They moved to the dining area to discuss matters further, the transition from the living room marked by the soft shuffle of footsteps against marble floors and the quiet murmurs of polite conversation that always accompanied such gatherings.
The dining room was as impressive as the rest of the Worthington estate, with a long mahogany table that could comfortably seat twenty guests, crystal chandeliers that cast prismatic light across the cream-colored walls, and tall windows that overlooked the meticulously maintained gardens beyond.
The table had been set with the finest china, delicate porcelain plates adorned with hand-painted floral patterns that had been imported from Italy.
The silverware gleamed under the chandeliers, polished to a mirror shine by servants who understood that perfection was the minimum standard in this household.
Centerpieces of fresh roses and lilies perfumed the air with their delicate fragrance, their petals are still bearing the faintest traces of morning dew.
The Belvedere family was impressed by how the food tasted. The chef had outdone himself, preparing a multi-course meal that showcased both classical French techniques and modern culinary innovations that spoke of a kitchen staff trained in the finest institutions in Europe.
The appetizers had been delicate and flavorful, tiny morsels of seared scallops and truffle arancini that melted on the tongue. The soups were rich and comforting, a velvety lobster bisque that warmed the body and soothed the soul.
And the main course, a perfectly prepared beef Wellington with a golden crust and tender meat that practically dissolved under the knife, it was cooked to absolute perfection.
Even the usually stoic Patrick Belvedere had nodded in approval after his first bite, a rare gesture of appreciation from a man who was known for his exacting standards and his refusal to offer praise unless it was truly earned.
But the food was not why they were here, and everyone at the table knew it.
The discussion was started by Emelda, who had taken the seat at the head of the table as if it belonged to her by divine right. She commanded the room without effort, her presence was filling the space in a way that made even the Worthington family seem small by comparison.
She waited until the initial pleasantries had been exchanged and the first course had been cleared before she turned her attention to Kamilah, her sharp eyes are missing nothing.
"Kamilah, dear," she began, her voice was warm and inviting in a way that made Kamilah’s heart skip a beat.
Kamilah smiled, knowing she had finally gained Emelda’s favor. How did she know? The way Emelda spoke the endearment with warmth, the way her eyes softened when they landed on Kamilah, and the way she leaned forward slightly as if genuinely interested in what Kamilah had to say.
It was a stark contrast to the cold indifference that Emelda had shown her in the previous timeline, when she had been nothing more than a disappointing burden that the Belvedere family had been forced to accept.
Kamilah intended to nurture that warmth into something more substantial, something that would serve as a shield against her own family’s disdain.
"Yes, madam?" Kamilah asked, her voice was calm and respectful. She set down her fork and gave Emelda her full attention, her posture was impeccable, and her expression was attentive.
She was the picture of grace and composure, a woman who knew her worth and was not afraid to show it.
"I’m going to be straightforward with you," Emelda said, her tone shifted to something more serious. "We came here because we are to discuss the engagement we had agreed upon for you and Maeve."
The room suddenly became silent. Everyone paused from cutting their steaks, their knives and forks hovered in mid-air as the weight of Emelda’s words settled over them like a heavy blanket.
The only sound was the soft clink of silverware being set down and the distant ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway, each tick marked the passage of time with mechanical precision.
Kamilah’s parents exchanged glances, their expressions was a mixture of anticipation and anxiety. They had been waiting for this moment, had been counting down the days until they could finally be rid of their troublesome daughter. Livia, seated beside their mother, kept her expression carefully neutral, though Kamilah could see the flicker of satisfaction in her amber eyes.
Kamilah stayed composed, her expression was serene and her hands were resting lightly on the table.
Showtime, the words ran through Kamilah’s head, a private declaration of war that only she could hear.
Or so she thought.
Maeve, seated across from her, felt her body stiffen. There it was again. That voice. That strange, intrusive voice that seemed to echo inside her skull with a clarity that was impossible to ignore.
She had heard it earlier, in the living room, when Kamilah had thought something about a "scumbag of a wife."
She had heard it again when Kamilah had thought "showtime" with such fierce anticipation that it had sent a shiver down Maeve’s spine.
And now she heard it again, clear as a bell, as if Kamilah had leaned across the table and whispered the word directly into her ear.
But Kamilah’s lips had not moved. Her expression had not changed, and she was sitting there with the same serene smile she had worn all day, looking for all the world like the perfect, demure heiress that everyone expected her to be.
And yet, Maeve could hear her thoughts as clearly as if they were her own.
Maeve tried to look anywhere but at Kamilah, her eyes are darting around the room in search of the source of the voice. She looked behind her, but the maids were standing far from where they sat, their expressions were blank and their attention was focused on their duties.
She looked at her parents, but they were watching Emelda with respectful attention. She looked at the Worthingtons, but they were too busy trying to appear calm to notice her distress.
She looked like a fool, she realized. A fool who was hearing voices that didn’t exist, a fool who was losing her grip on reality in the middle of a business dinner. But she couldn’t help it.
The voice was so clear, so unmistakably Kamilah’s, even though Kamilah had not spoken a single word out loud.
Maeve forced herself to take a deep breath, to steady her racing heart. She was imagining things, she told herself. She was tired, stressed, overwhelmed by the weight of this arrangement and the pressure of her family’s expectations. That was all and there was no other explanation.
But even as she tried to convince herself, she knew she was lying.
"May I ask if Ms. Maeve agreed to it?" Kamilah’s voice cut through the silence, startling Maeve out of her thoughts. The question was simple, straightforward, but there was something beneath it, a subtle challenge that made the room hold its breath.
Kamilah paired the question with an action that was both elegant and deliberate. She lifted her glass of water to her lips and took a slow, measured sip, her eyes are never leaving Emelda’s face.
But there was a flicker of movement, a subtle shift of her gaze toward Maeve, then back to Emelda, a silent acknowledgment that she was aware of the other woman’s presence without making a show of it.
The silence that followed Kamilah’s question was deafening. Her parents looked at her with sheer disbelief, their mouths were slightly open, and their eyes are wide with shock.
In their minds, the deal was already closed. The bride-to-be should simply be grateful for the opportunity to be taken away, should be thanking her lucky stars that anyone was willing to marry her at all.
They expected her to blush, to stammer, or to simply nod in submission and accept whatever fate was handed to her. Instead, she had questioned the agency of her future spouse with a boldness that bordered on audacity.
Maeve felt a jolt of electricity run through her body, a spark of something that felt dangerously close to admiration. She was staring at Kamilah now, her mind was reeling and her heart was pounding against her ribs.
Maeve felt a strange, magnetic pull toward this mystery. For the first time in her life, she wasn’t bored, she was fascinated. She wanted to rip the mask off and see the real woman underneath, the woman who thought in sharp, cutting words and seemed to be playing a game that no one else at the table understood.
Emelda chuckled, a genuine sound of amusement that cut through the tension like a knife. She leaned back in her chair, looking at Maeve with a knowing expression that suggested she was not surprised by Kamilah’s question.
"Maeve is a woman of few words," Emelda said, her voice was carrying a note of pride. "But she is not a puppet, Kamilah. She has her own opinions on the matter."
Maeve didn’t look at her mother. She kept her gaze locked on Kamilah, her eyes are narrowing as if she were trying to see through the mask, to find the woman who hid beneath the polished surface.
"I didn’t agree or disagree," Maeve admitted, her tone was cautious and searching. She was choosing her words carefully, aware that everything she said would be analyzed and dissected by the people around her. "I simply viewed it as a formality."
She paused, letting the words hang in the air for a moment. Then a flicker of a challenge crossed her face, a spark of the intensity that she usually kept hidden behind her cool exterior.
"But I find myself suddenly very curious about the person I’m expected to marry. You aren’t the ’quiet’ girl I was promised."
Kamilah put down her glass with a soft click, the sound echoed through the silent room. She turned her attention fully to Maeve, her smile was never wavering.
"Oh, please, enough with the quiet girl you had projected to believe yourself with, Ms. Maeve," she said, her voice was light but with an edge of steel beneath it. "I am not asking whether you to give me an uncertain answer. Since you viewed this as a formality, then I had no opposition to the arrangements either."
She paused, picking up a napkin towel to wipe her lips and hands with deliberate grace. The gesture was simple, mundane, but somehow Kamilah made it look like a statement, a declaration that she was in control of the situation and would not be rushed.
"But I have some demands," she continued, her voice was steady and clear. "If that’s okay with the Belvedere."
The table went dead silent. Kamilah’s parents looked as if they were about to have a collective heart attack. The idea of their "disgraced" daughter making demands of the powerful Belvedere family was practically heresy, an insult so grave that it could destroy whatever fragile relationship existed between the two households.
They opened their mouths to intervene, to apologize for her rudeness and beg for the Belvederes’ patience, but a single, sharp look from Kamilah silenced them before they could utter a word.
It was a look that said: I am handling this. Stay out of my way.
Emelda’s eyebrows shot up, her interest was piqued. She hadn’t just found a polished heiress. She had found a strategist. The fact that Kamilah was negotiating her own value instead of simply accepting the deal made her a thousand times more attractive as a potential daughter-in-law. It showed initiative, intelligence, and a willingness to fight for what she wanted. Those were qualities that Emelda respected.
Maeve, meanwhile, felt a surge of something that felt dangerously like adrenaline. The way Kamilah dismissed the "quiet girl" persona with such casual authority was exhilarating.
The power dynamic in the room was shifting in real-time, and Maeve found herself leaning forward, completely captivated by the woman who was treating this marriage like a business acquisition rather than a romantic arrangement.
"Demands?" Emelda echoed, a small, intrigued smile playing on her lips. She gestured for Kamilah to continue, her eyes were gleaming with anticipation. "I admire a woman who knows her worth and isn’t afraid to name her price. Please, Kamilah, enlighten us. What is it you require in exchange for your hand?"
Kamilah took a moment to compose herself, to choose her words with the precision of a surgeon selecting a scalpel. She had thought about this moment, had planned it down to the smallest detail. She knew exactly what she wanted, and she knew exactly how to ask for it.
"Nothing much," she said, her tone was deceptively casual. "It’s just that I refuse to simply stay as a housewife for Ms. Maeve. I want to have my own choices too in this matter."
She paused, letting the first demand settle over the room. Her parents’ faces were pale, their eyes were wide with disbelief. They had never imagined that Kamilah would have the courage to speak this way, to demand anything for herself instead of simply accepting whatever was given to her.
"Second," Kamilah continued, her voice was gaining confidence with each word, "I demand allowances."
Another pause, another wave of shock that rippled through the room. Livia’s eyes narrowed, her fingers are tightening around her napkin towel.
She had not expected this. She had expected Kamilah to be meek, to be silent, to be the same pathetic creature she had always been. This confident, demanding woman was a stranger to her, and Livia did not like surprises.
"And third..." Kamilah’s smile widened, her eyes are sparkling with something that looked almost like mischief. "I want you to grant me unlimited wishes, madam!"
She said it with such enthusiasm, such childlike eagerness, that for a moment she looked almost innocent. As if she hadn’t just made demands that could be considered outrageous, as if she hadn’t just thrown down a gauntlet that no one had expected her to pick up.
The room fell into stunned silence once again. Kamilah’s family still froze in shock, their faces a mixture of horror and disbelief.
Such a stupid girl, Livia thought, her lips curling into a contemptuous sneer. Let’s wait and see how Madam Emelda hates you now.
"Madam Belvedere," Livia said, her voice was smooth and honeyed, sounding like the angel she had always pretended to be. "I hope you understand my sister. She shouldn’t have said those words."
Dahlia, Kamilah’s mother, immediately agreed, her voice was trembling with fear. "Y-yes, Madam Belvedere. Kamilah is just speaking out of whim."
But the Belvedere family did not seem to mind.
Kamilah’s expression shifted into something almost childlike in its eagerness, a sharp contrast to the icy strategist she had been seconds before.
The "unlimited wishes" comment was a gamble, a way to test how far the Belvederes were willing to go to secure her. It was also a way to ensure she had the resources to build her own empire, away from her family’s reach, and away from the people who had treated her like a burden her entire life.
But the expected explosion never came.
Instead, Emelda let out a loud, delighted laugh that echoed through the dining room, cutting through Livia’s calculated sweetness like a knife through butter.
"Unlimited wishes?" Emelda repeated, her eyes are twinkling with genuine amusement. She looked at Livia with a momentary flash of boredom before returning her full attention to Kamilah.
"How delightfully bold. Most girls your age ask for a bigger diamond or a specific brand of car. While you ask for the world."
Emelda looked toward her husband, who was watching the exchange with quiet interest, and then back to Kamilah. Her voice softened, but remained firm, the voice of a woman who was used to negotiating deals and closing contracts.
"As for the housewife part, that is a non-issue. I would be appalled if a woman of your intellect spent her days merely polishing silver. And allowances? We can negotiate a sum that would make most banks tremble."
She leaned in, her smile was widening and her eyes are glittering with the excitement of a challenge.
"As for the ’wishes,’ while I cannot promise you the moon and the stars, I can promise that as long as it benefits the Belvedere name—or simply makes you happy—I will be your most generous patron."
Maeve watched the scene with a deepening fascination. She didn’t care about the money or the wishes. She was watching Kamilah’s eyes, the way they sparkled not with greed, but with a cold, calculating triumph.
Maeve realized that Kamilah hadn’t spoken out of whim. She had just played her family and the Belvederes in a single move, and she had won.
She had secured her position, established her value, and done it all with a smile on her face and grace in her every movement.
The Worthington family was shocked to hear Emelda’s admission. They had expected the Belvederes to be offended, to withdraw their offer, and to finally put Kamilah in her place.
Instead, Emelda was praising her, rewarding her, treating her like a treasure that had been discovered in a pile of rubble.
Jackpot!!!
The word rang through Kamilah’s mind with the force of a victory cry, a triumphant declaration that she had achieved exactly what she had set out to do. Unlike Maeve, she’s utterly useless.
Maeve, who had been taking a sip of water, nearly choked. She coughed, sputtering, her eyes are watering as she struggled to regain her composure.
All eyes turned to her, and she could feel was the weight of their stares, the confusion and concern that radiated from the people around her.
Patrick, Maeve’s father, suddenly got concerned. "Maeve, are you alright?" He asked, his voice was filled with genuine worry.
Hmph! Serves you right!
Another thought from Kamilah, and this time Maeve was ready for it. She didn’t look around the room like a fool, didn’t search for the source of the voice. She kept her eyes on her plate, her mind was racing as she tried to process what was happening.
Kamilah, however, acted like a concerned woman who took another clean napkin and handed it over to Maeve. Her face was the picture of worry, her eyes were soft with sympathy and her movements were gentle and caring.
"Are you alright?" Kamilah asked, her voice was filled with what sounded like genuine concern.
But in her mind? She was laughing at Maeve, deriving a dark satisfaction from the other woman’s discomfort.
Sigh... You deserve worse than that, to be honest.
Maeve’s breath caught in her throat. She stared at Kamilah, her eyes were wide, while her heart was pounding so loudly she was sure everyone at the table could hear it. The voice was unmistakably Kamilah’s. There was no doubt about it anymore.
The thoughts she was hearing, the words that echoed in her mind with such clarity, they belonged to the woman sitting across from her.
Wait... That voice? It’s Kamilah?! It’s not what she’s saying but I can hear her?! Does that mean... I can hear her mind?!
Maeve’s hands trembled slightly as she accepted the napkin from Kamilah, her fingers are brushing against the other woman’s in the process. The touch was brief, barely a second, but it sent a jolt of electricity through Maeve’s body that had nothing to do with the thoughts she was hearing and everything to do with the woman who was suddenly, inexplicably, the most fascinating person in the room.
She had an ability. She could hear Kamilah’s thoughts. And Kamilah had no idea.
Maeve forced herself to take a deep breath, to steady her racing heart, to compose her features into the same mask of cool indifference she had worn all evening. But inside, her mind was racing with possibilities, with questions, with a curiosity that bordered on obsession.
Who was this woman she was being asked to marry? What secrets was she hiding behind that perfect smile and those polished manners? And why, of all the people in the world, could Maeve suddenly hear her thoughts as clearly as if they were being spoken aloud?
She didn’t have the answers. But she was determined to find them.