Viktor gazed at the plate in front of him, his silver fork sinking into a slice of chicken. The pastry flaked away crisp and golden, revealing a rosy centre that oozed rich wild mushroom duxelles and a hint of foie gras with every careful cut.
Beside it sat truffle mashed potatoes, smooth as velvet and shining faintly under the glow of crystal chandeliers.
The dining table sagged under a spread of lavish dishes—caviar blinis crowned with crème fraîche and flecks of gold leaf, lobster thermidor bubbling under a cheesy gratin crust, roasted quail plump with sage and fig stuffing, chilled heirloom tomato gazpacho in ruby bowls, and a grand charcuterie wheel piled with thin slices of Iberico ham, warm brie en croûte, and swirls of fig jam.
Decanters of red Bordeaux sat breathing softly, while crystal flutes bubbled with vintage Dom Pérignon. Maids in neat black linens and butlers stood like statues along the silk-papered walls, heads bowed, ready for any command in the thick silence.
Viktor looked at the dishes as he muttered something incoherent to himself.
He chewed slowly, enjoying the taste before his voice cut through the quiet. "Why hasn't Emily answered our texts? What does she think she's doing out there?" His daughter wasn't too sharp—she was very emotional, though he couldn't help but appreciate her talent. But she wasn't a CEO material. At best, she could be an employee. And it would be the best for his company.
Elena pressed a linen napkin to her lips, her eyes sharpening as she looked over her seared scallops. They were plump pillows of shellfish, crusted light with panko and set in swirls of cauliflower puree, dotted with microgreens and tiny caviar pearls in a citrus foam.
"She's fooling herself into believing she can make it without us. No matter how much schooling she has, that brain of hers is still childish—acting like some bold alpha when she's not."
Viktor nodded, his fork piercing a spear of asparagus draped in hollandaise, the yolk dripping bright gold. "She doesn't get how rough the world is without backing. Does she even have friends? Anyone watching her back?"
Elena's laugh came out sharp and quick, her fork tapping against her plate. "I don't keep tabs on her little social life." She had no love for her husband—their marriage was just a union of businesses.
"Aren't you her mother?" Viktor's eyebrow lifted cold as he sliced into a rack of lamb, its ruby herb crust giving way to mint jus that pooled dark on his plate.
"You act like the father, Viktor." Her words dripped with sweet ice. She had no love for her daughter, but that didn't mean she would like her to live outside, away from her 'family.'
"I am her father, Elena."
"You never acted like one before."
"I'm a businessman first, Elena." He leaned back in his chair, and a butler stepped forward smooth as shadow to pour more Bordeaux, the deep red liquid glinting like garnet.
She gave a small smirk. "And I've run the business side longer than you have. Forgot who keeps our finances straight? The numbers never lie." Was this man underestimating her? Did he forget who helped him behind the scenes?
A low snarl built in Viktor's throat, his fist closing tight around the crystal glass. "You're a despicable woman."
"We both carry that title, dear." Elena lifted her champagne flute, the bubbles sparkling as she sipped, her eyes gleaming cold.
Alexei cleared his throat from across the damask tablecloth, nudging aside his osso buco. The veal shank fell apart tender in a bath of saffron risotto, brightened with gremolata and rich marrow broth. "Mother, you need to watch her closer. Emily acts on whims—she's too reckless."
Elena's lips pulled thin in a snarl. "I want her back in this house. Locked down where she belongs, and learns from her mistakes." Maybe she should break her legs, and keep her inside the house.
Both Viktor and Elena didn't plan to have a kid. That was why Alexei was adopted by them. Yet, for some reason... Elena did get pregnant.
"Your money's just sitting there," Alexei pushed, his fork waving over a mound of caviar. "Put it to use. Kidnap her—make it clean and quiet. We can buy all the silence we need."
"Why don't you handle it?" Elena fired back, stabbing a scallop with care.
Viktor broke in, his tone flat as he waved off a maid holding more food. "We can't. Too many eyes on her now—that video went viral and turned her into some kind cat lady. One slip, and the headlines explode."
Elena's smirk grew wider, pleased. She took a slow sip. "Your plan to push her out blew up in your face, didn't it?"
"You were the one who pushed for that, Elena." Viktor's stare turned hard as steel.
Alexei let out a heavy sigh, swirling his Bordeaux as the air grew thick with strain. "Drop that plan for a moment. What about bringing on Lily as our brand ambassador? It's a smart shift."
Elena paused, fork halfway to her mouth, her brow lifting. "Lily? That actress?"
"Father, those cat groups love Emily—nasty animals, shedding and filthy. I can't stand them. Hate every creature with their noise and mess." Alexei's mouth twisted in disgust. "The public's already souring on her from that video. Lily's polished, perfect—she's Emily's enemy by nature. Turn it around—make Lily our face. Steal the market while Emily falls."
Viktor's fork hung still, a sharp light in his dark eyes as he glanced at the untouched tiramisu. Its mascarpone layers rose soft and dusted with cocoa, ladyfingers soaked in coffee and amaretto. "Turn her enemy into our tool? That's bold."
"Right on target," Alexei said, leaning in, his voice smooth but edged like a blade. "Only Lily can do it. Her fans despise Emily too much. They would think that we hate Emily too."
Elena ran a finger along the rim of her flute, lost in thought, her scallops going cold. "It's a gamble, but such clean revenge. Lily's fans would be ecstatic."
Viktor gave a final nod, signalling the butler for coffee. Espresso arrived steaming dark and bitter. "Make the calls. Lily first. Emily will learn soon—no escaping our reach."
"I will, Father," said Alexei, lowering his eyes. But as Alexei reached for his own espresso, a sudden memory pierced his thoughts, sharp and unbidden, when he smelled something utterly unique from Emily. He wanted to know whose smell that was. It was so unique that he almost lost his control.
Whose was it? Not hers alone—that much he knew from the way it bloomed warmer when she shifted. A lover? Some hidden omega entanglement?
Alexei lowered his head, strands of hair covering his eyes, giving him a menacing look.
'I will find out whose smell it was.'