When I sought something from Levi, he often acceded with a calm "Yes, Raphael," a phrase that, if one paid minute attention, carried the subtle inflection of genuine volition. This "yes," however, had resonated differently; it was the flat, resigned affirmation of a child whose closest blood relative had, over the course of countless years, expressed clear, unyielding dominance over him. It stemmed not from respect for her, nor from any affection towards her. He was simply answering an obvious question, a necessary formality to make the dreadful interaction cease.

What abysmal, traumatic events had transpired between these two, rendering their connection so profoundly fractured, so irrevocably estranged?

As I was about to finish my anemic mushroom soup, Levi finally, painstakingly, attempted to take his first spoonful. He made sure to gather the tiniest, most minuscule amount of the liquid, bringing it to his mouth with a visible effort. I couldn't help but feel a flicker of sympathy for him. Yet, a cynical part of me was also consumed by curiosity: why was Levi, the cold, powerful mastermind, obeying his mother in this fashion? Perhaps this, too, was merely another intricate component of his inscrutable scheme.

Cybil’s gaze, sharp and unwavering, was fixed on me. I felt the prickling intensity of her stare, a tangible weight on my skin. She then turned her face to Levi, her lips curving into a thin, predatory smile. "So, Levi, it appears you have attained your desired outcome. You have indeed formalized a union with an individual quite outside the parameters of nobility. Inform me, then, do you anticipate returning after your… honeymoon?"

Where exactly will you return to, Levi? To what forsaken corner of this gilded cage?

Levi, with a deliberate, almost theatrical slowness, placed his spoon precisely in its designated spot beside the bowl and met his mother's gaze. Cybil, impatient with his silence, pressed on, "Cease this petulant behavior, Levi. You have had your diversion subsequent to your affair with Julia." Her eyes, cold and sharp as shards of ice, flicked towards me for a fleeting, dismissive moment, a micro-expression that confirmed my grim, sinking suspicion: Julia was indeed the first spouse. "Return to your rightful place," Cybil commanded, a thin, triumphant smirk playing on her lips.

Knowing very little, but at least knowing something about Levi’s character, there was no conceivable way he would ever consent to be the mere heir of his family under her thumb. Cybil, however, did not wait for a response; she was also nearly finished with her soup, scraping the last remnants from her bowl with a delicate, yet audible, sound. Levi, for his part, was eyeing his bowl with a visible grimace, unsure of whether to force down another spoonful. I knew, intuitively, that I had to jump into the conversation, to create a diversion, but it felt impossible. I knew nothing about her, nothing about their labyrinthine issues, their bitter history.

The anemic soup bowls were swiftly taken away by silent servants, replaced with the main course: a thick, greyish piece of steak, accompanied by a pallid potato puree and several charred asparagus spears. It was the dish Levi explicitly hated the most. Cybil, with this deliberate choice, was clearly testing Levi's obedience.

The lioness didn't play nice. Her gaze, sharp and disdainful, conveyed clear disgust towards my own dining etiquette, which I had, admittedly, abandoned for the sake of survival. I carefully cut a small piece of the unappetizing meat, forcing myself to put it into my mouth. It was not, to put it mildly, as good as one would expect from a chef who worked for a reputable noble house. It was utterly chewy and brutally overcooked. As I chewed the rubbery, tasteless mass, I could see Levi’s jaw clenching, the muscle working in his cheek. He either wanted to kill his mother or the chef, I wasn't sure which. I wanted to create a minuscule, yet significant, fissure in Levi's composure, to give him a moment's reprieve. So, with a calculated, theatrical flourish, I spat my mouthful of the offending meat back onto my plate with an audible, resonant plop of profound disgust.

Taken from NovelBin, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

"Agh! Mother, did you genuinely intend for us to ingest this vulcanized car tire you presume to call dinner?!" I exclaimed, wiping my mouth with the burgundy tablecloth rather than a napkin, lingering on the word ‘Mother’ with an exaggerated, impudent reverence. Levi stopped clenching his jaw, a deep, slow breath expanding his chest, and then, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk touched his lips.

"My husband, it appears, finds the quality of your culinary offerings to be considerably below standard, Mother," Levi stated, his voice a low, almost purring undertone. By being a disgusting 'commoner,' by acting out, I think I did something precisely right by him.

Cybil pressed the palm of her hand firmly over her mouth, struggling visibly to suppress a gag, her eyes narrowed in fury. My primary objective was to ensure Levi would not be compelled to consume a single morsel of something he so clearly detested. I spun in my seat, turning my full attention to Cybil. "Mother," I began, my tone deceptively sweet, "I am utterly aghast that you would deign to feed your two precious sons this… this burned garbage."

Levi, for his part, had completely ceased paying attention to his mother. His eyes, fixed on me, now held an almost eager sparkle. But he was expecting a little too much from someone who had very little actual idea about their labyrinthine family baggage. My mind was blank. I genuinely didn't know what to say next. Luckily, Cybil had venomous words ready to cut me off.

"Julia would never have stooped to such ludicrous theatricality."

You old hag, who cares about Julia?! I mean, I do care a little bit, but not in a sense of jealousy. More like me wondering whether Julia was another emotionally unavailable woman who contributed to Levi being the impenetrable, cold wall he was today. Obviously, rich, dark red wine was served at the table with the steak—another calculated insult, another thing his son actively hated.

"Mother," I shot back at Cybil, my voice sharp with retaliatory glee, "did you, perhaps, select Levi's previous spouse with the same meticulous discernment you applied to this utterly dreadful dinner menu? Clearly, he holds no particular fondness for either."

Nailed it.

"Remove yourself from my domicile this very instant, or I will personally ensure your forcible eviction!" Cybil sputtered, her face purpling, her breath coming in short, ragged puffs.

"Remove myself to where? We are on an island; do you want me to swim back to the capital? I confess, I was unaware that ladies of the nobility had such a keen appreciation for humor." I spat, my voice laced with venomous sarcasm.

Levi was mildly amused by my whiny, increasingly desperate antics, but I was completely out of ideas, having exhausted my repertoire of petty insults. I nudged his arm with my elbow, a silent, urgent gesture for him to do something. He calmly reached for the glass of red wine and swirled the dark liquid within, his gaze unwavering on his mother.

"Mother," he began, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous register, "is this colloquy sufficient for our purposes? Or do you, perchance, desire that we perpetuate this dreadful dance for the entirety of our respective existences?"

Cybil's answer was not surprising, not really. "I risked my very life for you and your sister, Levi! Is this how you choose to recompense my sacrifice?!" she cried, her voice trembling with a mixture of outrage and self-pity.

Shit. He had a sister too?

"No, Mother. Father was the one who demonstrably risked his actual life. You merely desired to repose upon wealth for the entirety of your existence, and I, for my part, facilitated that aspiration, precisely on your terms. Now, either choose my way or take a trip to the back end of the island."

I didn't fully comprehend the chilling implication of his words, but the razor-sharp tone of his voice was terrifying even for me, sending a shiver down my spine. Cybil, the lioness, got visibly pale after his last words, the blood draining from her face.

"How can you utter such words towards your own mother, you monster!" Cybil gasped, her voice thin with terror and disbelief, her entire frame trembling uncontrollably. Levi, without a moment's hesitation, rose from his seat, his movements fluid and resolute.

"My sincerest apologies for not awaiting the final course," he stated, his voice devoid of genuine contrition, "but I must insist upon our immediate departure. I find myself desirous of a brief stroll."