<h4>Chapter 240: Chapter 240 The Feast from Hell</h4>


    Author’s pov


    "I am Belinda. Please forgive me for keeping you waiting."


    She glided to the center of the ballroom like she owned the air around her, every movement smooth and calcted. The guests responded as if drawn by some invisible ma--curious, intrigued, and a little too eager to be near her.


    Up close, the unease only deepened.


    Her features were wless in a way that didn’t feel real--high cheekbones, deep-set eyes, a sculpted nose, and full lips painted in a shade just shy of blood red. Under the ballroom lights, her skin looked poreless, like a porcin doll. When she smiled, her lips moved with unnerving precision, like someone whose face had been frozen in perfection one injection too many.


    It was the kind of beauty that made people stare... and then flinch.


    Sebastian and Cecilia weren’t the only ones who noticed.


    Around them, guests began to shift--some subtly stepped back, others exchanged hushed nces over their champagne flutes.


    A few looked downright spooked.


    With the castle’s gothic opulence and the storm whispering against the windows, the whole scene felt like a high-budget horror film right before things started to go wrong.


    Still, most of the guests held it together. Anyone who’d epted an invitation to a Moonveil event probably knew better than to act shocked by a little creepy weirdness.


    "Belinda..." Cecilia muttered. "Sounds sweet. Looks sweeter. Probably poisonous."


    Sebastian leaned in, his voice a soft murmur against her ear. "If she’s poisonous, I’d keep an eye out for the moment she sheds her skin."


    Cecilia shivered, equal parts amused and unsettled.


    Belinda’s gaze swept the room like a queen counting pawns. Cool. Calcted. When her eyesnded on Sebastian, they lingered--again.


    Cecilia noticed. She shot him a sharp side-nce, suspicion flickering beneath narrowedshes.


    Right on cue, Sebastian’s hand slid to her waist, a subtle squeeze like a silent im.


    "Ms. Moore," he murmured, lips twitching, "you make me sound like some tragic heartbreaker."


    She blinked. Almost rolled her eyes.


    It sounded humble--until it didn’t. He wasplimenting himself. Wrapped in faux modesty, of course.


    ssic Sebastian.


    "Ladies and gentlemen," Belinda called out, her voice slicing cleanly through the ambient murmur. "Please, join me at the table."


    She gestured toward the long obsidian dining table stretching across the ballroom like a runway for the elite. The final guests had arrived.


    So this was the infamous "exchange" meeting Moonveil had orchestrated. The real question was--what exactly were they exchanging?


    The group began drifting toward the massive table, which looked like it could seat at least fifty.


    Cecilia counted around thirty guests in total. The invitation had mentioned bringingpanions, which exined the entourages.


    An Australian businessman had brought two models on each arm.


    Sebastian had only intended toe alone--now he had five people trailing him like an idental entourage.


    No one seemed eager to sit near Belinda. The chairs closest to the head of the table remained suspiciously empty. Guests lingered at a polite distance, pretending to be absorbed in wine lists or whispering to theirpanions.


    Except for Sebastian.


    He walked forward with deliberate ease and imed a seat near the head of the table--two seats away from Belinda. Close enough to be noticed. Far enough not to seem obvious.


    Then Cecilia took the seat beside Sebastian.


    Behind them, Sawyer grabbed Tang’s arm, knuckles white.


    "Are you insane?" he whispered. "Why are we sitting next to Ghost Barbie?"


    Tang calmly loosened Sawyer’s grip.


    "She’s not dangerous," he said. "It’s just not her real skin."


    Sawyer rxed for half a second, then paled.


    "Just not her real skin?" he hissed. "That’s your idea of no danger?"


    Across the table, Evelyn and Vance sat down. Whether that made them brave or reckless was anyone’s guess.


    Once everyone was seated, Belinda took her ce at the head of the table.


    "I’ve prepared some local ind specialties for you all," she said. "I hope you enjoy them."


    At her signal, the servers brought out the first course.


    What looked like a cream soup was actually pulverized brain matter--milky white and unmistakable. Guests around the table recoiled.


    The second course was Stargazy Pie. Fish heads poked through the crust, their dead eyes staring upward. A few guests turned away.


    The third course was nearly raw steak, swimming in bright red juices. Even Tang, usually unfazed by meat, hesitated.


    Each dish was worse than thest.


    Between the castle’s atmosphere, Belinda’s unnatural presence, and the grotesque food, the dinner felt like a staged horror show.


    Guests exchanged uneasy nces but kept up appearances.


    No one dared refuse outright. Instead, they sliced tiny bites, moved food around, or quietly hid pieces in their napkins.


    Belinda watched them all with that same fixed smile.


    "Is the cuisine not to your liking?" she asked.


    The table fell silent.


    "It’s lovely," someone offered quickly.


    "I eat light in the evenings," another added.


    "I’m vegetarian," someone else said.


    Belinda nodded, her smile unchanged. Her eyes swept the table, then stopped on Sebastian.


    "What about you, Alpha Sebastian? What do you think of the meal?"


    Sebastian set down his spoon.


    "It’s visually fascinating," he said.


    "But you’re not eating."


    "I practice intermittent fasting. No food after sunset--doctor’s orders."


    Her smile faltered, briefly.


    Around the table, several guests looked annoyed they hadn’t thought of the same excuse.


    Belinda recovered quickly. She raised her ss.


    "If the food isn’t to your taste, perhaps the wine will be more agreeable. A toast."


    Everyone raised their sses. For the first time that evening, they drank without hesitation.


    The remaining courses were no better, but Sebastian, exempted by his excuse, avoided them entirely. The others kept up the act.


    Cecilia dabbed her lips with a napkin, slipping an unchewed bite inside.


    Across from her, Evelyn and Vance ate the fish pie as if it were normal. Sawyer looked pale, one hand pressed to his stomach.


    Tang leaned over.


    "Cecilia, the dessert’s actually good. Save room."


    She gave him a look. He’d been in the kitchen earlier. He would know.


    Atst, the final course arrived.