Chapter 285: The Collapse Of Delusion

Chapter 285: Chapter 285: The Collapse Of Delusion

The silence hanging over VIP Booth Four was so dense it felt physical.

For several agonizing seconds, no one moved. Liv sat rigid, her designer tote sliding off her lap onto the plush leather seating. Natasha’s hand trembled slightly around her champagne glass, while Alan stared at Brandon with a mixture of rising panic and sharp denial.

Brandon blinked, looking around at the frozen, pale faces of his former classmates. "What? Why is everyone looking at me like I just confessed to a crime?"

Liv cleared her throat sharply, forcing a strained, shrill laugh that rang hollow against the high ceilings of the pavilion. "B-Brandon... okay, good one. Very funny. How much did Aliya pay you to walk up here and script that entire speech?"

Brandon’s smile faded, replaced by a look of pure, unadulterated confusion. "Pay me? What are you talking about, Liv?"

"Oh, please!" Natasha sneered, jumping in with immediate desperation as she pointed an accusing finger at Brandon. "You literally walked up those stairs right on cue! First, Aliya shows us a blatantly photoshopped AI image of her in Switzerland with corporate directors, and now you magically show up rambling about a McLaren P1 at the entrance? Did you guys plan this in a group chat before coming here?"

"Are you serious right now?" Brandon asked, staring at Natasha like she had lost her mind. "I literally just parked my car! The McLaren P1 is sitting right under the main entrance spotlights surrounded by four security guards and the head valet manager!"

"Stop lying, Brandon!" Sky snapped, leaning across the obsidian table with a sneer. "Everyone knows Aliya’s family is completely ordinary. Her brother is probably working some mid-level job or running a small business! There is no way in hell her family owns a hypercar worth millions of marks, let alone the legendary P1!"

"Exactly," Alan said, his voice tightening as he tried to regain control of the room, though a bead of cold sweat was quietly tracing down his temple. He adjusted his tuxedo lapels, looking at Brandon with stern disapproval. "Brandon, I know you and Aliya were friendly back in school, but taking part in a cheap stunt like this is beneath you. It’s embarrassing."

Fancy rested her chin in her hands, her eyes wide with absolute, side-splitting amusement. She looked at Aliya and whispered under her breath, "I swear, if they bend their brains any further to avoid reality, they’re going to snap."

Aliya simply leaned back against the dark navy leather, swirling her water glass with a calm, razor-sharp smirk. She didn’t say a single word. She didn’t need to.

Brandon looked around the table, taking in the sneering, defensive faces of the group, and a quiet, incredulous chuckle escaped his lips.

"You guys really have no idea, do you?" Brandon asked, shaking his head in disbelief. "You’re sitting here talking about status and connections, and you don’t even know who her brother actually is?"

"We know exactly who her family is!" Liv spat, her voice rising an octave as her composure crumbled. "She’s trying to fake her way into a circle she doesn’t belong in! Renting fake dresses, generating AI pictures, hiring you to make up stories—"

"Her brother owns a McLaren P1!" Brandon cut her off, his voice ringing crisp and clear over the ambient jazz music of the pavilion. "Do you know how many McLaren P1s there are in Veyra? Only one."

The table suddenly went deathly quiet.

One of the male classmates near the end of the booth cleared his throat nervously, adjusting his collar. "Wait... he’s right. The automotive trade logs had a huge feature on it last month. Jake Rivers is currently the only known person who owns a McLaren P1 in Veyra..."

Phoebe’s eyes widened slightly, a sudden, cold realization washing over her face. "Wait... Jake’s last name..." She turned her head slowly to look at Natasha. "What... what was Aliya’s last name back in school again?"

"I... I think it’s Rivers..." Natasha mumbled, her voice barely a whisper as the blood drained from her face.

A collective, suffocating chill swept across the table. The defensive arrogance in their eyes shattered piece by piece, replaced by a horrifying, creeping doubt as every piece of the puzzle suddenly began fitting together.

Just then, heavy, crisp leather footsteps echoed up the pavilion stairs.

The floor manager of the Meridian Crown marched toward VIP Booth Four, accompanied by two senior sommelier captains carrying polished velvet displays. The manager offered a deep, ninety-degree bow directly toward the table.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen," the floor manager announced in a resonant, formal tone. "On behalf of executive management, we hope you are enjoying your evening."

Liv perked up instantly, shooting a desperate, last-ditch snide glance toward Aliya. See? The staff is catering to us because of Alan!

"Ah, manager," Alan said, adjusting his cuff links with a proud, albeit strained smile. "Thank you for the champagne. My father, Mr. Mcfree, mentioned his connections under Golden Investments, but you really went above and beyond for our booth."

The floor manager paused, his professional smile freezing for a fraction of a second. He looked at Alan with a subtle, polite touch of confusion.

"Mr. Mcfree?" the manager repeated mildly. Then, his eyes shifted down the length of the table, locking directly onto Aliya. In an instant, his posture softened into absolute, rigid deference.

"Pardon the intrusion, sir," the floor manager said smoothly, turning back to the table. "While Mr. Mcfree is indeed a valued patron of our commercial dining tier, the special VIP protocols, reserve vintages, and priority valet clearance for the McLaren P1 out front tonight were not requested by his firm."

Alan froze, his smile instantly stiffening. "What... A McLaren P1?"

Liv’s eyes nearly popped out of her skull. "Wait... there really is a McLaren P1 outside?!"

The floor manager kept his hands folded neatly in front of his suit jacket, his voice carrying clearly across the silent booth. "The executive suite directive was issued directly from the holding office yesterday. Our General Manager, Mr. Mason Grant, was instructed personally by Mr. Jake Rivers to ensure that his sister, Miss Aliya Rivers, and her guests receive our absolute highest tier of presidential hospitality tonight."

A suffocating, dead silence slammed over the entire table.

Liv’s glass slipped a millimeter in her fingers, her heart dropping straight into her stomach. "J-Jake... Rivers?"

"Miss Rivers," the floor manager bowed deeply to Aliya once more. "Your personal preferences have been logged. Executive Chef Laurent is personally preparing tonight’s tasting menu for your table. Please let us know if there is anything else you or your companion require."

Aliya offered a calm, effortless nod. "Thank you. Everything is fine."

"Enjoy your evening, Miss Rivers," the manager said, stepping back with his team, leaving behind a table of absolute, paralyzed shock.

Natasha turned her head slowly, looking at Aliya as if she were looking at a ghost. Sky stared with wide, panicked eyes, while Phoebe sat completely speechless.

Alan stared at Aliya, his face draining of all color as the realization hit him like a freight train. The Golden Investments titan... the market monster who had just dismantled the Newman family empire and partnered with the Sheele Group in a single week... was Aliya’s brother.

Liv sat frozen, her mouth opening and closing soundlessly, her mind frantically rewinding to the afternoon when she had bragged about her BMW X3M outside the campus gates, and her snide comments about fake dresses just seconds ago.

Aliya picked up her crystal flute, swirled the golden liquid gently, and looked across the table at Liv with a quiet, razor-sharp smile.

"So," Aliya said softly, her voice cool and unbothered. "What were you saying about fake dresses and embarrassing the group, Liv?"

Meanwhile, across the financial district at the Meridian Gallery, the atmosphere in Private Box 1 was bathed in ambient, understated luxury.

Positioned directly above the grand auditorium, Box 1 was an exclusive sanctuary reserved strictly for one man—Jake Rivers. Behind the floor-to-ceiling soundproof glass, the soft murmur of multi-million-mark opening bids echoed softly from the stage below, where international art collectors and corporate executives were vying for rare heritage pieces.

Jake sat comfortably in a deep charcoal leather armchair, resting one arm casually over the armrest as he observed the bidding floor. Beside him, Catharine leaned back against his shoulder, her hand resting warmly against his chest. The deep burgundy silk of her dress caught the subtle golden ambient lights, matching the effortless elegance of the private suite.

Catharine tilted her head up slightly, looking at his calm, unreadable profile with a gentle, teasing smile.

"I still can’t believe you handed her the keys to the McLaren P1," Catharine murmured softly, her fingers tracing a quiet pattern over his jacket lapel. "You handed your sister a nuclear weapon just for a high school reunion dinner. I wonder how they’ll react once they know she’s the one driving Jake Rivers’ hypercar."

Jake let out a low, dry chuckle, taking a slow sip of chilled mineral water from the crystal glass in his hand.

"It wasn’t just about giving her a car," Jake replied smoothly, his eyes glinting with calm amusement. "I know how those social circles operate. People like Liv and Alan thrive on shallow posturing. They were inevitably going to try and undermine her tonight."

He paused, setting his glass down on the obsidian side table with a soft, deliberate click.

"And whether Aliya chooses to flex or stay quiet, letting them patronize her is one thing—stepping on the Rivers name is another," Jake added evenly, a subtle blade of authority cutting through his tone. "Giving her the P1 is simply the fastest way to shut them all up. It saves time."

Catharine smiled, shaking her head lightly as she rested her chin against his shoulder, looking out over the auction hall below.

"You indulge her too much," she teased gently, though her eyes softened with genuine fondness. "Given Aliya’s mischievous mind, I just hope she goes easy on them. That group won’t know what hit them."

Jake’s lips twitched into a faint, dark smirk as he pulled Catharine slightly closer against his side. "Knowing my sister... she’ll make sure they remember every second of it."

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