Chapter 99

Babette's shriek sliced through the noise, snapping every head in her direction.

All eyes landed on the star of the night-now drenched, crimson wine soaking her dress and dripping onto the marble floor.

Brandon came striding in from the far side, his pace quickening when he saw the commotion.

Millie lingered near the edge of the crowd, her gaze sharp and unblinking as Babette snatched a towel from a passing waiter and dabbed frantically at the spreading stains.

Millie had only shown up tonight for one reason-to hammer out an agreement with Babette.

But from the start, Babette had made it clear she'd come to play games.

It was Babette who'd set the terms, Babette who'd pushed for a public bet, and when she lost, Babette who flat-out refused to admit defeat.

Whatever had gone down between Millie and Egbert in Flesta while Brandon was away-that secret belonged to both of them. Babette didn't know the half of it. And even if Millie had confessed everything,Babette would only twist it, holding it over Millie's head every chance she got.

Worse,Babette hadn't hesitated to trash the Bennett name and hurl insults at Millie's father.

If negotiation was off the table, so be it. Millie steeled herself. Babette wanted a fight? She was about to get one.

Millie had no reason left to hold back her contempt.

"Millie, how dare you!" Babette's glare sharpened, fury twisting her features as she swung her hand up,ready to strike Millie across the face.

Before she could land the blow, Brandon appeared beside them in a blur, seizing Babette's wrist midair.

"Brandon!" Babette bellowed, her voice shaking with rage and humiliation. "Millie ruined my party!"

Ignoring Babette's outburst, Brandon leveled his gaze at Millie.

"Apologize," he ordered, his voice flat and devoid of warmth.

Millie let out a short, incredulous laugh.

He didn't know a thing about what had happened, yet here he was-issuing commands as if she owed him something.

Who the hell did he think he was?

Vivian, who had been following close behind, hurried to the scene. Her expression was frozen in shock,as if she couldn't believe what she was witnessing.

A low hum of whispers swept through the crowd.

"Millie." Brandon's voice cut through the noise, his tone edged with warning as he called her name.

Millie let out a small, amused laugh, her eyes flicking from Brandon to Vivian with a glint of challenge.

With a breezy, "Alright," she turned away, striding over to where the band stood frozen mid-performance.

The pianist hovered uncertainly, hands poised above the keys, casting uneasy glances at the unfolding drama.

Ignoring the tension, Millie reached for the violin case nearby and flipped it open.

She paused, eyes drifting shut for a breath, and then opened them, a glint of mischief sparking within.

Lifting the instrument to her chin, she let her fingers dance across the strings.

The tune she played was fiery, fast-påced, its rhythm pulsing with raw energy. Under Millie's deft fingers, the violin became a living thing, channeling her spirit and will.

The familiar notes of "Bullfight" filled the room, a song everyone knew well.

Millie had reworked the melody, letting her violin shriek and soar, each note ricocheting through the hall like raucous laughter.

By the time she finished, the vibrant, biting music had shattered the tension and left the crowd bursting into applause.

It wasn't just a bullfight song-it was a bullfighter's march.

And with Millie wielding the bow,the roles were obvious.

Babette,soaked in red wine and humiliated, was the bull on parade.

Brandon, demanding apologies without a clue, was swept up in the spectacle as well.

Millie's performance was a wicked, wordless taunt aimed at both of them.

She dipped into a crisp bow, and then rose to find someone watching from the far end of the hall-a man raising his glass, amusement dancing in his eyes.

He'd seen right through her game.

Between them, her jab needed no explanation.

Millie's lips curled into a subtle, knowing smile as she gently set the violin aside and turned to face Babette, who looked ready to explode.

"Did that meet your expectations?" Millie asked, her tone laced with playful sweetness.

Babette instantly caught the dig beneath Millie's words. Seething, she started to lunge forward, but Brandon stepped between them, blocking her path.

"That's enough, Babette," Brandon muttered sharply, a warning edge in his voice. He knew one more outburst would truly bring the whole party crashing down.

Babette understood that too-and she certainly didn't want Brandon digging into what she'd grilled Millie about in Flesta earlier.

With no way to vent her fury, she glared at Millie's faint, mocking smile, her hatred simmering just beneath the surface.

"It was just a little accident," Babette finally admitted, smiling with stiff lips and clenched teeth. "Things like that happen at wine-tasting parties."

Millie spun on her heel and strode off without another glance.

"Millie," Brandon caught her wrist, but she yanked free, spine stiff with resolve.

"Next time, if you plan on bringing Vivian, let me know in advance," Millie declared, enunciating each word with icy precision. "I refuse to share a room with your mistress. It makes me..." Her gaze flicked to Vivian,full of disdain. "Sick."

"Millie!" Brandon barked, warning and fury threading his voice.

But Millie just leveled him with a freezing stare.

One look was all it took-she walked away, head high, gown swishing behind her, not bothering to look back.

Brandon's fists clenched tight as he watched her retreat with such unshakable grace.

He narrowed his eyes at Babette, who was now fussing over her dress, playing the part of someone with nothing to hide.

They were out of the crowded hall now, standing in a hushed corridor, tension coiling between them.

Vivian had chosen not to follow, insisting she'd already stirred up enough drama for one night and would wait in the car instead.

Earlier, she'd quietly apologized to Brandon, explaining she'd only wanted to talk about Macauley-she never meant to get tangled in a misunderstanding with Millie.

Now,the hallway felt even emptier with just Brandon and Babette standing there.

Brandon fixed Babette with a sharp stare. "What exactly did you say to her?" he demanded.

Babette's hand stilled mid-wipe, towel pressed to her stained dress.

"Brandon, she's the one who threw wine at me!" she cried, hoping to sound indignant.

But Brandon's gaze stayed icy and unwavering.

He knew Millie's temperament-she never lashed out without cause.

Babette's pulse fluttered with panic.

She tried to hold her ground, but Brandon's next words shattered any hope of dodging responsibility.

He fixed her with a hard stare as he pressed. "You want to explain, or should I just pull the surveillance

footage?"

Babette's jaw tightened as panic flickered across her face.

The cameras might not have caught every word, but there'd be no hiding how she'd cornered Millie first.

After a tense beat, Babette ducked her head, her voice small. "I told her I'd join the Watson Group's finance department-the one that took over the Bennett family's contracts."

She left out everything about Flesta, carefully skirting the subject of her threats.

"I want the truth!" Brandon snapped, his tone cold and precise.

Tears sprang to Babette's eyes, her lower lip quivering. "Fine. I told her I could handle that job-so what if I said that? Does that mean she gets to humiliate me? She dumped wine on me at my own party, right in front of everyone! Who the hell did Millie think she was, and what did she see me as? With everyone watching, she still found a way to humiliate me!"

Carefully skirting any mention of Flesta or the bet-subjects she didn't dare touch-Babette whipped up her outrage, her voice rising as she burst into dramatic, noisy tears.