr. Lancaster?"

He leaned closer, his hand sliding slowly along the curve of her thigh. "First, the shoulder release," he said, pressing his thumbs gently into her tense muscles until she melted with a soft sigh.

His lips trailed lower, his lips brushing the hollow of her neck. "Then... the breath recovery technique."

His mouth captured hers before she could reply, deep and consuming, drawing out all the exhaustion she had bottled inside.

She gasped against him, her arms curling around his neck. "That doesn’t sound like a real method."

"Oh, it’s very real." His chuckle vibrated against her skin as he shifted, his hands mapping her body with unhurried care.

Each movement was deliberate, a caress disguised as treatment, her wrists, her waist, her legs, all under the guise of therapy.

Her protests melted into laughter, then sighs, then the sound of his name slipping past her lips.

By the time she realized his so-called massage had deepened into something far more consuming, they were already lost in the heated rhythm of one another, exhaustion forgotten, replaced by a different kind of fire.