Table for Four
567 Words
The Le Bernardin was entirely cleared out for private dining, a testament to the sheer, terrifying influence of the Knight family.
Elena sat at the center table, the crisp white tablecloth matching the sharp ivory of her suit. Across from her sat Richard Knight—Alexander’s uncle. He was a silver-haired man with cold, calculating eyes that looked like they belonged to a vulture circling fresh prey. Next to him was Ms. Davenport, a top-tier investigative journalist for the New York Chronicle, her pen poised over a leather notepad.
"A gallery opening six months ago," Richard repeated, his voice smooth but laced with pure venom. He took a slow sip of his scotch. "How romantic. Funny how my security team never spotted Miss Vance at any of our corporate mixers or family estates during those six months, Alexander."
Alexander, sitting right next to Elena, didn't flinch. He casually leaned back, resting his arm along the back of Elena's chair, his fingers brushing against her shoulder in a slow, possessive caress.
"Elena values her privacy, Uncle Richard," Alexander said, his deep baritone completely calm, though the threat underneath was sharp enough to cut glass. "Unlike the rest of this family, she doesn't need a camera flash to validate her existence. She was busy building Vance Design Studio. I chose to protect her from the vulture market."
Ms. Davenport leaned forward, her eyes narrowing. "But Miss Vance, the timing is... curious, isn't it? Your studio was facing a massive default just yesterday under your ex-fiancé, Marcus Vance. Suddenly, overnight, you're engaged to the richest bachelor in New York, and Marcus is being ruined by federal audits. Some might say this looks like a transactional rescue mission."
The table went dead silent. Elena felt the pressure suffocating the room. Richard smiled, expecting her to crack.
But Elena didn't get to where she was by letting people push her around. She leaned forward, placing her hands flat on the table, her eyes locking directly onto the reporter’s.
"If you did your research properly, Ms. Davenport, you’d know that Marcus Vance didn't build my studio—I did," Elena said, her voice steady, sharp, and dripping with authority. "Alexander didn't rescue a damsel in distress. He invested in a genius. He saw my talent six months ago, and when Marcus tried to steal my proprietary designs for the Sterling project, Alexander simply did what any partner would do—he protected his future wife's assets. If you think a woman needs to be a charity case to win the heart of a billionaire, then you clearly underestimate what I bring to the table."
Richard’s smile instantly vanished.
Alexander looked down at Elena, and for a split second, the cold "Ice King" act completely disappeared. A genuine, dark flash of pure admiration ignited in his eyes. He reached down, wrapping his large hand over hers on the table, intertwining their fingers tightly.
"As you can see, Ms. Davenport," Alexander murmured, his gaze shifting back to the reporter like a tiger staring down a stray dog, "my fiancé doesn't need saving. She commands. Now, if there are no more insulting questions about our timeline, I suggest we discuss the agenda for the board meeting at two o'clock. Because as majority shareholder, I have a few terminations to announce."
Richard gripped his glass so hard the ice rattled. The first round belonged to Elena.
- Writer
