Abuse, unbroken

Chapter Ten: The Dinner Matrix

"You’re overthinking the entire thing, Fred," Jack said, spinning a sleek silver pen across the dark obsidian surface of the desk. "If a woman like that isn't throwing herself at you, it doesn't mean your charm is broken. It just means she has actual boundaries. But before you go mapping out a grand strategy to win her over, you need to check the basics. See if she’s free. Find out if she has a boyfriend, if she’s committed to someone, or if she’s already engaged. You don't want to play the corporate shark with someone who is already spoken for."

Frederick leaned forward, his green eyes narrowing thoughtfully as he rested his elbows on the polished desk. "And how exactly do you suggest I dig up that information without looking like a total stalker, Jack? I can't exactly walk back into Lumina Academy with a questionnaire."

Jack laughed, leaning back in his leather chair. "You're a brilliant CEO, but you're completely blind when it comes to family leverage. She works directly with your niece, Amara. Who pays the tuition? Who interacts with the staff every single week? Your sister, Joanne. Ask Joanne about her. See if she knows anything about this Teacher Bella, since her kid is at the exact same daycare. Joanne lives for neighborhood gossip; I guarantee she has a file on everyone in that building."

Frederick nodded slowly, the advice locking into place like a solid business strategy. "Joanne. Right. I’ll corner her tonight."

________________________________________

The opportunity came much sooner than Frederick anticipated, though it arrived wrapped in the suffocating luxury of the sprawling Wellington-Elliott family estate.

The family estate was an architectural marvel of absolute, exaggerated grandeur, a secluded fortress of wealth nestled behind massive, wrought-iron security gates on the city’s most exclusive hill. The main mansion was built from pristine white European marble and limestone, designed to resemble a modern royal palace. A sweeping, dual-winged driveway encircled a magnificent, multi-tiered crystal fountain that danced beneath towering weeping willows. Stepping through the front doors meant entering a world where money was not just spent, but displayed as a weapon of social dominance. The grand foyer featured forty-foot vaulted ceilings, a cascading twin staircase lined with intricate gold-leaf banisters, and floors polished to a mirror-like finish that perfectly reflected the immense, custom-made crystal chandeliers hanging like frozen stars above.

That evening, the grand dining room was staged like a high-stakes corporate battlefield. The walls were lined with priceless 19th-century oil paintings and draped in heavy, emerald velvet tapestries that absorbed the sound of the staff moving silently across the floor. The long mahogany table, capable of seating fifty guests, was draped in fine, hand-woven Irish linen. Every single place setting was a masterclass in high-class luxury: sterling silver cutlery stamped with the family crest, custom-designed bone china trimmed with twenty-four karat gold, and delicate Baccarat crystal stemware that caught the cold, glittering light of the chandeliers.

Annabelle Elliot had orchestrated another one of her predictable traps. The matriarch had explicitly invited a group of wealthy high-society families, desperate to hook up their premier bachelor son with a suitable match. Sitting prominently at the table were a couple of her closest friends' daughters, each one of them dressed in immaculate, multi-thousand-dollar designer gowns, their diamonds flashing aggressively in the light. The room hummed with the superficial chatter of old-money dynasties—discussions about private yachts, international polo clubs, and strategic corporate alliances.

Throughout the first three courses, Frederick was practically freaking out internally. His body was trapped at the head of the table, encased in a flawless tuxedo, but his mind was completely, entirely absent. His thoughts drifted far away from the elite pretension, returning to the crisp, clean scent of vanilla and the fierce, unbroken gaze of Isabella. He could barely swallow the roasted duck or the truffles placed before him by the uniformed catering staff. Every time one of the high-society girls leaned over to laugh too split-second loudly at a mediocre joke, or batted their heavy eyelashes in a desperate attempt to flirt, Frederick felt a wave of profound irritation. They were all so transparent, so intensely transactional.

"Freddie, darling, you aren't touching your wine," Annabelle’s sharp, cutting, and incredibly high-pitched voice suddenly pierced through the aristocratic chatter, making several guests stiffen in their seats. She sat at the opposite end of the mahogany table, her neck adorned with a staggering diamond collar that caught the light with every sharp movement of her head. "You've been staring at your plate for ten minutes. Is the London expansion keeping you entirely detached from us tonight?"

"Just analyzing some foreign market trends, Mother," Frederick replied smoothly, forcing a tight, polite smile onto his fine jawline.

Fortunately, the heavy oak doors swung open, and his sister Joanne finally arrived at the dinner, trailing behind her husband and her two children. She immediately glided into the room, smoothing her designer silk dress, kissing her mother’s cheek before taking her seat.

Frederick saw his window. The moment the formal dinner transitioned into the dessert hour, the guests began to migrate toward the grand parlor, where a classical pianist was performing. Frederick quietly caught Joanne by the elbow, steering her away from the crowded parlor and pulling her aside into the deep, dimly lit alcove of the massive wood-paneled library.

"Whoa, watch the fabric, big brother," Joanne muttered, pulling her arm back and adjusting her diamond bracelets as she looked at him with an amused eyebrow raised. "What's the emergency? Did one of Mother’s hand-picked brides try to corner you by the caviar?"

"No," Frederick said, clearing his throat and looking around the edge of the library door to ensure Annabelle wasn't tracking his movements. "I wanted to ask you about... well, about Amara's daycare. How is everything going at Lumina Academy? I was just thinking about the security structure, and I wanted to ask you about a couple of things regarding the staff."

Joanne stared at him for two seconds, her expression shifting from mild amusement to sharp, knowing skepticism. She crossed her arms over her chest, a mocking, intelligent smile appearing on her face.

"Freddie, cut the crap and go exactly where you're going with this," Joanne said, her high-pitched voice dropping into a sharp whisper that echoed slightly off the rows of leather-bound books. "Why on earth are you asking me about the daycare and staff protocols? Since when do you do take care or even care about daycares, nap times, and preschool schedules? You haven't looked at a child's building blocks since you were seven years old."

Frederick froze, his green eyes widening slightly before he let out a defeated laugh. He ran a hand through his curly brown-to-blonde hair, recognizing he was entirely trapped by his sister's sharp intuition. "Okay. Busted."

He leaned in closer to his sister, his tone turning intensely serious, his voice dropping into a low, private register. "Look... I’m really, completely into Bella. The teacher. The one who stopped me at the security desk yesterday. I can't get her out of my head, Joanne. Do you know anything about her? Is she seeing someone? Is she engaged?"

Joanne’s eyes widened in genuine surprise, a flash of her typical protective curiosity flaring up. "Teacher Bella? You’re interested in Amara's specialized educator?" She paused, tapping her chin as she thought through the database of her mind. "Honestly, Fred, I don't know anything about her personal life. She’s incredibly private. The school treats her like a prized asset because she's brilliant with the gifted kids. I can tell you she’s an awesome, amazing, and exceptionally nice-looking lady, but beyond her credentials, she keeps her mouth shut. She doesn't talk about a boyfriend or a family."

Frederick felt a small glimmer of hope, but before he could press further, Joanne tapped his chest with her manicured finger, a competitive, sharp glint in her eyes. "But... since you're begging so nicely, I promise you I’ll dig a little more around the parent-teacher association and see what's actually going on. Consider it a sisterly favor."

"What are you two plotting in the dark over here?"

Annabelle’s high-pitched voice suddenly cut through the quiet library like a knife. The matriarch stepped into the alcove, her sharp eyes scanning her two children with deep suspicion. "Frederick, you are ignoring your guests. It is incredibly rude."

"Just catching up on family business, Mother," Joanne said quickly, effortlessly shifting her face into a sweet smile as she glided past her mother back toward the parlor. "Freddie was just asking about the kids."

Annabelle didn't buy the excuse for a second. She grabbed Frederick firmly by the forearm, her aristocratic nose lifting into the air as she steered him back toward the glittering crowd. "Never mind the children. I need you in the parlor right now. I want to introduce you to someone very special."

Before Frederick could protest, his mother dragged him straight into the center of the room, hooking him directly with Leila.

Leila was a striking blonde girl, the daughter of one of Annabelle's oldest and wealthiest high-society friends. On paper, she was a preferable girl—she belonged to an incredibly powerful old-money dynasty, wore staggering diamonds, and moved within the absolute highest circles of the elite class. But the moment Frederick looked at her, he felt an immediate wave of revulsion. Leila was incredibly bitchy-looking. She stood tall in a pair of dangerously high stiletto heels, her posture rigid, and she carried an arrogant aura that made it look like her nose was perched on the top of a mountain. She looked down at everyone around her with absolute disdain, her expression dripping with entitlement.

"Frederick, a pleasure," Leila murmured, her tone cold and entirely rehearsed as she extended a hand adorned with a massive sapphire ring. "Your mother tells me you've been spending entirely too much time with the foreign branches. A man of your standing should really focus on the local foundations."

As Frederick politely took her hand, the physical contact felt completely dead. There was no jolt of heat, no sudden wave of warmth, and absolutely no recognition. Looking at Leila's perfect, haughty face, all Frederick could see was a hollow facade. His mind instantly flashed back to Isabella—to the fierce, unyielding warmth of a woman who didn't need stilettos or mountain-top arrogance to stand her ground. He was trapped in the elite matrix, but his heart was already miles away, waiting to break free.