Chapter 499
Chapter 499:
How petty could Marc be, indulging in childish antics when he was a grown man, well into his thirties?
Fernanda’s eyes glimmered with amusement as she answered Curran’s earlier question with a bright smile. “The spread today is truly delightful, offering such a rich variety. Cristian’s beautiful wishes certainly added a special flavor to the meal. It’s wonderful to see so many people gathered here to toast your birthday—it’s a true testament to your family’s flourishing fortunes.”
Mid-sentence, Fernanda slyly stretched her leg under the table, aiming for Marc’s foot, and gave it a firm stomp.
Marc reacted instantly, leaping from his chair with a yelp as his leg bumped the table.
Every head turned in his direction.
Curran furrowed his brows in confusion. “What’s the matter?”
Marc hopped on one foot, his face contorted in pain. “I’m not sure who stepped on my foot, but it’s throbbing something fierce.”
His shoes, fine handmade leather, showed no signs of distress. “Perhaps it was just an accident,” Curran offered, tapping the table lightly. “Just sit back down; it’ll ease up soon.”
Marc nodded reluctantly and sank back down, bracing himself against the table.
Yet the pain persisted, as though a nail had been driven straight through his foot. He wondered if his toes were fractured.
His complexion turned ashen, sweat beading on his forehead as he fought the urge to grimace.
Marc was completely unaware that Fernanda’s step on his foot was no ordinary accident. Her movement had been deliberate and precise.
She had perfected the art of using her legs while keeping her upper body still, making it nearly impossible to detect. Her choice of stiletto heels that evening only amplified the pain, their pinpoint precision magnifying the discomfort.
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Even if Marc suspected she might have been the one to cause it, he couldn’t be sure. After all, Fernanda wasn’t the only woman at the table, and she managed to maintain an innocent air as she smiled at him. Her goal was simple: distract him, and hopefully, shift his attention away from Cristian for the rest of the evening.
By the time the plates were cleared, Marc hadn’t quite shaken off the incident. The throbbing in his right foot had lessened, but it was still numb, possibly bruised or swollen.
He cursed inwardly, wondering who had stepped on his foot. His eyes narrowed suspiciously at Fernanda. Given her delicate frame, he doubted she could generate such force. He reasoned that the culprit must have been someone heavier.
Yet, there she was, smiling sweetly at him, her demeanor warm and unthreatening. It was difficult to reconcile the image of her with any malice.
As the evening drew to a close and the group began to disperse, the other guests seemed content to follow suit. Many preferred this more traditional sit-down style of event, as it encouraged more heartfelt conversations. The occasional drink also helped smooth things over, providing a refreshing change from the usual walk-and-talk gatherings with wine glasses in hand.
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