Rise of The Abandoned Husband

Chapter 359 - 359 - Birthday Gambit: Forcing the Patriarch's Hand

The tension between Dashiell and me was palpable as we walked into the main hall. His clenched jaw and barely contained rage radiated from him like heat from a furnace.

"I don't know what game you're playing, Knight, but you don't belong here," Dashiell hissed through gritted teeth, maintaining his public smile.

"Yet here I am," I replied calmly, "by Michael's personal invitation."

His face reddened. "Do you have any idea who I am? The Blackthorne family—"

"Has seven hundred and thirty-six precious herb specimens, including three over two thousand years old," I finished for him.

Dashiell stopped abruptly, his composure cracking. "How could you possibly know that?"

I merely smiled, enjoying his discomfort. Sometimes knowledge was the most powerful weapon of all.

The main hall was breathtaking—a magnificent outdoor garden transformed into an elegant banquet area. Crystal chandeliers hung from elaborate scaffolding, casting a warm glow over dozens of round tables adorned with white lilies and gold tableware.

Michael directed us toward the central table positioned on a slightly raised platform. "Liam, Isabelle, you'll sit with me." This content was first released on *.

Dashiell's eyes widened in disbelief. Being seated at the patriarch's table was a clear sign of favor, one he had likely assumed would be his.

"Grandfather, are you certain?" Isabelle whispered, squeezing my hand.

Michael nodded firmly. "Absolutely."

We took our seats as guests began filing in. I felt dozens of curious stares and heard the whispers. Who was this man sitting beside Isabelle Ashworth at Michael's table?

Roderick Blackthorne approached, leading his son away with a firm grip on his shoulder.

"Control yourself," I overheard him muttering to Dashiell. "This emotional display is beneath us. Michael is playing a game, and you're letting him provoke you."

"Father, that nobody is sitting in my place!" Dashiell protested.

"And losing your composure won't change that," Roderick replied sharply. "Be patient. Observe. Plan."

Roderick's calculating gaze met mine briefly before he turned back to his son. "We have other cards to play. Wait for my signal."

Isabelle leaned close to me. "Roderick is dangerous," she whispered. "He never makes threats—only promises."

"I'm not afraid of him," I replied, though I understood the warning. Roderick's calculated patience made him far more threatening than his impulsive son.

The banquet formally began with servers bringing out the first course. Michael sat like a king holding court, accepting birthday wishes from a parade of Veridia City's elite.

Dashiell seized an opportunity, approaching with two crystal glasses of champagne.

"Mr. Ashworth," he said smoothly, "a toast to your continued health and prosperity. You honor us with your presence today."

Michael's eyes twinkled with amusement. "Thank you, Dashiell. Though I don't drink anymore." He gestured toward me. "Perhaps Liam will accept on my behalf."

Dashiell's smile faltered as he reluctantly handed me one glass. We locked eyes as we raised our drinks.

"To your health," he said flatly.

"And to clear vision," I replied, taking a careful sip. I didn't trust anything from his hand.

The crowd's attention shifted as a commotion arose near the entrance. A man in his late thirties entered, his presence commanding immediate respect. His cold, aristocratic face bore the unmistakable Ashworth features.

"Dominic," Isabelle whispered, tension evident in her voice.

Corbin approached our table, his expression sour. "That outsider doesn't deserve a place at your table, Father," he said to Michael, gesturing dismissively at me.

"Who sits at my table is my decision alone," Michael replied firmly, ending the conversation.

Corbin's gaze burned into mine. "Don't get comfortable, Knight. This family has survived centuries by removing parasites."

Before I could respond, Dominic Ashworth reached our table. Unlike his uncle Corbin's obvious hostility, Dominic's demeanor was icy indifference. He nodded respectfully to his grandfather, kissed Isabelle's cheek, and pointedly ignored my existence altogether—a clear message that I wasn't even worth acknowledging.

"Grandfather, you look well," Dominic said, taking the seat beside Michael.

"Better than expected," Michael replied. "I'm glad you could join us today."

I studied Dominic carefully. Unlike Dashiell's obvious rage or Corbin's bitter resentment, Dominic exuded dangerous competence. He was a man who wouldn't threaten—he would simply act.

The meal progressed with elaborate dishes and forced pleasantries. I remained vigilant, aware that every interaction was being observed and analyzed by the assembled power players.

Across the garden, I noticed Roderick in deep conversation with several people clutching notepads and cameras. Journalists. My instincts flared in warning.

"Michael," Roderick called out suddenly, his voice projecting over the ambient noise. "The press would like a few words with the man of the hour."

The garden quieted as all attention turned to our table. Michael nodded graciously, though I detected a hint of annoyance in his eyes.

"Of course," he replied. "Though I wasn't aware we were giving interviews today."

Roderick approached with three reporters in tow. "Just a few questions about this special day. After all, birthdays are about family and future, aren't they?"

The trap was becoming clear. Roderick had orchestrated this public confrontation to force Michael's hand.

The first reporter stepped forward. "Mr. Ashworth, you've brought together Veridia City's finest to celebrate your birthday. However, there seems to be some confusion about your family's future alliances."

Michael remained impassive. "I wasn't aware there was any confusion."

"Well," the reporter persisted, "the rumored engagement between your granddaughter Isabelle and Dashiell Blackthorne has been circulating for months, yet today you've given prominence to... another gentleman."

Every eye turned toward me. I maintained a neutral expression, though my heart pounded in my chest.

"Mr. Knight is an important associate," Michael stated carefully.

Another reporter jumped in. "Sources close to your family suggest Mr. Knight is more than an associate. Is there truth to rumors that he might be your preferred choice for your granddaughter?"

Isabelle tensed beside me. Dashiell's face darkened with fury. Dominic watched the exchange with calculated interest.

Roderick smiled thinly. "A simple clarification would put an end to all speculation, Michael. After all, our families have discussed certain arrangements for years."

The trap was sprung. If Michael denied any special relationship between me and Isabelle, it would undermine the position he'd given me today. If he confirmed it, he would be publicly breaking faith with the Blackthornes, one of the most powerful families in Veridia City.

The third reporter, clearly coached by Roderick, delivered the killing blow: "If you had to choose between these two young men for your granddaughter's future, who would you pick—Liam Knight or Dashiell Blackthorne?"

A heavy silence fell over the garden. Every guest leaned forward, eager to hear the answer that would reshape alliances throughout Veridia City.

Michael's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. He looked from me to Dashiell, then to his granddaughter, whose hand had found mine under the table.

The weight of his impending words hung in the air like a storm about to break.