The Weston family had always treated dinner like a big deal.
More than a dozen dishes covered the long table, steam curling into the air. Beneath the crystal chandelier, there was nowhere for anyone’s expression to hide.
Elara Weston sat at the very end.
She kept her head down and ate slowly, taking one quiet bite at a time.
No one spoke to her.
Ever since Rosalind Pryce had returned to the Weston family, almost no one at the table bothered to speak to her anymore.
At first, Elara had still tried. She would ask Alexander Weston about the company, check in with Broderick Weston about work, and make sure the table included Callum Weston’s favorite dishes.
Eventually, she realized that no matter what she did, someone would find fault with it.
One tearful look from Rosalind could make the whole family ache for her.
But one explanation from Elara would only be taken as an excuse.
So she stopped trying.
Sitting quietly and finishing dinner was easier.
Then a wet cough broke the silence.
Everyone at the table looked up.
Alexander, the eldest of the Weston brothers, sat at the head of the table. Without warning, he doubled over and spat out a mouthful of dark blood.
“Ah!”
A maid screamed.
Plates and silverware clattered as everyone lurched to their feet.
Broderick shot to his feet. “Alexander!”
Callum’s face tightened. "What the hell is going on?"
The dining room, calm only a second earlier, erupted into chaos.
Alexander braced one hand against the table as the color drained from his face. Sweat beaded along his temples.
The dark blood staining the white napkin was impossible to miss.
Rosalind was the first to rush over.
She grabbed Alexander’s arm, her eyes filling with tears.
"Alexander, how are you? Are you okay?"
Alexander was breathing hard, his chest heaving violently.
"I... I'm fine..."
No one looking at him would have believed it.
Rosalind clutched his hand, visibly shaken.
Then she looked up at Elara, tears still shining in her eyes.
"Elara..."
Her voice was shaking.
"What exactly did you give Alexander to eat?"
The dining room went silent.
Every single gaze turned toward Elara at once.
Elara’s hand stilled above her plate.
She looked up. She didn’t panic, and she didn’t rush to defend herself. She only glanced at Alexander.
Then she quietly set down her fork.
"Bring over the blood he just coughed up."
The servant hesitated.
"Miss?"
"Bring it here."
Her voice was soft, almost gentle, but there was no room to argue.
The servant instinctively obeyed.
A moment later, the bloodstained napkin and dish were set in front of Elara.
Elara studied them.
Mixed into the black blood were a few deep red clots, and a faint metallic smell hung in the air.
Her gaze sharpened. The medicine had started working.
In fact, it was working even better than she had expected.
She looked up, her tone as calm as if they were discussing an ordinary test result.
"The medicine is working well."
No one moved.
"What did you just say?"
Broderick whipped around and stared at her in disbelief.
Elara lifted her eyes. "I said, the medicine is working well."
"You’re still calling this medicine?"
Broderick lost his temper.
He crossed the room in a few hard strides and stopped in front of her.
"Alexander just coughed up blood, and you’re standing there acting like this is normal?"
Elara looked at him and said nothing.
Rosalind's tears were already falling.
"Elara, I know you've never liked me. But I've never once tried to take anything from you."
"Even if you're mad at me, you shouldn't use Alexander's health to make a point."
As she spoke, she gently wiped the blood from Alexander’s lips.
Every movement was gentle, every expression carefully wounded—the picture of a devoted sister terrified for her brother.
Elara almost laughed.
She had never liked Rosalind?
What exactly was she supposed to be competing for?
She had heard lines like that for years.
Once, she would have explained herself. She would have insisted she had done nothing wrong and tried to prove she meant no harm.
Now, she no longer had the energy.
She already knew no one would believe her.
Alexander wouldn't.
Broderick wouldn't.
Callum wouldn't.
Even Sebastian Merritt, the man she was supposed to marry, would take Rosalind’s tears as proof before he listened to a word Elara said.
So what was the point of defending herself?
Elara stood up and turned to head upstairs.
“Enjoy dinner.”
“Stop right there!”
Alexander’s voice cut through the room from behind her.
Elara paused mid-step and turned back.
Alexander had recovered slightly, but he was still pale and visibly strained.
“You’re not even going to explain?”
“Explain what?”
“Why did I cough up blood?”
Elara was silent for a moment.
“Because the medicine I gave you is finally kicking in.”
Alexander’s brows locked together at once.