The Bennet Scandal

On the Green

Gabriel Westbrook stood on the crisp, manicured grass of the private golf course, squinting slightly as the late afternoon sun dipped behind the rolling hills. The club, a pristine symbol of Washington's elite, was a place he frequented, especially when business meetings could be cleverly disguised as leisure activities. Today, he was there to play a casual round with an old friend, Richard Hawthorne, a fellow magnate in real estate.

"These new laws they're pushing forward," Richard said, lining up his shot as they stood on the tee box, "they could change the entire playing field for us. Higher taxes, restrictions on developing certain areas—none of it's good for business."

Gabriel's expression was unreadable as he nodded thoughtfully, surveying the course ahead. "We'll find a way to navigate them, as always. Politicians come and go, and so do their agendas. What matters is how we adapt," he said calmly.

Richard took his swing, sending the ball sailing through the air with a satisfying thwack. He watched it with a critical eye before turning back to Gabriel. "Still, it's going to be a mess. I've asked my team to see which of them can be swayed. You know how this game works."

Gabriel smirked. "Oh, I do. Money talks. Influence does too. And both have a way of... clearing obstacles."

Just as Richard prepared to respond, an unmistakable voice pierced the calm serenity of the golf course. It was Marshal Bennet, storming toward them from the clubhouse with a red face and clenched fists. The moment Gabriel saw him, his expression didn't falter, but there was a brief flicker of something cold in his eyes—a quiet readiness.

"Gabriel Westbrook!" Marshal shouted, drawing the attention of nearby golfers and staff. His booming voice carried across the otherwise peaceful green. "You snake!"

Richard took a step back, surprised by the sudden intrusion, but Gabriel stood his ground, his posture calm as ever.

Marshal stopped just feet away from Gabriel, pointing an accusatory finger at him. "You think you can get away with what you did?" He was seething, the veins on his neck bulging as his anger festered. "First, you kissed my daughter—my daughter, Gabriel—then you dared to leak that video... You destroyed our family's reputation! You've crossed every line!"

The mention of the kiss brought an eerie silence to the surrounding golfers, who paused, unsure whether to leave or stay and witness the confrontation.

Gabriel met Marshal's gaze, his face still a mask of composure. He didn't interrupt; he didn't defend himself. He let Marshal rant and vent all of his energies.

Marshal took a breath, his voice growing even more venomous. "And now—now you're living with her! You think I don't know? How low can you go, Gabriel? How can you stoop to such despicable, manipulative tactics?"

The words hung in the air like a slap, but Gabriel didn't flinch. Instead, he slowly turned toward Marshal, a cold smile spreading across his face. He stepped closer, transforming his voice into a low but dangerous murmur. "You're upset, Marshal. But before you go throwing stones, perhaps you should remember who lives in a glass house."

Marshal blinked, momentarily caught off guard, but Gabriel continued, his tone steady and sharp. "You were the one who sent your young daughter to that business summit, weren't you? Hoping to use her to grease the wheels of your upcoming deals. That wasn't my idea. You saw an opportunity and asked her to seduce your rival and destroy me."

Richard shifted uncomfortably, the tension palpable now, but he said nothing, knowing this was no place for him to intervene.

Gabriel's eyes darkened as he continued, "And when things didn't go according to plan—and Sophia didn't fall in line like a pawn in your game—you threw her out. Like she was nothing. I didn't 'take her in' to cause you pain, Marshal. I did it because I'm a gentleman. I don't leave people out in the cold, especially not when their own family casts them aside." His tone dripped with taunt.

Marshal opened his mouth to respond, but Gabriel cut him off, his voice cool and controlled. "You should be careful how you speak to me, Marshal. I know your daughter loves me. She's with me now by her own choice. And who knows? Maybe I'll be your future son-in-law. Imagine that," he said, his tone teasing.

The insinuation landed like a punch to Marshal's gut, and the older man's face flushed with fury. He knew what Gabriel was doing—every word, every phrase was meant to inflame him, to make him feel small. And it was working.

"You think you can just play with people's lives?" Marshal spat, his fists tightening. "You think you can walk all over me and my family?"

Gabriel took a slow, deliberate step toward him, his voice lowering to a dangerous whisper. "You were the one who leaked the video, weren't you? Trying to ruin my reputation, to isolate me from my business partners. But it backfired, didn't it? You lost. You lost your daughter, your standing, and now you're trying to throw the blame on me."

The accusation hit like a hammer. Marshal's eyes flared with anger, and in a sudden fit of rage, he lunged at Gabriel, his hand flying toward him. But Gabriel, ever in control, caught Marshal's wrist mid-air, his grip firm but not aggressive.

"You're out of your depth, Marshal," Gabriel said, his voice calm but edged with a sharp intensity. "And you're losing control."

Before things could escalate further, the club manager arrived—a tall man with graying hair and a stern expression.

"Gentlemen," he said firmly, stepping between them, "we're going to have to ask you to keep it civil. This is a respected establishment."

Marshal, still trembling with fury, glared at Gabriel before turning to the manager. "You have no idea what kind of man he is."

The manager's eyes flickered with recognition of the tension but remained professional. "Please, Mr. Bennet, come with me. We don't want to disturb the other guests."

With a final venomous look at Gabriel, Marshal allowed himself to be led away. The moment he disappeared into the clubhouse, the atmosphere shifted, the whispers of those around them returning to their games.

Richard exhaled, visibly relieved. "Well, that was... something."

Gabriel's expression softened into a casual smirk. "It was inevitable. Marshal came to vent, to throw all his frustration on me. But I had to show him that he's not in control anymore."

"You certainly did that," Richard said, shaking his head in disbelief. "You turned the tables on him and knocked him out of the game, all while keeping your cool."

Gabriel's smile deepened, his eyes still fixed on the path where Marshal had stormed off. "Sometimes, Richard, the best way to deal with a man's anger is to put a little ointment on his burnt ego."

Richard chuckled, his shoulders relaxing as the tension of the moment faded. "Well, you certainly did that. The man was fuming."

Gabriel, with an air of quiet confidence, picked up his club again, glancing at the horizon where the sun was slowly setting. "Fuming, yes. But I hope he has learned his place now."