𝐑𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍

iii. old fella

The dimly lit room was filled with the soft glow of candlelight, creating an intimate atmosphere for the celebration of the patriarch's 68th birthday. As the guests mingled and chatted, the man in his 20s stood up to make a toast, his champagne glass raised high in his left hand.

"Today, we are celebrating my beloved father's 68th birthday," he began, his voice carrying a sense of deep admiration and gratitude. "Father, thank you so much for the hard work and sacrifices you made. If it weren't for you, we wouldn't live this way."

The old man's smile was small, almost imperceptible, and his eyes betrayed a hint of sadness. Despite the warm applause that followed, there was a sense of unease in the air, as if something was not quite right.

It was then that Rosé walked into the room, her presence commanding the attention of everyone in the vicinity. She accepted a glass of champagne from a passing waiter without hesitation and took a sip as she made her way to the patriarch's side.

As she approached, whispers erupted throughout the room, questioning her presence and speculating about her identity.

"Isn't she the girl they're talking about?"

"What is she doing here?"

"I bet that nose is fake, too."

Ignoring the whispers, Rosé stood before the patriarch and addressed him directly. "Am I late?" she asked, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

The old man was momentarily speechless, awed by her presence. He glanced around the room, noting the looks of curiosity and suspicion on the faces of his guests, before turning back to Rosé.

"How did you get here?" he muttered, his tone bristling with hostility. "You witch."

A sly smile played across Rosé's lips as she leaned in closer to the old man. "Oh, you don't know? Your son invited me here," she said, enjoying the look of surprise and irritation that crossed the patriarch's face.

With a shrug of his shoulders, the old man dismissed his frustration and turned to face Rosé once again. "What do you want?" he demanded, his tone cold and guarded.

Rosé's smirk grew wider as she leaned in even closer, her eyes locked onto the patriarch's. "We're just going to have a little chitchat about the assumptions you made about me yesterday," she said, her voice laced with a hint of danger. "Let's talk, Elijah."

The room fell silent as Rosé spoke the patriarch's name, the air thick with tension. Elijah's face contorted in anger as he glared at Rosé. "I don't know what you're talking about," he spat.

Rosé chuckled softly. "Don't play dumb with me, Elijah. You made some assumptions about me yesterday that were completely unfounded. I'm here to set the record straight."

Elijah's eyes darted around the room, looking for an escape, but he knew he couldn't back down now. "I don't have anything to say to you," he growled.

Rosé's smile vanished, replaced with a steely expression. "Oh, you will say something to me, Elijah. You will apologize for your words, and you will do it publicly."