Dumping Scumbag Boyfriend For Mr Moore

Dinner With The Moore's

The Moore estate rose from the landscape like a monument to old money and older secrets.

Sarah watched it through the tinted window of Nathan's black Maybach, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. The car had been silent for the entire drive—not the comfortable silence of two people at ease, but the tense, heavy silence of two people preparing for battle.

"This is where you grew up?" Sarah asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Nathan's jaw tightened. "Unfortunately."

The gates swung open, and the car glided up the long, curved driveway. Sarah caught glimpses of fountains, sculptures, hedges trimmed into elaborate shapes. Everything was immaculate. Everything was intimidating.

"You're nervous," Nathan observed.

"I'm terrified."

"Good." He reached over, his hand finding hers and squeezing gently. "Fear keeps you sharp. Just don't let them see it."

Sarah turned to look at him. He was dressed in a dark navy suit that fit him like a second skin, his hair swept back, his jaw clean-shaven. He looked every inch the heir to an empire.

But his eyes—those dark, steady eyes—were focused entirely on her.

"I'll be beside you the entire time," he said. "Whatever they say, whatever they do, remember—you are my wife. Nothing they say can change that."

Sarah nodded, drawing strength from his words.

The car stopped at the grand entrance, where a butler in pristine livery was already waiting. He opened the door, bowing low as Nathan stepped out.

"Mr. Moore. Welcome home."

Nathan didn't acknowledge him. He simply extended his hand to Sarah, helping her out of the car.

She felt every eye on her—the butler, the guards stationed at the entrance, the maids peeking through the windows. They were all watching, assessing, judging.

Let them look, Sarah told herself. I've survived worse than a few stares.

She lifted her chin, squared her shoulders, and took Nathan's arm.

───

The grand foyer was beyond her imagination.

Marble floors polished to a mirror shine. A crystal chandelier that probably cost more than her entire apartment building. Paintings on the walls that belonged in museums. And everywhere—everywhere—the weight of history, of legacy, of expectations she could never hope to meet.

"Mr. Moore." A servant appeared, bowing. "The family is assembled in the dining room. Lord Moore requests your presence immediately."

"Of course he does," Nathan muttered under his breath. He placed his hand at the small of Sarah's back, guiding her forward. "Stay close to me."

The dining room was a long, cavernous space dominated by a table that could seat thirty. But only five places were set—an intimate family dinner, which somehow made it worse.

They were all there.

Lord Charles Moore sat at the head of the table, a silver-haired patriarch with sharp features and sharper eyes. He didn't rise when they entered. He simply watched, his gaze sweeping over Sarah with the cold assessment of a man who had built an empire and destroyed anyone who stood in his way.

Eleanor Moore sat to his right, elegant and composed in a deep burgundy dress. Her smile was thin, her eyes calculating. She looked at Sarah the way one might look at an insect that had somehow found its way inside.

Alexander Moore sat across from his mother, a glass of wine in his hand and a look of barely concealed amusement on his face. He was the only one who seemed relaxed—the only one who seemed to be enjoying himself.

And in the corner, pretending to study the artwork on the wall but clearly watching everything, was Sophie Wentworth.

She was beautiful in a porcelain-doll way—blonde hair swept into an elegant updo, pale skin, blue eyes that sparkled with barely concealed hostility. She wore a red dress that seemed designed to draw every eye in the room.

Sarah felt her stomach clench.

"Father." Nathan's voice was calm, controlled. "Mother. Thank you for having us."

"Us," Lord Moore repeated, his voice dripping with disdain. "How generous of you to include your... wife in that invitation."

The word wife was spoken like a taboo.

"Sarah, this is my father, Lord Charles Moore," Nathan continued, ignoring the insult. "My mother, Lady Eleanor Moore. My brother, Alexander."

A hint of displeaure flashed across Sophie's eyes, but it disappered quickly like it never appeared. He didn't bother to introduce her!

"A pleasure," Sarah said, her voice steady despite the hammering of her heart.

Lord Moore didn't respond. He simply continued to stare at her, his expression unreadable.

It was Alexander who broke the silence.

"So," he said, raising his glass toward Sarah, "you're the woman who finally caught my brother's attention. I have to say, I'm impressed. Nathan's been dodging marriage for years. What's your secret?"

"Alexander," Eleanor warned.

"What? I'm just being friendly." Alexander's smile was genuine, unlike the frozen masks worn by his parents. "For what it's worth, I think you have excellent taste. Nathan's always been the best of us."

"Alexander," Lord Moore said sharply. "That's enough."

The table fell silent.

Nathan pulled out a chair for Sarah, waiting until she was seated before taking his own place beside her. His hand found hers under the table, squeezing gently.

───

Dinner was a battlefield disguised as a meal.

Course after course arrived—consommé, lobster, tenderloin, soufflé—each more elaborate than the last. Sarah ate mechanically, barely tasting the food, her attention focused on the verbal landmines being lobbed across the table.

"So, Sarah," Eleanor began, her voice deceptively light. "Nathan tells us you're a designer. How... quaint."

"I design jewelry," Sarah corrected. "I studied at the Academy of Fine Arts."

"Did you?" Eleanor's smile didn't reach her eyes. "I don't recall hearing your name in any of the major exhibitions."

"I've been... focused on other things."

"Such as?"

"My family's business."

"Ah, yes. The Vance family." Eleanor set down her fork, fixing Sarah with a cold stare. "I've heard some interesting things about your family. Scandals, I believe. Something about a public altercation at a party?"