Dark Revenge Of A Jilted Bride: Till Life Do Us Part!-Chapter 127: Dinner at Noah’s IV

The empty dining room was just as flashy as the living room—if not more so.

It opened before Gianna like a scene lifted straight out of legend, vast and imposing, instantly reminding her of the dining hall of kings from the Merlin movie.

The table alone was long enough to seat an army, carved from dark, gleaming wood that reflected the overhead lights like polished obsidian.

Chairs flanked it in perfect symmetry, dozens of them, high-backed and regal, upholstered in rich fabrics of cream, gold, and deep burgundy.

There were far too many seats for a house that seemed to hold so few people, and Gianna found herself briefly wondering if the Becketts entertained entire entourages on a regular basis.

It felt unnecessary—almost indulgent.

Her gaze wandered further, taking in the rest of the dining room. The ceiling soared high above them, crowned with chandeliers so large and ornate they looked heavy enough to crash down if provoked.

The walls were dressed in gold-accented panels and enormous framed artworks that spoke of lineage, conquest, and money that had existed long before her own lifetime.

The table was already covered—crowded—with food. Row upon row of silver platters sat arranged with painstaking precision, their lids catching the light.

Bowls, trays, and porcelain dishes filled every available space, and even as she stood there absorbing it all, maids moved in seamless coordination, quietly bringing in more platters and setting them down as though the abundance were not already overwhelming.

Who will eat all these? Gianna mused.

Were there children she hadn’t been told about? Other relatives expected to join them later? Or would the remaining food be passed down to the staff once dinner was over?

She sincerely hoped so.

Gianna had never been one for waste.

Her mother had drilled the concept of preserving resources into her so deeply that she would rather force food into her own belly than see it thrown away.

It helped—comforted her, even—that the family who had taken her in shared similar values.

"Too much..."

Noah’s whisper brushed against her ear, close enough that his lips grazed the apex of it.

His hand tightened suggestively around her waist at the same time, fingers pressing with familiarity and claim.

Warm shivers raced down her spine, and without thinking, she leaned closer, reclining slightly into his body as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

He responded immediately—biting gently at the same sensitive spot, a silent agreement to her thought, to her closeness, to her unspoken want for him.

"Good to see that it wasn’t a rumor..."

Gianna straightened at once, almost sharply, as if caught misbehaving.

Her eyes flew to the people entering the dining room through another door—one that clearly led into more private hallways—and then fixed on the woman who had spoken.

She reminded Gianna of Esme at first glance. Then of Noah. The blue eyes confirmed it.

His mother.

Gianna quickly arranged a welcoming smile on her lips, one that softened further when the woman returned it warmly and crossed the distance between them with open ease.

"You must be Gianna..."

The woman’s eyes moved between Noah and Gianna, keen but pleased, and whatever she saw there only made the twinkle in her gaze grow brighter.

Noah released Gianna reluctantly, just long enough for the woman to pull her into a hug and kiss both her cheeks.

"Welcome to the family, beauty. My name is Sarah. I’m Noah’s mother. Esme’s too."

"Gianna Aldo," Gianna replied smoothly. "And it’s a pleasure to meet such a beautiful woman. I can see where Noah got the genes from."

Sarah practically glowed. A blush dusted her cheeks as she waved Gianna away in mock reproach. "Stop it..."

She wasn’t deterred even when Esme scoffed or when her husband loudly protested that Gianna had just called him ugly.

"Of course not, good sir," Gianna laughed, the last vestiges of tension slipping from her shoulders as she met the teasing gaze of Noah’s father.

"You’re very handsome. At least Noah’s build has a source."

The man visibly preened under the attention, straightening and grinning as though he’d been knighted.

Across the room, Esme scoffed again, irritation simmering beneath her carefully maintained composure.

The twat already has the parents wrapped around her little fingers?

"Esme Newman, is there a problem?"

Silence fell.

Not the ordinary kind—but the heavy, biting sort that froze the air where it stood.

Gianna felt it immediately, like frost crawling across her skin. Her eyes followed the voice and landed on an old man standing at the entrance, leaning on a staff carved intricately into the shape of a lion’s head.

Only then did she actually notice that everyone was still standing, no one making an attempt to sit.

She pursed her lips, seeing Arthur Beckett standing behind the old fellow, along with his wife.

Everyone had been waiting for this man.

Gianna studied him quietly. He looked to be in his eighties, yet nothing about him seemed fragile.

His posture was firm, his presence commanding, and his eyes—intelligent, unflinching—missed nothing. Power radiated from him effortlessly, without need for display.

She knew immediately. This man ruled the household. The patriarch.

Isaac Beckett.

She had thought him dead. No one had spoken of him in years. He hadn’t appeared in the media, and neither his children nor grandchildren ever mentioned him.

The last she’d heard, he’d been in a coma.

Surprise didn’t even begin to cover it.

She watched Esme struggle to speak, saw tension clamp down on the latter’s shoulders, and understood then that time had dulled nothing about this notable man.

Gianna couldn’t wait to tell old Mr. Thorne that she had seen his friend, that he was hale and hearty, nothing like the reports that had once claimed he was fading away.

"Good evening, sir."

Her voice carried respect naturally, wrapping around every word as she inclined her head in a small bow.

The effect was immediate—the room’s attention shifted entirely to her, Isaac’s included.

Gianna held her ground, her welcoming smile steady, even as his gaze locked onto hers. It felt as though he were seeing straight through her, reading layers she hadn’t spoken aloud.

She didn’t move.

No one did.

Not even Noah.

Then Isaac’s lips curved—just slightly—into a knowing smile.

"I like her, Noah," he said at last. "You are welcome, Gianna Aldo. How is your old man?"