CHAPTER 80: LUNCH OF CHAOS

Leila takes a deep breath. She’s taking her time to answer, not because she’s offended, but because she refuses to sound defensive. What Margaret said is true. Her daughter did run away with a man. And she was gone for five days.

The only reason it didn’t become a public scandal was Arthur.

Her son cleaned the mess before anyone even sniffed it.

Leila being this careful isn’t her default. Normally she’s warm, open, and approachable — but facing these... witches, she has to tread lightly.

Unfortunately, her silence and caution are instantly misread as confirmation.

The gasps get louder.

"A young maiden doing something like that!"

"Can she even be called a maiden anymore?"

"She must be a terrible mother, how could she let her daughter run off like that?"

"And the family didn’t search for her? Five days?"

"Maybe they knew it was already too late to fix anything!"

"Oh my god, how horrendous!"

"Ladies, you do realize that the ’daughter’ you’re all talking about is actually sitting right here in front of you, in the flesh?"

Theo’s sweet, melodic voice cuts cleanly through the chatter.

The effect is instant.

Silence.

Leila turns to him, stunned.

She’s speaking for herself? In public? Since when?

She almost forgets to breathe.

Still wearing that gentle, polite smile, Theo finally breaks eye contact with the Baroness and sweeps his gaze across the table, looking each woman in the eye one by one, taking his time, until he stops on Margaret.

"I’m right here. If Ms. Blackwood has any questions about Theodora Montrose..."

His smile sharpens by a fraction.

"...then she should ask me. Because I know her."

The smile widens; beautiful, harmless, and absolutely not harmless.

"And ladies," he continues, breaking eye contact with Margaret to address the entire table. "The same goes for the rest of you. I’m right here. Speaking about someone as if she isn’t present..."

He tilts his head, almost pitying.

"...is rather rude, don’t you think?"

A soft sigh escapes him, delicate, but dripping with disappointment.

"It’s not something the esteemed ladies of the Arvion High Société would do..."

He lets the silence stretch.

"...is it?"

Slowly, deliberately, Theo turns his gaze to the Baroness.

The look isn’t hostile, it’s worse.

It’s judgment.

As if he’s saying without words: "This is the company you keep? A pack of amateurs who don’t even know basic etiquette?"

All of the ladies are stunned, not knowing how to respond or what to say.

Margaret looks like she’s about to choke.

"But I’m the younger generation here. Just turned sixteen, so what do I know?"

Theo smiles sweetly. "Please, ladies, pardon me if I speak too much or too rudely."

He clears his throat softly.

"To answer Ms. Blackwood’s question... the answer is yes. I did run away with a man, and I did stay with him for five days alone in his house near the entrance of the Selene hiking trail at the foot of Mt. Helene."

He continues calmly, "As for my mother, she did nothing wrong. It was me who ran away. Me who stayed with a man for five days. It was my fault. And whether I am still a ’maiden’ or not is certainly none of any of your business."

He stops speaking and lets his eyes sweep around the table, openly challenging anyone brave — or stupid — enough to speak.

Baroness Voss’s heart pounds in her ears. She’s struggling to keep her anger in check.

A mere sixteen-year-old dares to challenge me... Baroness Maristella Voss of Valestria?!

A few staff members of the Opaline Terrace arrive to serve the amuse-bouche: a chilled velouté presented in a single iridescent crystal spoon.

The ladies are saved by the distraction. They grab the escape route like it’s heaven-sent.

"Er, please—" Veronica tries to speak, but her voice comes out squeaky. She clears her throat quickly.

"Ladies, please enjoy the velouté. It’s one of the Opaline Terrace’s finest amuse-bouches. Please."

Then, through clenched teeth, "Enjoy."

They don’t need any encouragement. Every woman instantly becomes absorbed with her dainty crystal spoon, pretending to be fascinated with the bite-sized serving while chatting lightly to diffuse the tension.

Margareth finds it very hard to swallow.

The Baroness lifts the crystal spoon, only to notice her hand trembles. She freezes, inhales slowly, and forces her fingers steady before trying again. She manages it the second time.

Leila is also having a difficult time eating her amuse-bouche. Theo’s words are still echoing in her mind.

If Miranda and Claudia could see them now, they would say the roles have reversed: Leila, the mother, looks shy, uncertain, almost flustered, while Theo, the daughter, sits calm, composed, and frighteningly adult.

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Speaking of Miranda and Claudia, the server assigned to their table is currently stunned.

The esteemed Lady Monfort and Young Lady Monfort are... ordering an assortment of amuse-bouches.

The Opaline Terrace does serve a selection of amuse-bouches, but it is never something a guest requests.

It’s part of the fine-dining ritual, a complimentary, chef-chosen opening.

It is not on the menu, and diners do not order extra servings. That’s simply not how fine dining works in Altheon.

Yet these two ladies have now ordered their third round.

The poor server freezes, unsure what to do. Internally panicking, he discreetly excuses himself, walks briskly to his head server and whispers,

"Sir... what do we do? They’re asking for another amuse-bouche."

The Chef de Rang pales.

"We can’t really say no, but we also can’t keep serving them," he whispers back.

They look at each other, nod in shared misery.

The server waits awkwardly at a distance while the Head Waiter slips away to find the maître-d.

Meanwhile, Miranda is completely unaware of the stir she’s caused. She was only trying to send the server away from their table, she is far too busy staring toward Leila and Theo’s direction.

But that one annoying server kept coming back.

She dismissed him the first time with the first sentence that popped into her head:

"Give me another serving of these."

The server visibly froze, but bowed and left.

The second time he returned, blocking her view again, Miranda felt her patience snap, but she still kept it elegant.

She waved him off with another, "Go and get us another serving of these."

That was when the poor man finally broke and fled to find his superior.

Now Miranda and Claudia are hunched over their table, the second serving of amuse-bouche plates sitting between them.

Miranda whispers, "What do you think they’re saying? I want to know if they insult Leila and Thea or not. Can you see their mouths from here?"

Claudia shakes her head. "No idea. I only know they were laughing like ugly hyenas, then Thea said something... and now nothing."

She sighs dramatically. She automatically reaches for the crystal spoon and takes a bite. "We picked the wrong table. It’s too far, Mom."

"Should we move closer?" Miranda also reaches for her crystal spoon.

"But they’ll see us. Them not noticing us is good. When we jump in, we can surprise them. Element of surprise is key in an attack. Dad says that."

Claudia frowns. "Why does it taste the same as the previous dish? They gave us the same one."

"Really? That’s rare. This place never repeats a dish. But you’re right... it is the same." Miranda frowns.

Suddenly their view is blocked by a perfectly pressed black suit.

Miranda sighs in annoyance. Both she and Claudia look up.

The maître-d of the Opaline Terrace is smiling at them.

"Ah!" Miranda speaks before he can. "You’re right on time. Excellent. Your server made a mistake. Just a small one—don’t scold him. I’m sure it was an honest mistake. He gave us the same dish twice."

The maître-d is stunned. "...I know." He speaks hesitantly.

"That is why I am here." He tries not to frown, but he can feel something is wrong and can’t quite pinpoint it.

"Oh, you don’t need to apologize. It’s fine. They’re delicious. And if it’s any consolation, they taste exactly the same. Your consistency is amazing!" Miranda beams politely.

Claudia tilts her head, trying to peek past him toward the other table.

The maître-d notices and shifts, clearing Claudia’s line of view, but blocking Miranda’s even more.

Miranda exhales. "Look, I don’t want to be rude, but please go and get our next dish. The correct one."

The maître-d blinks several times. He glances at the server beside him, who shakes his head frantically.

The maître-d takes a slow breath and says carefully,

"But... Madam Monfort... you haven’t ordered anything."

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While the Opaline Terrace maître-d is trying to solve his crisis, the ladies of the Arvion High Société are struggling with theirs.

The problem: None of them know what to say next.

They pretend to stay occupied with the amuse-bouche, but there’s only so much a single crystal spoon can do. One bite. One minute. Two if they force it. And that’s already pushing the limits of dignity.

After that?

Silence.

Awkward, choking silence.

All ten sets of eyes creep toward the Baroness.

She is the only one among them with the rank, and the nerve, to salvage the situation.

Their "savior" calmly dabs her lips with the perfectly pressed white napkin of the Opaline Terrace, the picture of aristocratic poise. She lifts her tea, sips, and sets the cup back onto its saucer with a soft click, clearing her palate as if preparing for battle... or the appetizer.

Then she lifts her gaze.

A polite smile appears, thin, controlled, and absolutely devoid of warmth, as her eyes settle on Theo.

"Mrs. Montrose," she begins.