CHAPTER 156: ANNA HAS GROWN INTO QUITE A TALENT

"Rosiline, you’ll be our first candidate," the hostess announced, sharing a knowing smile with her before glancing around the table. "Now then, is there anyone else who would like to participate?"

The room fell into brief silence.

Most of the women exchanged hesitant glances, clearly unsure if they wanted to step into a contest they already knew they’d lose. Competing with Rosiline Bennett — poised, respected, and undeniably influential — was practically social suicide.

But then, a voice broke through the quiet.

"I’d like to participate."

Every head turned toward the source.

Ester.

Rosiline arched an elegant brow, amusement glinting in her eyes as she set her teacup down gently. The faintest smile curved her lips — one that said she already knew how this would end.

"Ester," the hostess said carefully, surprise flickering across her face, "are you sure you want to do this?"

A murmur swept through the group as the other women glanced at each other, unsure if they’d heard correctly. Competing against Rosiline wasn’t just bold — it was reckless.

But Ester’s smirk only deepened.

"Of course," she said, her voice dripping with false confidence. "It’s not as if we’re not allowed to participate just because Rosiline happens to have more... connections than the rest of us."

The air stiffened immediately. A few of the women exchanged uneasy glances, and one even pretended to sip her tea to hide her expression.

Rosiline’s smile didn’t waver. If anything, it grew softer — dangerously so.

Ester had always known how to twist a knife with words, but Rosiline? She had mastered the art of disarming without ever raising her voice.

"It’s not about connections, my dear," Rosiline said smoothly, her tone light yet piercing. "It’s about dedication — and a little bit of heart."

She paused, eyes glinting with quiet amusement. "But if you truly believe that having people support me gives me an unfair advantage, then let’s make it fair, shall we?"

Ester frowned slightly, sensing the trap but too proud to back down.

Rosiline leaned back in her chair, her posture the picture of composure. "Let’s see what the results say. After all," she added, her smile sharpening just enough to sting, "numbers never lie."

The ladies murmured in excitement, sensing the undercurrent of rivalry between the two.

Ester tried to maintain her confident smirk, but beneath the table, her hands clenched into fists.

And Rosiline — calm, unreadable, and entirely in control — simply reached for her tea again, her eyes never leaving Ester’s.

Because this time, she wasn’t just playing nice.

She was playing to win.

Soon, the tea party dispersed, and one by one the ladies left for their respective destinations.

Rosiline stepped out into the cool evening air, her heels clicking softly against the cobblestone path leading to her car. But before she could reach it, a sharp voice stopped her in her tracks.

"I know you still think that just because your husband happens to be in favor with Daniel Clafford, you can get everything you want."

Rosiline turned her head slowly.

Ester stood a few feet away, her posture rigid, her expression laced with mockery and envy.

It wasn’t the first time Rosiline had heard such words from her — the same venom disguised as civility, the same bitterness wrapped in arrogance.

If it weren’t for the long-standing connection between their families, she would have long stopped entertaining her.

But since Ester clearly wanted to drop her mask today, Rosiline saw no reason to keep hers on either.

Her lips curved into a soft, knowing smile. "Then we’re on the same page, aren’t we, Ester?" she replied evenly. "After all, you rely on your husband’s name just as much — and you’re always so eager to get in our way."

Ester’s expression darkened, her jaw tightening. The calmness in Rosiline’s tone — that infuriating composure — made her blood boil.

Rosiline’s poise was something she had always hated. No matter what the situation, no matter the whispers or gossip, the woman never faltered. And that confidence — that quiet strength — had everyone wrapped around her little finger.

"I know it was your husband who told Hugo about Anna’s acting," Rosiline continued, her voice still smooth, her gaze unyielding. "Your daughter tried the same with me. Pathetic, really — to think that would break us apart."

Ester’s lips twitched. Her hands curled into fists at her sides, knuckles whitening.

Rosiline’s tone dropped lower, calm but cutting. "You can’t even hide your anger now, can you? I finally see your true face, Ester. All this time, you’ve been trying to climb higher by using us — and now that you’ve realized you can’t, you’re lashing out."

She took a step closer, her voice barely above a whisper.

"I know how desperate you and your husband are to get close to Daniel Clafford," she said, her gaze sharp enough to slice through the silence between them. "But I doubt that will ever happen — not in this lifetime."

Ester froze, her eyes wide with fury and humiliation.

Rosiline smiled faintly, the kind of smile that carried both grace and finality, before turning away.

"Good evening, Ester," she said lightly, slipping into her car without another glance.

The door shut with a soft click while Ester stood there, trembling — half from rage, half from helplessness — watching the car pull away into the fading light.

For the first time, she realized that behind Rosiline’s elegance was a woman she could never outmatch — one who didn’t need to raise her voice to win.

"Let’s see how long you keep that arrogance, Rosiline," Ester spat, her voice sharp with barely restrained rage. "I’ll make sure I find something that brings you down."

With that, she turned on her heel and stormed off, her heels clicking furiously against the pavement as her words lingered in the cool air.

Rosiline, still seated in her car, watched her retreat through the window — a faint smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.

The memory of Ester’s rage-filled face replayed in her mind, and she couldn’t help the quiet chuckle that escaped her.

If she hadn’t known the Stewarts better, she might have mistaken Ester’s fake sweetness for sincerity. She might have believed that her words of concern and her friendly smiles were genuine.

But not anymore.

Now, she saw them for what they truly were — snakes wearing polished smiles, whispering poison under the guise of friendship.

And the moment the Bennetts had realized it, they had done exactly what needed to be done.

They had kept their distance.

Rosiline leaned back against the seat, the faintest glint of satisfaction in her eyes.

"Let her try," she murmured under her breath. "The last woman who tried to ruin a Bennett learned her lesson the hard way."

As the memory crossed her mind, Rosiline’s smile faded, replaced by a shadow that crept across her expression.

’I wonder what she’s doing now that her son is gone,’ Rosiline thought bitterly, her chest tightening with an unease she couldn’t name.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the shrill ring of her phone.

At first, she ignored it — assuming it was another spam call or one of the reporters still trying to pry into the Bennett family’s affairs. But when the phone rang again... and again... each time more insistent than the last, she sighed and reluctantly answered.

"Hello?"

Silence.

Her brows furrowed as she pressed the phone closer to her ear. The only sound she heard was the faint, steady rhythm of someone’s breathing on the other end.

A chill ran down her spine.

"Hello? Who is this?" she repeated, her voice firm now — but there was still no answer.

Just when she was about to hang up, a deep voice cut through the static.

"Anna has grown into quite a talent."

Rosiline froze.

Every trace of color drained from her face as her fingers went numb around the phone. Her breath caught in her throat, heart pounding so hard she could hear it.

That voice.

She would never forget that voice.

"You’ve been a good mother to her, Rosiline," the man continued, his tone deceptively calm, almost amused. "But I must say... I’m glad she’s finally a Bennett."

Rosiline’s blood ran cold.

He knew.

He knew.

"W-what do you want?" she stammered, her voice trembling as she struggled to breathe.

A low, malicious laugh echoed through the receiver — a sound so familiar, so haunting, that her heart nearly stopped.

"What do I want?" the man repeated, his tone laced with venom. "Oh, Rosiline... don’t tell me you thought I’d die in prison. That I’d never come out."

Tears welled in her eyes as her throat tightened. "P-please... don’t—"

But her plea was swallowed by another burst of cruel laughter.

Her past — the one she had spent years burying — came rushing back in fragments she didn’t want to remember. The fear, the threats, the night that had changed everything.

Then, just as suddenly as it began, the line went dead leaving Rosiline in dreed.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Rosiline sat frozen, her trembling hand lowering the phone slowly, her breath coming out in ragged gasps.

Her heart pounded in terror as one horrifying truth settled in her mind.

"Anna"