Without turning around, Maeve reached her hand out toward Andres.
The two of them moved like they'd rehearsed it.
Andres pulled a napkin and placed it in her hand without missing a beat.
Maeve took her time wiping the drop of broth away, unhurried and composed.
Then she crumpled the napkin into a small paper ball.
With a flick of her fingers, she sent it sailing neatly into the trash bin behind her.
She never once turned her head.
The whole motion—start to finish—was smooth as water, and it stunned the entire room into silence.
Only then did Maeve spare Nevaeh a glance.
"We're all adults," she said calmly. "Whether something is 'unintentional' or not—I can judge that for myself."
Her eyes shifted to Landon. Her smile held nothing but mockery.
"Mr. Hart, you went to a lot of trouble putting on this little show. What—was it meant to give me a warning?"
Landon blinked. "Miss Vance, I'm not sure what you mean."
Maeve leaned back into the leather sofa like she owned the place.
She was the youngest in the room, yet her presence pressed down on everyone else.
Her stare pinned Landon in place—sharp, arrogant, unapologetically dominant, like she could bore a hole straight through him.
Corbin and Michael had known Landon for years.
They knew exactly what kind of man he was—born to the top of the power circles, proud to the bone, even if the Hart family name wasn't what it used to be.
And yet under Maeve's gaze, Landon showed the faintest flicker of unease.
Maeve finally spoke again.
"Mr. Hart, we're all intelligent people. Playing dumb when you know perfectly well what you're doing is just… boring."

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