Chapter 4 - Charting a Direct Course
Nicholas froze, his hand suspended in mid-air, his smile calcifying into sheer confusion. The entire ballroom watched in breathless silence as the most powerful man in the room walked right past Table One, past the senators, past the billion-dollar syndicate partners, charting a direct course straight toward the back-alley service station.
Whispers began to ripple through the front rows like wind through dry grass. Heads turned back and forth between Nicholas’s outstretched, empty hand and the formidable figure cutting a swath through the sea of stunned guests.
Emmett didn't slow down. He didn't acknowledge the gasps or the frantic murmurs. His eyes remained fixed on Table Nineteen, on the plastic tablecloth, the melting honey mustard cups, and the exhausted woman in the pale blue chiffon dress sitting beside a six-year-old child.
He stopped directly beside my chair.
Parker looked up from his butcher paper, crayon poised. Emmett glanced down at the drawing, then looked up at me.
“The aerodynamics on that dragon wing are questionable, Jenna, but the torque looks impressive.”
I leaned back in my chair, brushing a rogue speck of glitter from my knuckles. “He insisted on turbo engines, Emmett. Form follows function.”
“Fair enough.”
Without waiting for an invitation, Emmett pulled out the flimsy metal folding chair next to mine—the one right beside Great-Aunt Beatrice, who offered a soft snore in greeting—and sat down. He flicked his jacket open, reached into the center of the table, and picked up a lone celery stick from the children’s veggie platter with absolute composure.
The ballroom felt like it had lost all atmospheric pressure. Nicholas looked as though he were experiencing a medical emergency, his face draining of color before flushing violently purple. My mother’s wine glass was frozen halfway to her lips, drops of dark red Merlot trembling on the rim.
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“I was beginning to think you’d ghosted the reception,” Emmett murmured, watching me with quiet amusement. “Though I have to admit, I didn't expect the mastermind behind my company’s international restructuring narrative to be managing the crayon supply chain.”
“My brother felt my presence was best suited to the logistics sector,” I said mildly. “Something about ruining the aesthetic of the high-value guests.”
